Today I started taking down the Christmas decorations. It's a melancholy undertaking for me. I love Christmas and the decorations. I spend hours listening to Christmas music and putting up the old decorations and remembering the years past. They are always put up with the feeling of anticipation for the festivities to come spiced with the hustle and stress of many things yet to do. I linger lovingly over the placement of each piece in the manger scene, hunt the perfect place for the special ornaments on the tree, tenderly unwrap the little figurines that my mother painted only to wrap them back up until the little ones are bigger and less likely to demolish them. The house always looks so beautiful to me in the glow of the candles in the windows and the twinkle of the lights on the Christmas tree.
I have friends that just can't wait to get all the decorations down and put up. The day after Christmas everything is tucked away and all signs of the season are gone. For me the days after Christmas are the best ones of all. The pressure is off, everyone slows down, and I can finally just enjoy the seasonal finery. I love taking my coffee into the sunroom, turning on the lights on the tree, and enjoy a little early morning reflection. Hubby even commented on how much he was enjoying the tree and wondered if we could just leave it up until February. Considering that it was nearly March one year before I could stop anyone long enough to help me get it out of the sunroom and stored that was a particularly scary thought.
However, today it is 68 degrees out and the decorations must come down. Far better now than waiting a few days until it is rainy, cold and miserable. Actually, I'm only one day early. Traditionally I spend all of New Year's day taking down the decorations and putting them away. It keeps me entertained and I have a house full of men to help carry everything up to the attic. All I have to do is remember to ask during half-time or between games. That is all but one year. That year I decided to host a coffee for all the "ball widows". I invited everyone I knew to come and hang out. They did!! They arrived about 11 am and the last ones left at 4 pm. We sat in the floor, on chairs, and steps and ate stale Christmas cookies and drank coffee and had a ball.
I only got to do that one year, then hubby wanted his house back for the ballgames.
Maybe next time I undecorate early I'll plan another "widows" day.
Happy New Year!
Friday, December 31, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Game Time
My husband loves football. He also loves basketball. He even likes baseball, soccer, tennis, golf and has occasionally watched rugby! What he doesn't like is to watch them alone. That means our den is constantly draped in long, lanky forms cheering or groaning as the games progress. My role is part waitress, bartender, and short-order cook.
Since these gatherings seem to be a little impromptu (probably everyone knows about them but me), I have learned to keep the freezer stocked with goodies. Thank goodness for Sam's. I've really gotten very good at producing munchies and goodies on short notice. Of course they are a little long on fats and calories, but who is counting. At least who was counting until the year the doctor told hubby he had to lower his triglycerides. That meant a real change in munching habits.
The guys gathered as usual to watch the home team play. They all settled in and began eyeing the kitchen door to see what would appear. Drinks were prepared and the coffee table cleared off for the hoped for food. The game started and one by one the guys appeared at the door to see if there was anything they could do to "help". Smiling, I told them to get comfortable that I had everything under control. The first hint that things were changing came when I placed a big bowl of air-popped popcorn on the table. One of the guys poked it gently and inquired "what's this". "Popcorn, silly" I replied. "Oh, I guess you forgot the butter", he smiled. "Nope. It's better for you plain." I smiled back. Looking a little pitiful they munched away determinedly.
However, when I arrived with a big relish tray with low-fat dip they were not amused. "You don't expect us to eat this do you?" "Those are carrots!" "How about some chips to use with the dip" "Surely, this isn't all we are going to get?" "Don't you have some cheese and crackers at least". I held firm, knowing that hubby would never be able to resist if I set it out.
This lasted for most of the football season and all of the basketball. I varied the offerings with other low-fat selections and they manfully tried them all. A few resorted to trying to sneak in chips and pizza but I soon discouraged that. Come spring hubby's visit to the doctor was a time of tense waiting for all. Cheers erupted when the news came back. Everything was normal!! They could eat again!!
They still gather to watch the games and eat. We are eating more "game foods" now but I try to keep them balanced with low fat offerings. We still eat pizza and sausage and cheese dip, but we also eat turkey sandwiches and salsa dip. One thing we don't eat is popcorn and relish trays!
However, every now and then, just for fun, I'll set out the celery and carrots. You should see their faces!
Since these gatherings seem to be a little impromptu (probably everyone knows about them but me), I have learned to keep the freezer stocked with goodies. Thank goodness for Sam's. I've really gotten very good at producing munchies and goodies on short notice. Of course they are a little long on fats and calories, but who is counting. At least who was counting until the year the doctor told hubby he had to lower his triglycerides. That meant a real change in munching habits.
The guys gathered as usual to watch the home team play. They all settled in and began eyeing the kitchen door to see what would appear. Drinks were prepared and the coffee table cleared off for the hoped for food. The game started and one by one the guys appeared at the door to see if there was anything they could do to "help". Smiling, I told them to get comfortable that I had everything under control. The first hint that things were changing came when I placed a big bowl of air-popped popcorn on the table. One of the guys poked it gently and inquired "what's this". "Popcorn, silly" I replied. "Oh, I guess you forgot the butter", he smiled. "Nope. It's better for you plain." I smiled back. Looking a little pitiful they munched away determinedly.
However, when I arrived with a big relish tray with low-fat dip they were not amused. "You don't expect us to eat this do you?" "Those are carrots!" "How about some chips to use with the dip" "Surely, this isn't all we are going to get?" "Don't you have some cheese and crackers at least". I held firm, knowing that hubby would never be able to resist if I set it out.
This lasted for most of the football season and all of the basketball. I varied the offerings with other low-fat selections and they manfully tried them all. A few resorted to trying to sneak in chips and pizza but I soon discouraged that. Come spring hubby's visit to the doctor was a time of tense waiting for all. Cheers erupted when the news came back. Everything was normal!! They could eat again!!
They still gather to watch the games and eat. We are eating more "game foods" now but I try to keep them balanced with low fat offerings. We still eat pizza and sausage and cheese dip, but we also eat turkey sandwiches and salsa dip. One thing we don't eat is popcorn and relish trays!
However, every now and then, just for fun, I'll set out the celery and carrots. You should see their faces!
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Holiday Havoc
I apologize for my lengthy absence. I'm not sure what happened but the days in November and December quit having 24 hrs and were reduced to about 12. That's the only thing I can figure out to explain how I have managed to get to Christmas without getting anything done. For the first time in history I have not sent a single Christmas card, much less a thoughtful handwritten note. The grandkids have all but disowned me because there is not a single piece of candy or a cookie in the house (even the Halloween candy is gone!) The meals have leaned a lot more toward McDonalds than Gourmet and you know what....we've still had a great Christmas!
Surprise! Christmas isn't about beautiful packages or 50 kinds of cookies. It's about family, kids, giggles, secrets, whispers, and love. That much we have had in abundance.
However, I have noticed that as I winged my frazzled way from upheaval to disaster, my daughter has begun to give me worried looks. You can tell she is remembering days when I entertained with everything organized, done ahead and looking easy. I think she is pretty sure that the old show horse is about ready to be put out to pasture. Of course, in those days my kids were younger but they knew better than to interrupt when I was deep into cooking and would never have yelled for Jo-Jo to come work a puzzle with them. When I hear that call I can't help but think "Now what do I really want to do. Cook or play with the grandkids?" What do you think happens? We can eat at McDonalds--again.
I know I am getting older. I know I am slowing down. I know it's harder every year to get everything done. However in my defense I am working with a slight handicap. I had two kids. Now I have two "visitors" and five grandkids. My normal routine is shot all to ____! Every time I turn around there is another pile of stuff on my counter, more shoes in the entryway, more coats on the chairs, and toys everywhere. Someone is always eating or rummaging in the refrigerator. Towels and washcloths start to multiply in the utility room.
But you know what the real show stopper is? You know what really keeps me from getting all my chores done? I just can't resist sitting down with a cup of tea for a quick chat with my daughter or running out to the barn to see the newest baby calf with my son. I had no idea it was such fun to work giant floor puzzles with my grandson or read books with my granddaughter. Who would have thought it would take so much time to tell the grandkids the stories about all ornaments on the Christmas tree....from our first little plastic ones to the ones our kids made?
The long and the short of it is that our Christmas wasn't a Hallmark moment. However there were a lot of hugs, stories, laughter and tears. My Christmas cards will be done after Christmas (although I swear, I will write notes to all my dear friends), we'll gain less weight due to less cooking, the presents were in bags instead of elegantly wrapped boxes, but we had a lot of fun! After all, now that they are all gone I have until next Christmas to get ready for 2011!!
Next year they are all getting summer clothes because I am starting in JULY!!
Surprise! Christmas isn't about beautiful packages or 50 kinds of cookies. It's about family, kids, giggles, secrets, whispers, and love. That much we have had in abundance.
However, I have noticed that as I winged my frazzled way from upheaval to disaster, my daughter has begun to give me worried looks. You can tell she is remembering days when I entertained with everything organized, done ahead and looking easy. I think she is pretty sure that the old show horse is about ready to be put out to pasture. Of course, in those days my kids were younger but they knew better than to interrupt when I was deep into cooking and would never have yelled for Jo-Jo to come work a puzzle with them. When I hear that call I can't help but think "Now what do I really want to do. Cook or play with the grandkids?" What do you think happens? We can eat at McDonalds--again.
I know I am getting older. I know I am slowing down. I know it's harder every year to get everything done. However in my defense I am working with a slight handicap. I had two kids. Now I have two "visitors" and five grandkids. My normal routine is shot all to ____! Every time I turn around there is another pile of stuff on my counter, more shoes in the entryway, more coats on the chairs, and toys everywhere. Someone is always eating or rummaging in the refrigerator. Towels and washcloths start to multiply in the utility room.
But you know what the real show stopper is? You know what really keeps me from getting all my chores done? I just can't resist sitting down with a cup of tea for a quick chat with my daughter or running out to the barn to see the newest baby calf with my son. I had no idea it was such fun to work giant floor puzzles with my grandson or read books with my granddaughter. Who would have thought it would take so much time to tell the grandkids the stories about all ornaments on the Christmas tree....from our first little plastic ones to the ones our kids made?
The long and the short of it is that our Christmas wasn't a Hallmark moment. However there were a lot of hugs, stories, laughter and tears. My Christmas cards will be done after Christmas (although I swear, I will write notes to all my dear friends), we'll gain less weight due to less cooking, the presents were in bags instead of elegantly wrapped boxes, but we had a lot of fun! After all, now that they are all gone I have until next Christmas to get ready for 2011!!
Next year they are all getting summer clothes because I am starting in JULY!!
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Open House
I guess I have never realized what a good friend my husband is. It was obvious that he knew a lot of people but had never really figured out how much they all thought of him.
Since his surgery he has been confined to the house. This has caused a lot of betting in town. The bets are mostly concerning how long he will last before the drives me to brain him with something. He's not known for being the most patient man, nor for doing a lot of sitting around. He's also not known for doing what he is told, especially if he doesn't agree with it. So the two weeks of enforced inactivity have everyone wondering how he will handle it.
I guess I could describe it, so far, as a big office party. His partners have been here most days with work for him to do and keeping him updated. My computer has been commandeered and I am now working from my laptop on the kitchen table. I've quit even answering the phone because I know it's not for me. The good news is that he hasn't been starting work until after he's had his hot breakfast (after years of me dishing out cold cereal. He's not milking this for all he can get or anything).
The party has been from the constant stream of visitors who have come by to keep him entertained. The weather has been perfect fall weather, so a lot of the visits have taken place on the back porch. The hill has rocked with deep bursts of male laughter. The tall tales have been followed by short jokes and local news. My job is rather like a maid. I bring them something to drink, fix them food and stop to listen and giggle.
I always knew he was a good and caring man. However, the truth of how good a friend he is, is in the number of his friends that have wanted to be sure he was entertained in his "house arrest". They have come to keep him company, lift his spirits, and encourage him. They have brought food, cards, and lots of caring. A lot of people have to die before they find out how much people care. We have been lucky to discover this while we can still enjoy the party.
Thanks guys.
Since his surgery he has been confined to the house. This has caused a lot of betting in town. The bets are mostly concerning how long he will last before the drives me to brain him with something. He's not known for being the most patient man, nor for doing a lot of sitting around. He's also not known for doing what he is told, especially if he doesn't agree with it. So the two weeks of enforced inactivity have everyone wondering how he will handle it.
I guess I could describe it, so far, as a big office party. His partners have been here most days with work for him to do and keeping him updated. My computer has been commandeered and I am now working from my laptop on the kitchen table. I've quit even answering the phone because I know it's not for me. The good news is that he hasn't been starting work until after he's had his hot breakfast (after years of me dishing out cold cereal. He's not milking this for all he can get or anything).
The party has been from the constant stream of visitors who have come by to keep him entertained. The weather has been perfect fall weather, so a lot of the visits have taken place on the back porch. The hill has rocked with deep bursts of male laughter. The tall tales have been followed by short jokes and local news. My job is rather like a maid. I bring them something to drink, fix them food and stop to listen and giggle.
I always knew he was a good and caring man. However, the truth of how good a friend he is, is in the number of his friends that have wanted to be sure he was entertained in his "house arrest". They have come to keep him company, lift his spirits, and encourage him. They have brought food, cards, and lots of caring. A lot of people have to die before they find out how much people care. We have been lucky to discover this while we can still enjoy the party.
Thanks guys.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
The Battle is On
My grandfather was a giant. Seriously. He also fathered two generations of children. Now, that's not as hard as it sounds. He had three wives (not all at once) and three children. My aunt was 21 when my dad and his brother entered the picture from wife number three. He actually was in his late fifties when my dad was born in 1915. Papaw was born during the Civil War and actually participated in the Oklahoma Land Rush. That's another story. Somewhere oil wells are pumping away on the useless farm land he sold, I'm sure.
Even with all of this uniqueness what really made him memorable was his height. In an age when an exceptionally tall man was six foot he stood six feet six inches. With broad shoulders and huge, work hardened hands he was an imposing figure. I was very small when he died so I only have vague memories of sitting in his lap, but family lore has painted a picture of a man that was big in every way. I remember pictures of him standing with his grown sons, both of whom were six feet tall and being literally head and shoulders over them. They looked like children next to him.
Naturally, he married my grandmother. She was the local school mistress and a consummate horsewoman. She also was about four feet eleven inches tall! I can tell you this, every inch of her was feisty. She produced two healthy sons, eleven months apart, which would have earned her everlasting love from her husband if he hadn't already been besotted. To this day the thought of the creation of these two boys causes me to be reduced to giggles. Granny and Papaw looked like a St. Bernard and a Jack Russell terrier when seen together. The only pictures she would have made he had to be seated and she would be standing next to him. Then they were about the same height.
Now don't get the idea that everything was rosy. Granny was an educated woman and believed in using her own brain. Papaw was older and of the school of thought that the man got to do the thinking for everyone. He was dictatorial, loud, opinionated, narrow-minded, and slightly pig headed. She was devious. They hardly ever agreed on anything, especially politics. She was a republican, naturally he was democrat. They never fought, they skirmished. There were no loud explosions but lots of maneuvering.
Election day was eagerly awaited by everyone on the farm. From children to the help, everyone tried to be around to witness the battle. You see they knew, since they would never vote for the other's party, that if they both voted they cancelled each other out. So, whoever got to the polls first got to vote and the other just missed out. Papaw would fire the opening shots by announcing at breakfast that he would be cutting hay and would be bringing in extra help for the day. That meant that Granny would have her hands full with cooking all morning to get ready for a huge lunch for the hands. Feeling satisfied that she was secured he would leave for the fields, knowing he could slip away to town to vote. She would retalitate by sending one of the boys to town to get supplies in their only vehicle, thus keeping him from leaving the farm either. After lunch he would return the favor by sending the blacksmith to fit new shoes on one of the horses, knowing she would never leave him unsupervised with her darlings. This attacking and counterattacking would go on until one of them managed to get to the polls. The winner would then hold gloating rights over the other.
Granny was a staunch Baptist and so was Papaw, which is about the only thing they agreed on. Everyone went to church on Sunday then back to the farm for dinner. The only thing Papaw loved more than eating was preaching. So everyone would settle in their chair and get ready for him to bless the meal. This was his pulpit. Soon he was explaining to the Lord that as wonderful as his world was, things could be improved if the Lord would just follow a few suggestions. When that topic ran out of steam he would pray for all the sinners he knew and since he often got pretty specific, this was a well attended portion of the prayer. When he finally got to the repentance portion of the prayer, Granny would be getting pretty antsy. After all you can only keep food hot so long. She would wait patiently for him to take a breath, then she would stamp her foot and shout "AMEN".
For all their skirmishing they were an oddly formal couple. She always referred to him as "Mr. Gaines" and he called her "Miss Sallie". They were old fashioned in all things and would never be so undignified as to show public affection. However, they remained a devoted couple until she died. He spent the rest of his life watching the door, wishing she would soon be bustling through it, fussing at him for being late to dinner.
Even with all of this uniqueness what really made him memorable was his height. In an age when an exceptionally tall man was six foot he stood six feet six inches. With broad shoulders and huge, work hardened hands he was an imposing figure. I was very small when he died so I only have vague memories of sitting in his lap, but family lore has painted a picture of a man that was big in every way. I remember pictures of him standing with his grown sons, both of whom were six feet tall and being literally head and shoulders over them. They looked like children next to him.
Naturally, he married my grandmother. She was the local school mistress and a consummate horsewoman. She also was about four feet eleven inches tall! I can tell you this, every inch of her was feisty. She produced two healthy sons, eleven months apart, which would have earned her everlasting love from her husband if he hadn't already been besotted. To this day the thought of the creation of these two boys causes me to be reduced to giggles. Granny and Papaw looked like a St. Bernard and a Jack Russell terrier when seen together. The only pictures she would have made he had to be seated and she would be standing next to him. Then they were about the same height.
Now don't get the idea that everything was rosy. Granny was an educated woman and believed in using her own brain. Papaw was older and of the school of thought that the man got to do the thinking for everyone. He was dictatorial, loud, opinionated, narrow-minded, and slightly pig headed. She was devious. They hardly ever agreed on anything, especially politics. She was a republican, naturally he was democrat. They never fought, they skirmished. There were no loud explosions but lots of maneuvering.
Election day was eagerly awaited by everyone on the farm. From children to the help, everyone tried to be around to witness the battle. You see they knew, since they would never vote for the other's party, that if they both voted they cancelled each other out. So, whoever got to the polls first got to vote and the other just missed out. Papaw would fire the opening shots by announcing at breakfast that he would be cutting hay and would be bringing in extra help for the day. That meant that Granny would have her hands full with cooking all morning to get ready for a huge lunch for the hands. Feeling satisfied that she was secured he would leave for the fields, knowing he could slip away to town to vote. She would retalitate by sending one of the boys to town to get supplies in their only vehicle, thus keeping him from leaving the farm either. After lunch he would return the favor by sending the blacksmith to fit new shoes on one of the horses, knowing she would never leave him unsupervised with her darlings. This attacking and counterattacking would go on until one of them managed to get to the polls. The winner would then hold gloating rights over the other.
Granny was a staunch Baptist and so was Papaw, which is about the only thing they agreed on. Everyone went to church on Sunday then back to the farm for dinner. The only thing Papaw loved more than eating was preaching. So everyone would settle in their chair and get ready for him to bless the meal. This was his pulpit. Soon he was explaining to the Lord that as wonderful as his world was, things could be improved if the Lord would just follow a few suggestions. When that topic ran out of steam he would pray for all the sinners he knew and since he often got pretty specific, this was a well attended portion of the prayer. When he finally got to the repentance portion of the prayer, Granny would be getting pretty antsy. After all you can only keep food hot so long. She would wait patiently for him to take a breath, then she would stamp her foot and shout "AMEN".
For all their skirmishing they were an oddly formal couple. She always referred to him as "Mr. Gaines" and he called her "Miss Sallie". They were old fashioned in all things and would never be so undignified as to show public affection. However, they remained a devoted couple until she died. He spent the rest of his life watching the door, wishing she would soon be bustling through it, fussing at him for being late to dinner.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Unforseen Plans
My daughter has gone home, but her visit ended on an abrupt note. My husband's routine physical, which fell during the first part of her visit, turned up a slightly elevated creatine level. This prompted an ultrasound of his kidneys and bladder. This was followed by a CT scan and two visits to a urologist. The result was that he was suffering from a common male problem of enlarged prostate. His had created the problem of actually closing off the opening from his bladder, resulting in the need for surgery.
We found ourselves bombarded with a huge lack of information. The doctor, while very highly regarded and very well qualified, suffered from the opinion that he could decide just how much we needed to know. While the situation was well described and the surgery explained there were a lot of gaps in what he told us. It left us feeling very pressured to have immediate surgery without really understanding the total situation. We left his office with the surgery planned for the following Monday and three days in which to rearrange hubby's schedule at work for the next two weeks and finish all the projects he was currently involved in. Plus he had to arrange for care for the farm for the next month . He can do nothing for two weeks, then 2-4 weeks of not being able to lift anything or ride a tractor. Plus our daughter was here with her two small children and I needed to take her home. That involved a 10 hour trip one way.
My husband was frantically trying to tie up all the loose ends while I was involved in feeding everyone and trying to figure out how to rearrange my schedule. This didn't leave much time for us to talk about the upcoming surgery. It just really isn't something that we felt comfortable discussing with our children and five grandchildren. My daughter wanted to stay for the surgery, but with a three day hospital stay and her with two little ones to care for, that didn't make a lot of sense. She wouldn't be able to do much to help out and I would just fret. Plus, I really needed to get my house cleaned up from her visit in preparation for buddies dropping by to pass the time with hubby. So finally, all was settled when her brother offered to take her home. This actually allowed them some extra time together, so it was a good solution.
With everyone gone we finally got the time to discuss the upcoming surgery and what we needed to do. While we both felt we had not been given enough information (an Internet search and lot of "male bonding" answered most of our questions) we did feel like the surgery was necessary and urgent. In spite of several who urged us to wait and get a second opinion, which I highly endorse, hubby wanted to go on with the scheduled surgery. I admit to strong misgivings but bowed to his desires, since it is his body, after all.
The surgery was this morning and all went perfectly (according to the doctor of few words). The best news is that he is resting comfortably and not in a lot of pain. He is alert, eating and sitting up watching the football game. His nurse is slender, attractive and looks about 20. However, she is very competent and sneaks in to watch football with him. I think he might be in love. Hopefully he will continue to just feel better and better and the future will be much more comfortable for him.
Now all I have to do is figure out how to keep an active, go-getter in the house for two weeks. I think the odds in town are that he will survive the operation only to be killed by me before the end of the lock-down!
Wish us luck.
We found ourselves bombarded with a huge lack of information. The doctor, while very highly regarded and very well qualified, suffered from the opinion that he could decide just how much we needed to know. While the situation was well described and the surgery explained there were a lot of gaps in what he told us. It left us feeling very pressured to have immediate surgery without really understanding the total situation. We left his office with the surgery planned for the following Monday and three days in which to rearrange hubby's schedule at work for the next two weeks and finish all the projects he was currently involved in. Plus he had to arrange for care for the farm for the next month . He can do nothing for two weeks, then 2-4 weeks of not being able to lift anything or ride a tractor. Plus our daughter was here with her two small children and I needed to take her home. That involved a 10 hour trip one way.
My husband was frantically trying to tie up all the loose ends while I was involved in feeding everyone and trying to figure out how to rearrange my schedule. This didn't leave much time for us to talk about the upcoming surgery. It just really isn't something that we felt comfortable discussing with our children and five grandchildren. My daughter wanted to stay for the surgery, but with a three day hospital stay and her with two little ones to care for, that didn't make a lot of sense. She wouldn't be able to do much to help out and I would just fret. Plus, I really needed to get my house cleaned up from her visit in preparation for buddies dropping by to pass the time with hubby. So finally, all was settled when her brother offered to take her home. This actually allowed them some extra time together, so it was a good solution.
With everyone gone we finally got the time to discuss the upcoming surgery and what we needed to do. While we both felt we had not been given enough information (an Internet search and lot of "male bonding" answered most of our questions) we did feel like the surgery was necessary and urgent. In spite of several who urged us to wait and get a second opinion, which I highly endorse, hubby wanted to go on with the scheduled surgery. I admit to strong misgivings but bowed to his desires, since it is his body, after all.
The surgery was this morning and all went perfectly (according to the doctor of few words). The best news is that he is resting comfortably and not in a lot of pain. He is alert, eating and sitting up watching the football game. His nurse is slender, attractive and looks about 20. However, she is very competent and sneaks in to watch football with him. I think he might be in love. Hopefully he will continue to just feel better and better and the future will be much more comfortable for him.
Now all I have to do is figure out how to keep an active, go-getter in the house for two weeks. I think the odds in town are that he will survive the operation only to be killed by me before the end of the lock-down!
Wish us luck.
Monday, October 4, 2010
The Demise of Passy May Coffey
There is nothing like a two year old to make you laugh. The little red-headed one that has been at our house for the past week has made us all giggle. She has an impish way of looking at you and lisping comments that keep you smiling. Everyone from the 12 year old cousin to her uncle and aunt have fallen under her spell.
One of the most endearing things has been her pacifier. Like most little ones, she has a favorite pacifier. However, unlike most little ones this one has a full name. She will proudly tell you her passy's name is Passy May Coffey. No one knows why, but this passy is part invisible friend and part family member. The house has rung with calls of "Passy May" as she has searched for her "friend".
This afternoon as the two little girls were playing upstairs, I was summoned with desolate cries of "Passy May, Passy May, Passy May". I ran to see what the crisis was. I found the little one
pitifully crying at the top of the stairs. The older sister had thrown Passy May down the stairs.I retrieved it and peace was restored. She is amazingly even tempered and didn't hold a grudge once the passy was restored.
So tonight when bathtime was over and bedtime snacks were finished, Mom started gathering up things preparing for the bedtime rituals. The hunt for Passy May was begun. The little one has a way of just laying the passy down, so it usually takes a few minutes to locate it. After a few minutes Mom signaled me from the dining room door. She silently held out her hand. Nestled in her palm were the remains of Passy May. She had located the pink back and the little white ring, but the dog had eaten everything else. With a stricken look she mouthed "what do we do?" We debated just telling her we couldn't find it but opted out for honesty. (especially since the older one came upon us and spied the remains)
So Mom called the little one over and showed her what was left of Passy May. She looked at the pitiful pieces and called in a mournful tone,"Passy May, Passy May". Calmly, Mom explained that the dog had chewed it up and now we had to throw it away. We waited with baited breath to see what would happen. Visions of crying babies and sleepless nights stretched out before us. Tears gathered in my eyes as I felt for her loss. With total aplomb, she waved and called "good-by Passy May" picked up the pieces and put them in the garbage.
We read stories and settled the girls for bed with wonder. However, as the lights went out this little voice quavered out. "Old Joe, Old Joe" She was calling for the back-up passy that is now known as Old Joe. After a few poignant cries, Mom caved and produced the back-up. With a contented slurp peace settled over the room.
Good-by Passy May. Welcome Old Joe.
One of the most endearing things has been her pacifier. Like most little ones, she has a favorite pacifier. However, unlike most little ones this one has a full name. She will proudly tell you her passy's name is Passy May Coffey. No one knows why, but this passy is part invisible friend and part family member. The house has rung with calls of "Passy May" as she has searched for her "friend".
This afternoon as the two little girls were playing upstairs, I was summoned with desolate cries of "Passy May, Passy May, Passy May". I ran to see what the crisis was. I found the little one
pitifully crying at the top of the stairs. The older sister had thrown Passy May down the stairs.I retrieved it and peace was restored. She is amazingly even tempered and didn't hold a grudge once the passy was restored.
So tonight when bathtime was over and bedtime snacks were finished, Mom started gathering up things preparing for the bedtime rituals. The hunt for Passy May was begun. The little one has a way of just laying the passy down, so it usually takes a few minutes to locate it. After a few minutes Mom signaled me from the dining room door. She silently held out her hand. Nestled in her palm were the remains of Passy May. She had located the pink back and the little white ring, but the dog had eaten everything else. With a stricken look she mouthed "what do we do?" We debated just telling her we couldn't find it but opted out for honesty. (especially since the older one came upon us and spied the remains)
So Mom called the little one over and showed her what was left of Passy May. She looked at the pitiful pieces and called in a mournful tone,"Passy May, Passy May". Calmly, Mom explained that the dog had chewed it up and now we had to throw it away. We waited with baited breath to see what would happen. Visions of crying babies and sleepless nights stretched out before us. Tears gathered in my eyes as I felt for her loss. With total aplomb, she waved and called "good-by Passy May" picked up the pieces and put them in the garbage.
We read stories and settled the girls for bed with wonder. However, as the lights went out this little voice quavered out. "Old Joe, Old Joe" She was calling for the back-up passy that is now known as Old Joe. After a few poignant cries, Mom caved and produced the back-up. With a contented slurp peace settled over the room.
Good-by Passy May. Welcome Old Joe.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Coming Home
My daughter and her two daughters, who are 2 1/2 and 5, are in visiting for 10 days. We have looked forward to this visit for quiet a while. It isn't often that she can come for an extended visit with the girls. Her husband is a farmer in Iowa and couldn't be with her this trip since they are trying to harvest their corn. While we miss having him here we are enjoying a rare visit when we can just enjoy having her home to ourselves.
As usually happens when you anticipate something so strongly, it isn't working out quite like we expected. My son, who lives in our community has been here most nights after work to visit with his 2, 4 and 12 year old boys. It's wonderful to see the little ones enjoy running and playing on the farm. However, I forgot how wild it is trying to cook for 5-10 people while dodging two 2 year olds, a 4 year old and a 5 year old. The kitchen, which seemed spacious becomes an obstacle course of toys, kids, and dog. Grandma finds herself hurdling from counter to counter, while calculating portions and amounts frantically in her head. See, the other thing I've forgotten is how much food it takes for a crowd. Especially a crowd that seems to fluctuate continually. As friends of the kids hear about our daughters visit, they all want to come by and see her. Of course, they do usually come at dinner time. About the time I get the hang of this again, she'll go back home!
In my mind I visualized laughing visits in a clean house with happy children playing peacefully. In reality, the house is a wreck, the dishwasher hasn't stopped running and there is always at least one child either out of sorts or with an "owwie". What we did get right was the part about laughing visits. We have laughed, giggled, snorted, and chuckled. The stories have just flowed out and everyone is talking over everyone else. It's wonderful! The kids have been bandaged, hugged, rocked, kissed, or corrected by whichever adult was handy. The house has never looked more perfect with people, clutter, clothes and shoes everywhere.
It's not perfect, but it is perfectly wonderful.
As usually happens when you anticipate something so strongly, it isn't working out quite like we expected. My son, who lives in our community has been here most nights after work to visit with his 2, 4 and 12 year old boys. It's wonderful to see the little ones enjoy running and playing on the farm. However, I forgot how wild it is trying to cook for 5-10 people while dodging two 2 year olds, a 4 year old and a 5 year old. The kitchen, which seemed spacious becomes an obstacle course of toys, kids, and dog. Grandma finds herself hurdling from counter to counter, while calculating portions and amounts frantically in her head. See, the other thing I've forgotten is how much food it takes for a crowd. Especially a crowd that seems to fluctuate continually. As friends of the kids hear about our daughters visit, they all want to come by and see her. Of course, they do usually come at dinner time. About the time I get the hang of this again, she'll go back home!
In my mind I visualized laughing visits in a clean house with happy children playing peacefully. In reality, the house is a wreck, the dishwasher hasn't stopped running and there is always at least one child either out of sorts or with an "owwie". What we did get right was the part about laughing visits. We have laughed, giggled, snorted, and chuckled. The stories have just flowed out and everyone is talking over everyone else. It's wonderful! The kids have been bandaged, hugged, rocked, kissed, or corrected by whichever adult was handy. The house has never looked more perfect with people, clutter, clothes and shoes everywhere.
It's not perfect, but it is perfectly wonderful.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
No Regrets
Several years ago as we were talking over breakfast on our anniversary, the topic came up of regrets. Someone had used the phrase, "I'll always regret that...." and it had triggered a conversation about life's regrets. Hubby looked at me and wondered aloud if I had any "regrets". I thought for a minute and said, "Only one."
The one that popped into my mind was selling my little red MGA. The year before we married I had fallen in love with a little red 1960 MGA convertible at the local car dealer. .(Think the little red car that Elvis drove in Blue Hawaii). My parents, who were doing well to keep me in college, were having nothing to do with the idea that this would be the perfect car. An aunt took pity on my pleas and helped me get the car, with the stipulation that I pay her back as soon as I graduated and got a job.
The little red car ferried me to and from school and was the envy of all my friends and most of the fraternity population. I loved that car. The heater was just a vent straight off the motor and burned your feet up all summer, you had to lug the top up by hand, usually standing in the seat, the windows leaked, it had only a tiny trunk, and blew your hair into knots but I loved driving it.
After graduation we moved to a little town and I started teaching. My first paychecks went to pay my aunt back, as promised. Life was good. I loved teaching and even though I was barely older than my high school students felt I was effective. Then came the day when I realized that my high school boys were waiting for me every morning at my parking place. My first thought was "how nice" then it hit me why they were waiting. I was sitting in my little car, practically flat on the ground. In order to get out, I had to lift my knees and swing out my legs. In those days, teachers had to wear skirts, and in the '70's they weren't very long. So there I sat in my little red car totally unable to get out without giving my students a peep-show!! Eventually, with much twisting, I managed to get into the building, but I knew I had a problem. After much discussion we decided that we had to trade the little red car in on something more respectable.
Years later, my regret was that instead of trading it in, we hadn't kept it. We got almost nothing for it and it would have been such fun to have around now. After laughing about the story, I forgot all about the conversation.
Then, a few years later, Bob surprised me with a gift to celebrate the end of my cancer treatments. Sitting in my drive was a red 1960 MGA, just like the one we sold. He hugged me and handed me the key. "You said once you only had one regret in life. I don't want you to have any. Here's to a life without regrets."
Wow!
The one that popped into my mind was selling my little red MGA. The year before we married I had fallen in love with a little red 1960 MGA convertible at the local car dealer. .(Think the little red car that Elvis drove in Blue Hawaii). My parents, who were doing well to keep me in college, were having nothing to do with the idea that this would be the perfect car. An aunt took pity on my pleas and helped me get the car, with the stipulation that I pay her back as soon as I graduated and got a job.
The little red car ferried me to and from school and was the envy of all my friends and most of the fraternity population. I loved that car. The heater was just a vent straight off the motor and burned your feet up all summer, you had to lug the top up by hand, usually standing in the seat, the windows leaked, it had only a tiny trunk, and blew your hair into knots but I loved driving it.
After graduation we moved to a little town and I started teaching. My first paychecks went to pay my aunt back, as promised. Life was good. I loved teaching and even though I was barely older than my high school students felt I was effective. Then came the day when I realized that my high school boys were waiting for me every morning at my parking place. My first thought was "how nice" then it hit me why they were waiting. I was sitting in my little car, practically flat on the ground. In order to get out, I had to lift my knees and swing out my legs. In those days, teachers had to wear skirts, and in the '70's they weren't very long. So there I sat in my little red car totally unable to get out without giving my students a peep-show!! Eventually, with much twisting, I managed to get into the building, but I knew I had a problem. After much discussion we decided that we had to trade the little red car in on something more respectable.
Years later, my regret was that instead of trading it in, we hadn't kept it. We got almost nothing for it and it would have been such fun to have around now. After laughing about the story, I forgot all about the conversation.
Then, a few years later, Bob surprised me with a gift to celebrate the end of my cancer treatments. Sitting in my drive was a red 1960 MGA, just like the one we sold. He hugged me and handed me the key. "You said once you only had one regret in life. I don't want you to have any. Here's to a life without regrets."
Wow!
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
The Bee Tree
Thirty odd years ago when we moved to the farm, one of the best things about the old farmhouse was the big, old trees surrounding it. They provided abundant shade and also about the only landscaping. The first thing I heard when we moved was that we needed to cut those trees down! The reasoning being that they were water maples and were "weak" trees and would fall on the house. Now, I am a tree lover. I figure that any tree is better than no tree. These trees had sheltered this house for thirty years and survived the tornado that took down the house before this one. Weak isn't a word I would use to describe them.
They aren't the most beautiful trees. They have meager leaves that don't turn a pretty color in the fall. They literally rain little dead limbs during every wind. However they have survived tornadoes, ice storms, high winds, drought, and freezing temperatures. Unfortunately, time, weather and insects have done what all the "friends" couldn't convince us to do, cause us to cut one of them down. The huge old tree in the corner of the yard had been slowing declining over the past few years. Each year it would produce fewer leaves until one spring it didn't produce any at all. Our old friend had died.
Knowing that a dead tree is not only unsightly but a hazard, we made arrangements to have a local man come in and cut it down. He arrived one morning, checked it out, declared it to be no problem and set to work. I retired to the house to hide from the sight of my lovely old friend's demise. Suddenly I heard frantic beating on the door. The woodcutter stood on the porch waving his arms frantically and shouting for me to get a can of bug spray. It took me a few moments to realize he wanted me to spray him!! He was literally covered in bees! It turned out that our stately old tree was filled top to bottom with bees!
Now we had a different problem. How to get rid of the bees. Every farmer realizes the importance of bees to keep their crops pollinated, so exterminating was a last resort. However, we now had half a tree covered in bees. Hanging from one splinter was a ball of bees over two feet across. Bees were flying around everywhere trying to figure out what to do.
I located the number of the president of the local beekeepers club, who turned out to be a local priest. He assured me it would be no problem and he would bring a bee box and come over after mass the next day. He said the bees would return to the tree for the night and he would be able to collect them the next day. He arrived the next morning and promptly showed up in the kitchen. "You didn't mention that the colony was this large. I have to do some checking with other beekeepers" and off he went.
It seems that we didn't have just a hive with a queen and her workers, but a real, honest-to-goodness, years and years old bee tree. The entire tree was hollow and filled top to bottom with honey-comb and bees. We didn't have hundreds of bees, we had thousands, maybe millions. Bees had been calling that tree home for maybe 50 years. Amazingly, we had never noticed all the activity. They evidently were entering and leaving through the top of the tree covered by leaves. Now we noticed! We had millions of bees in the yard!
Over the next few days beekeepers came in their white moon suits to collect the bees. They would literally scrape the bees off the tree and into big white bee boxes. All in all they collected over 10 boxes of bees. They collected at least five queens. That in itself was a real indication of the size of the hive, since generally they will only have one queen at a time. When they had collected all they could or wanted ,we still had bees. Every morning we would find the stump swarming with bees. Now we had no choice but to spray the last ones so we could finish cutting the tree down.
Unfortunately, we didn't get any honey. The time of year wasn't right and the combs were empty. However, we did get to learn a lot about bees and beekeeping. I think about how long that stately old tree shaded us with its leaves while hosting the very bees that kept the crops producing and my garden flourishing. The good news is that one of the beekeepers reported back that the hive he established lived through the winter and is thriving in their new home. I hope they all did.
I know our tree would be proud.
They aren't the most beautiful trees. They have meager leaves that don't turn a pretty color in the fall. They literally rain little dead limbs during every wind. However they have survived tornadoes, ice storms, high winds, drought, and freezing temperatures. Unfortunately, time, weather and insects have done what all the "friends" couldn't convince us to do, cause us to cut one of them down. The huge old tree in the corner of the yard had been slowing declining over the past few years. Each year it would produce fewer leaves until one spring it didn't produce any at all. Our old friend had died.
Knowing that a dead tree is not only unsightly but a hazard, we made arrangements to have a local man come in and cut it down. He arrived one morning, checked it out, declared it to be no problem and set to work. I retired to the house to hide from the sight of my lovely old friend's demise. Suddenly I heard frantic beating on the door. The woodcutter stood on the porch waving his arms frantically and shouting for me to get a can of bug spray. It took me a few moments to realize he wanted me to spray him!! He was literally covered in bees! It turned out that our stately old tree was filled top to bottom with bees!
Now we had a different problem. How to get rid of the bees. Every farmer realizes the importance of bees to keep their crops pollinated, so exterminating was a last resort. However, we now had half a tree covered in bees. Hanging from one splinter was a ball of bees over two feet across. Bees were flying around everywhere trying to figure out what to do.
I located the number of the president of the local beekeepers club, who turned out to be a local priest. He assured me it would be no problem and he would bring a bee box and come over after mass the next day. He said the bees would return to the tree for the night and he would be able to collect them the next day. He arrived the next morning and promptly showed up in the kitchen. "You didn't mention that the colony was this large. I have to do some checking with other beekeepers" and off he went.
It seems that we didn't have just a hive with a queen and her workers, but a real, honest-to-goodness, years and years old bee tree. The entire tree was hollow and filled top to bottom with honey-comb and bees. We didn't have hundreds of bees, we had thousands, maybe millions. Bees had been calling that tree home for maybe 50 years. Amazingly, we had never noticed all the activity. They evidently were entering and leaving through the top of the tree covered by leaves. Now we noticed! We had millions of bees in the yard!
Over the next few days beekeepers came in their white moon suits to collect the bees. They would literally scrape the bees off the tree and into big white bee boxes. All in all they collected over 10 boxes of bees. They collected at least five queens. That in itself was a real indication of the size of the hive, since generally they will only have one queen at a time. When they had collected all they could or wanted ,we still had bees. Every morning we would find the stump swarming with bees. Now we had no choice but to spray the last ones so we could finish cutting the tree down.
Unfortunately, we didn't get any honey. The time of year wasn't right and the combs were empty. However, we did get to learn a lot about bees and beekeeping. I think about how long that stately old tree shaded us with its leaves while hosting the very bees that kept the crops producing and my garden flourishing. The good news is that one of the beekeepers reported back that the hive he established lived through the winter and is thriving in their new home. I hope they all did.
I know our tree would be proud.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Grandma's Silver
Times were hard when Grandma and Grandpa married. They set up housekeeping on the farm and she went to work teaching music in the local school. They worked hard and made ends meet, but there wasn't much left over for extras.
Their main entertainment was visiting in other couples homes. They would gather and enjoy refreshments prepared by the hostess. Then Grandma would play the piano while everyone would dance or sing. From hearing her talk about those times, I know she enjoyed every minute of it. She used to laugh and say she would always be invited to every party because she was the piano player!
She was a wonderful cook and when it was her turn to be hostess it was her time to shine. I can visualize the spread would include country ham they had cured, homemade bread, salads, vegetables and her wonderful desserts. However, she always had one regret. She had lovely linens, handmade by her mother, and her mother's blue china, but she didn't have any silver. This was a time when every young bride collected her silver flatware as wedding gifts. They had eloped and settled quietly into marriage with lovely, useful gifts from family and friends. Still, she wanted that silverware to go with her dishes when it was her turn to be hostess.
When she would go to town she would dream up an excuse to pass the window of the jewelry store to gaze at the patterns of silver displayed there. She would linger longingly over them when she took her watch in for repairs. Finally, the owner caught on that she really wanted that silver. Now, he had a daughter whom he wanted to have piano lessons and the deal was struck. Grandma would give lessons and he would pay in pieces of silver.
Grandma would teach all day and then go to the jeweler's house to give lessons to the daughter. It soon became evident that a career in music wasn't in the child's future. However, they both struggled on. Grandma would scour her books for songs that might tempt the young lady, then rewrite them in a simple score that she could play. She went to music stores and found current hits and rewrote them for her student. She even made up songs, but nothing seemed to work. Grandma struggled on some more. She kept at it until both were dreading the lessons. They endured until Grandma had that last piece of silver, then the lessons were over! She said later that she didn't know who was happier that day, her or the daughter!
That silver became a prized possession. It was brought out only for special occasions, Christmas, Thanksgiving, visiting preachers, and when she was hostess for their friends. She treasured that silver and never forgot the hard work and patience that was required to obtain it. She also never forgot the little girl who received diligent piano lessons whether she wanted them or not!
Their main entertainment was visiting in other couples homes. They would gather and enjoy refreshments prepared by the hostess. Then Grandma would play the piano while everyone would dance or sing. From hearing her talk about those times, I know she enjoyed every minute of it. She used to laugh and say she would always be invited to every party because she was the piano player!
She was a wonderful cook and when it was her turn to be hostess it was her time to shine. I can visualize the spread would include country ham they had cured, homemade bread, salads, vegetables and her wonderful desserts. However, she always had one regret. She had lovely linens, handmade by her mother, and her mother's blue china, but she didn't have any silver. This was a time when every young bride collected her silver flatware as wedding gifts. They had eloped and settled quietly into marriage with lovely, useful gifts from family and friends. Still, she wanted that silverware to go with her dishes when it was her turn to be hostess.
When she would go to town she would dream up an excuse to pass the window of the jewelry store to gaze at the patterns of silver displayed there. She would linger longingly over them when she took her watch in for repairs. Finally, the owner caught on that she really wanted that silver. Now, he had a daughter whom he wanted to have piano lessons and the deal was struck. Grandma would give lessons and he would pay in pieces of silver.
Grandma would teach all day and then go to the jeweler's house to give lessons to the daughter. It soon became evident that a career in music wasn't in the child's future. However, they both struggled on. Grandma would scour her books for songs that might tempt the young lady, then rewrite them in a simple score that she could play. She went to music stores and found current hits and rewrote them for her student. She even made up songs, but nothing seemed to work. Grandma struggled on some more. She kept at it until both were dreading the lessons. They endured until Grandma had that last piece of silver, then the lessons were over! She said later that she didn't know who was happier that day, her or the daughter!
That silver became a prized possession. It was brought out only for special occasions, Christmas, Thanksgiving, visiting preachers, and when she was hostess for their friends. She treasured that silver and never forgot the hard work and patience that was required to obtain it. She also never forgot the little girl who received diligent piano lessons whether she wanted them or not!
Monday, September 13, 2010
Live Big
Saturday I attended the long awaited first home football game and didn't watch a bit of it.
25 years ago a close friend moved to Nashville. They were die hard fans and kept their season tickets. Time passed and the seats got moved around until I looked up one Saturday and they were sitting two rows down from us. They don't come every game but when they do I don't see much of the game.
Last year when we had our annual catch-up visit we held hands and cried through the game. She had just received the news that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Her sister had died at the age of 23 with breast cancer and my friend was facing some rough memories and decisions. That day the game went on without us.
Over the next few months we talked for hours on the phone (thank goodness for cell phones and unlimited calling). She elected to have a double mastectomy and reconstructive surgery. This was radical but with her family history she felt she couldn't take any chances. It was a hard decision and she felt the future was very bleak. However, she went back to work and tried to get her life back in order.
Then life took over. Seldom, does life give you chances to sit around and sulk. This was a case in point. Just when she felt she had faced enough, things started happening quick and fast. Her son met a girl (finally!) and became engaged. Wedding plans started to happen. The bride and my friend and her daughter took a trip to New York to do a little shopping. They flew back home on the last plane to land in Nashville before they closed the airport due to flooding. My friend's 91 year old mother had been evacuated, by boat, from her condo. While the 1000 year flood, as they are calling it in Nashville, didn't reach my friend's home, it changed her life. Her mother moved into her basement with her caregiver, while clean-up proceeds on her condo. The water reached 6 feet inside and it is a mess. Yuk times 100!!
Before all this happened she had committed herself to walk in the Susan G. Komen 3 day walk in Cleveland, where her son lives. So, at 100 degrees she is trying to squeeze in training walks of 10 to 12 miles a day, between attacks on the mud in her mom's condo. She said she thought about giving up, but decided to give it a try. So in July, she flew to Cleveland with her family and lived in a pink tent, slept in a sleeping bag and walked 60 miles in three days. She said it was a wonderful experience and is trying to talk me into going with her next year. She also said she finished with no problems and only lost three toenails. I didn't ask for details.
Did we talk about cancer? Yes, sort of. She asked me how I was doing. I said fine. I asked her how she was doing. She said her check-ups were good. Then we went on with everything else. That's how life is. You deal with your problems the best you can and then get on with life and living. It's all about living. Dying happens to all of us, but the key is to live until that time!
Live big, friends.
25 years ago a close friend moved to Nashville. They were die hard fans and kept their season tickets. Time passed and the seats got moved around until I looked up one Saturday and they were sitting two rows down from us. They don't come every game but when they do I don't see much of the game.
Last year when we had our annual catch-up visit we held hands and cried through the game. She had just received the news that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Her sister had died at the age of 23 with breast cancer and my friend was facing some rough memories and decisions. That day the game went on without us.
Over the next few months we talked for hours on the phone (thank goodness for cell phones and unlimited calling). She elected to have a double mastectomy and reconstructive surgery. This was radical but with her family history she felt she couldn't take any chances. It was a hard decision and she felt the future was very bleak. However, she went back to work and tried to get her life back in order.
Then life took over. Seldom, does life give you chances to sit around and sulk. This was a case in point. Just when she felt she had faced enough, things started happening quick and fast. Her son met a girl (finally!) and became engaged. Wedding plans started to happen. The bride and my friend and her daughter took a trip to New York to do a little shopping. They flew back home on the last plane to land in Nashville before they closed the airport due to flooding. My friend's 91 year old mother had been evacuated, by boat, from her condo. While the 1000 year flood, as they are calling it in Nashville, didn't reach my friend's home, it changed her life. Her mother moved into her basement with her caregiver, while clean-up proceeds on her condo. The water reached 6 feet inside and it is a mess. Yuk times 100!!
Before all this happened she had committed herself to walk in the Susan G. Komen 3 day walk in Cleveland, where her son lives. So, at 100 degrees she is trying to squeeze in training walks of 10 to 12 miles a day, between attacks on the mud in her mom's condo. She said she thought about giving up, but decided to give it a try. So in July, she flew to Cleveland with her family and lived in a pink tent, slept in a sleeping bag and walked 60 miles in three days. She said it was a wonderful experience and is trying to talk me into going with her next year. She also said she finished with no problems and only lost three toenails. I didn't ask for details.
Did we talk about cancer? Yes, sort of. She asked me how I was doing. I said fine. I asked her how she was doing. She said her check-ups were good. Then we went on with everything else. That's how life is. You deal with your problems the best you can and then get on with life and living. It's all about living. Dying happens to all of us, but the key is to live until that time!
Live big, friends.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Game Time
It's football time!
I am married to a sports nut. He will literally watch anything that is related to sports and balls. I once came upon him sitting on the couch with a bemused expression on his face. He was intently watching a ballgame. When I asked him what he was watching, he just shook his head and replied, "I have no idea, but it's a heck of a game!" He was telling the truth, he had no idea what he was watching. It turned out to be rugby, which was totally foreign to him, but he was glued to the set anyway. Now that is a sports addiction.
Over the years I have learned, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em". That means I've watched lots and lots of sports. However, I really enjoy football. We have had season tickets to the university games for over 35 years. Even after all that time I'm not really sure what makes people do it. By that I mean, why do people sit outside in all types of weather to see which team will move a ball up or down a field more times than the other. It's not logical to sit on metal bleachers in a thunderstorm, risk heatstroke at 95 degrees, frostbite at 10 degrees, snow, rain and wind. If someone told you to sit in your yard at these conditions you would laugh. However, we bundle up in our strange, but always blue, gear and happily head to the stands. There we will join crowds of more blue clad fans and swelter, drip or shiver while we cheer our team on. Crazy, but there is nothing like a football game on a fall afternoon.
In the 35 or so years, we have fed a ton of food from the trunk of our car in the parking lot. We tailgate with the same couples year after year. It is tradition that whatever kids are attending school at the time stop by for a free lunch. Mom and Dad get a quick visit and the kids get a good meal. We have done everything from stew to burgers and about everything in between. It's a hassel getting it all together and I swear each year I won't do it again. Then it all comes together and it is such fun. The best part is that after all this time the world has turned in our favor. Now we tailgate with some of the kids we fed and they are feeding us. Now instead of taking the whole meal ,we get to bring a dish or sometimes nothing. Wow!
So, today is the first home game. Naturally, the forcast is for thunderstorms at game time. Hubby is convinced that it really won't rain and who knows it might not. However, I think I'll take the blue raincoats and the big plastic leaf bags just, in case.
I am married to a sports nut. He will literally watch anything that is related to sports and balls. I once came upon him sitting on the couch with a bemused expression on his face. He was intently watching a ballgame. When I asked him what he was watching, he just shook his head and replied, "I have no idea, but it's a heck of a game!" He was telling the truth, he had no idea what he was watching. It turned out to be rugby, which was totally foreign to him, but he was glued to the set anyway. Now that is a sports addiction.
Over the years I have learned, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em". That means I've watched lots and lots of sports. However, I really enjoy football. We have had season tickets to the university games for over 35 years. Even after all that time I'm not really sure what makes people do it. By that I mean, why do people sit outside in all types of weather to see which team will move a ball up or down a field more times than the other. It's not logical to sit on metal bleachers in a thunderstorm, risk heatstroke at 95 degrees, frostbite at 10 degrees, snow, rain and wind. If someone told you to sit in your yard at these conditions you would laugh. However, we bundle up in our strange, but always blue, gear and happily head to the stands. There we will join crowds of more blue clad fans and swelter, drip or shiver while we cheer our team on. Crazy, but there is nothing like a football game on a fall afternoon.
In the 35 or so years, we have fed a ton of food from the trunk of our car in the parking lot. We tailgate with the same couples year after year. It is tradition that whatever kids are attending school at the time stop by for a free lunch. Mom and Dad get a quick visit and the kids get a good meal. We have done everything from stew to burgers and about everything in between. It's a hassel getting it all together and I swear each year I won't do it again. Then it all comes together and it is such fun. The best part is that after all this time the world has turned in our favor. Now we tailgate with some of the kids we fed and they are feeding us. Now instead of taking the whole meal ,we get to bring a dish or sometimes nothing. Wow!
So, today is the first home game. Naturally, the forcast is for thunderstorms at game time. Hubby is convinced that it really won't rain and who knows it might not. However, I think I'll take the blue raincoats and the big plastic leaf bags just, in case.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Triple Trouble
Sorry I have been missing for a few days. My son is in the middle of cutting his first crop of tobacco. His wife is gone to Oklahoma for a previously scheduled visit to some friends, which left him in the midst of a nervous breakdown and three kids. So of course, Grandma is glad to help out for a few days. Which is a good thing considering that he is so strung out over the problems of finding good help, weather, housing in a poorly arranged barn and general "harvest hysteria". I won't say he is totally crazed, but he did drop off the two year old and four year old with three diapers and one change of clothes, for four days! Thank goodness for automatic washers and a stash of odd clothing that I keep on hand.
Having three boys, aged 2, 4, and 13 in the house has brought back lots of memories. Some of them good. Actually, I now realize that the gradual weight gain of age has nothing to do with the slowing of metabolism. All those reports are obvious fabrications. When you are trying to get everyone fed, you spend so much time jumping that you don't get to eat. If one isn't out of milk the other has just turned his over. Then there is the fact that you don't have much time to sit down. You are either rescuing the cat, settling fights, opening doors or closing open doors, or just picking up the general flotsam and jetsam of kids. Putting the little ones down for a nap becomes a challenge to not crawl in bed with them.
All in all it has been a joyful few days. It's fun once again to have the laughter of children echoing through the house. The two year old has discovered that the collie will sit for treats. So he has about worn the poor dog out "sitting". The four year old has discovered the delight of being able to go outside with freedom. When your yard is a couple of acres and just blends into the surrounding hay field, you don't worry too much about passing motorists. I can watch them from the windows and listen for their cheerful shouts to keep up with their activities. The little battery operated Ranger has made dozens of trips between the house and the barn. The four year old has become an accomplished driver, completing perfect three point turns to reverse his trip. I know some teens who can't do that.
The thirteen year old has had a vacation. He's usually in charge of the younger ones, but this time he gets to do his own thing. He has spent a lot of time on the computer (with grandma in the room, checking), playing games on his new ipod, or watching movies. Usual kid stuff. He also has been left in charge of helping out with the home chores of watering the calves in the barn and seeing that they are fed.
It's wild, but I've found that I'm actually getting more done with more to do! I think I have become lazy with too much time to get things finished. Yesterday by noon I had cooked two meals, washed and dried two loads of clothes, swept and mopped. Some weeks I don't get that much done.
Having three boys, aged 2, 4, and 13 in the house has brought back lots of memories. Some of them good. Actually, I now realize that the gradual weight gain of age has nothing to do with the slowing of metabolism. All those reports are obvious fabrications. When you are trying to get everyone fed, you spend so much time jumping that you don't get to eat. If one isn't out of milk the other has just turned his over. Then there is the fact that you don't have much time to sit down. You are either rescuing the cat, settling fights, opening doors or closing open doors, or just picking up the general flotsam and jetsam of kids. Putting the little ones down for a nap becomes a challenge to not crawl in bed with them.
All in all it has been a joyful few days. It's fun once again to have the laughter of children echoing through the house. The two year old has discovered that the collie will sit for treats. So he has about worn the poor dog out "sitting". The four year old has discovered the delight of being able to go outside with freedom. When your yard is a couple of acres and just blends into the surrounding hay field, you don't worry too much about passing motorists. I can watch them from the windows and listen for their cheerful shouts to keep up with their activities. The little battery operated Ranger has made dozens of trips between the house and the barn. The four year old has become an accomplished driver, completing perfect three point turns to reverse his trip. I know some teens who can't do that.
The thirteen year old has had a vacation. He's usually in charge of the younger ones, but this time he gets to do his own thing. He has spent a lot of time on the computer (with grandma in the room, checking), playing games on his new ipod, or watching movies. Usual kid stuff. He also has been left in charge of helping out with the home chores of watering the calves in the barn and seeing that they are fed.
It's wild, but I've found that I'm actually getting more done with more to do! I think I have become lazy with too much time to get things finished. Yesterday by noon I had cooked two meals, washed and dried two loads of clothes, swept and mopped. Some weeks I don't get that much done.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
I'll Save You
When the kids were young, I used the open windows to monitor their outside activities as I worked in the house. Sometimes I could see them but often I followed their antics by sound. I could hear the dog barking as they ran through the field, hear the sound of the 4-wheeler as they took off for the creek, hear their shouts if the arguments went on too long, or giggles if they were plotting something. You learn to filter "must intervene" sounds from "discuss later" sounds after a while. Although one day they fooled me.
My daughter and her friend, who more or less spent summers with us, showed up in the kitchen one afternoon. They flopped down on the old couch I kept there for guests and confidences. Their mood was mutinous. They had been working with my son at the barn sacking bedding for the state fair. In those days we cut all the corners we could when going to the fair. Instead of buying the ready sacked bedding for the cattle at enormous prices, we had the kids fill old feed sacks with the bedding we used at home and bought in bulk. This was an all day process of one holding the sack while the other forked in the bedding from a huge pile beside the barn.
My son, being older, had appointed himself the boss. This hadn't pleased the girls too much, especially since, according to them, this involved a lot more bossing than working. I suspect they hadn't helped the situation when the friend, in the spirit of "I don't really have to take your orders" pulled a lawn chair to the pile of bedding and proceeded to place it on top and sit and give directions from it! Before the situation came to all out warfare the girls decided it might be wise to take a break at the house.
While we were discussing this over a few cookies, I became conscious of a strange sound coming through the windows. At first I didn't pay much attention to it, then the words slowly sank in. "Help me! Someone, please help me!" The sound was faint and increasingly desperate. Immediately my mother's antenna started quivering. This was serious. The voice was faint and panicked. Immediately I had a vision of my son, trapped under a tractor, his life fading fast. Without a pause I ran from the house, dishcloth flapping madly, yelling "I'm coming! I'm coming!" On feet given speed by terror I flew to the barn and around the corner to the quivering voice. There in front of me was my son, struggling mightily. He had filled a two-wheeled home-made farm cart with bedding and started up the slight incline to the barn. The hill combined with weight had put him into a bind where he couldn't go any further and if he tried to back up it was going to get away from him and roll all the way back down. He was caught but hardly in a life threatening situation.
The look on his face when his mother came tearing around the barn waving her dishcloth and screaming "I' ll save you!!" will stay in my mind forever. Probably his, too.
My daughter and her friend, who more or less spent summers with us, showed up in the kitchen one afternoon. They flopped down on the old couch I kept there for guests and confidences. Their mood was mutinous. They had been working with my son at the barn sacking bedding for the state fair. In those days we cut all the corners we could when going to the fair. Instead of buying the ready sacked bedding for the cattle at enormous prices, we had the kids fill old feed sacks with the bedding we used at home and bought in bulk. This was an all day process of one holding the sack while the other forked in the bedding from a huge pile beside the barn.
My son, being older, had appointed himself the boss. This hadn't pleased the girls too much, especially since, according to them, this involved a lot more bossing than working. I suspect they hadn't helped the situation when the friend, in the spirit of "I don't really have to take your orders" pulled a lawn chair to the pile of bedding and proceeded to place it on top and sit and give directions from it! Before the situation came to all out warfare the girls decided it might be wise to take a break at the house.
While we were discussing this over a few cookies, I became conscious of a strange sound coming through the windows. At first I didn't pay much attention to it, then the words slowly sank in. "Help me! Someone, please help me!" The sound was faint and increasingly desperate. Immediately my mother's antenna started quivering. This was serious. The voice was faint and panicked. Immediately I had a vision of my son, trapped under a tractor, his life fading fast. Without a pause I ran from the house, dishcloth flapping madly, yelling "I'm coming! I'm coming!" On feet given speed by terror I flew to the barn and around the corner to the quivering voice. There in front of me was my son, struggling mightily. He had filled a two-wheeled home-made farm cart with bedding and started up the slight incline to the barn. The hill combined with weight had put him into a bind where he couldn't go any further and if he tried to back up it was going to get away from him and roll all the way back down. He was caught but hardly in a life threatening situation.
The look on his face when his mother came tearing around the barn waving her dishcloth and screaming "I' ll save you!!" will stay in my mind forever. Probably his, too.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
42 Years and Counting
Today is my 42nd wedding anniversary. Somehow that sounds so old! I remember when my parents had their 25th anniversary and I thought that was forever! Where did the years go? A lot of them were spent making beds ( approximately 26,745 times), cooking meals (45,000 more or less), washing clothes (10,920 loads), Ironing (over 10,000 shirts starched and ironed), and driving to get parts, children, groceries, pets, friends, supplies, etc. about 150,000 miles and 8 cars . In my spare time I've kept records, canned, sewed clothes, painted houses, wallpapered, entertained, decorated, cleaned, and watched football, basketball, baseball, golf, and even soccer and rugby!! Occasionally, I have fenced, worked cattle, fed show heifers, washed pigs, driven tractors, picked up hay bales, mowed yards, planted flower beds, buried pets, and built duck pens. In between I have cuddled kids (and grandkids), laughed a lot and loved enormously.
I haven't done these things alone. I've been lucky enough that we have always worked as a team. Saying that makes me think of a team of mules and that's about right. In a team of mules or horses they seldom pull equally. There are always times when one is caught having to pull the extra weight or load, especially on rough ground. Sometimes, one or the other just doesn't feel up to pulling their full weight, so the other one has to help by pulling just a little harder. In a team effort they each do a little extra to help when it is needed and the load just keeps moving along. If you are watching a team, you never notice this interaction, you just see a strong force doing their job. That's the real meaning of "team work".
It hasn't been all work either. I married a man who loves people. He works hard and is always ready to help another, no matter what the job. However, when he takes a break he likes to have people around. Nothing makes him grin more than the prospect of company and time spent with friends. If he doesn't have friends around he makes friends of the people that are around. Once when we were young marrieds we were dreaming about vacations we would like to take. He stopped the process cold when he announced that the worst thing would be to take this dream vacation with just me! Now, I thought about just killing him on the spot, but the more I thought about it I knew what he was saying. For him, the fun of any trip is the people that you have around you. He wanted to share his fun with his friends, not just his spouse. It really didn't mean that he didn't want me to go, just he liked a party to go along with it. It's an attitude that has kept things lively and fun for many years. We've met lots of people, had lots of fun and shared a lot of laughs!
Now that sounds a little like he is insensitive to my needs. Not at all. There has never been a time that I haven't known that I was cherished and loved. I can honestly say that I have never doubted his love or commitment to me and our marriage. He's not often romantic, in the traditional sense. Soft music and candlelit dinners are not things I associate with him. However, no one can match the romance of taking a ride at twilight in the Ranger and watching the sunset on your land while you watch your cattle peacefully grazing. Then there is the magic of sharing the moment when the cow you have struggled with through a difficult birth, nuzzles the still wet calf, and moans that soft, mama sound that says "hello, little one" in any language. There is the romance of holding hands through a high school graduation, a wedding, a baptism, in the doctor's office, and a hundred other moments when only a touch will suffice. There is the romance of looking across a room and sending the message that I am tired and ready to go home and having him promptly make a move to leave. That's real love.
Did we know what we were getting into 42 years ago? Not in our wildest dreams (or nightmares). Would we do it again--absolutely! Has it been perfect? Ain't nothin' perfect!! But it has has been pretty, darned good!! Good enough that I'm looking forward to the next 25-30 years.
I haven't done these things alone. I've been lucky enough that we have always worked as a team. Saying that makes me think of a team of mules and that's about right. In a team of mules or horses they seldom pull equally. There are always times when one is caught having to pull the extra weight or load, especially on rough ground. Sometimes, one or the other just doesn't feel up to pulling their full weight, so the other one has to help by pulling just a little harder. In a team effort they each do a little extra to help when it is needed and the load just keeps moving along. If you are watching a team, you never notice this interaction, you just see a strong force doing their job. That's the real meaning of "team work".
It hasn't been all work either. I married a man who loves people. He works hard and is always ready to help another, no matter what the job. However, when he takes a break he likes to have people around. Nothing makes him grin more than the prospect of company and time spent with friends. If he doesn't have friends around he makes friends of the people that are around. Once when we were young marrieds we were dreaming about vacations we would like to take. He stopped the process cold when he announced that the worst thing would be to take this dream vacation with just me! Now, I thought about just killing him on the spot, but the more I thought about it I knew what he was saying. For him, the fun of any trip is the people that you have around you. He wanted to share his fun with his friends, not just his spouse. It really didn't mean that he didn't want me to go, just he liked a party to go along with it. It's an attitude that has kept things lively and fun for many years. We've met lots of people, had lots of fun and shared a lot of laughs!
Now that sounds a little like he is insensitive to my needs. Not at all. There has never been a time that I haven't known that I was cherished and loved. I can honestly say that I have never doubted his love or commitment to me and our marriage. He's not often romantic, in the traditional sense. Soft music and candlelit dinners are not things I associate with him. However, no one can match the romance of taking a ride at twilight in the Ranger and watching the sunset on your land while you watch your cattle peacefully grazing. Then there is the magic of sharing the moment when the cow you have struggled with through a difficult birth, nuzzles the still wet calf, and moans that soft, mama sound that says "hello, little one" in any language. There is the romance of holding hands through a high school graduation, a wedding, a baptism, in the doctor's office, and a hundred other moments when only a touch will suffice. There is the romance of looking across a room and sending the message that I am tired and ready to go home and having him promptly make a move to leave. That's real love.
Did we know what we were getting into 42 years ago? Not in our wildest dreams (or nightmares). Would we do it again--absolutely! Has it been perfect? Ain't nothin' perfect!! But it has has been pretty, darned good!! Good enough that I'm looking forward to the next 25-30 years.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Songs of Praise
Wednesday nights are very special.
Our church doesn't have Wednesday night services, but we praise the Lord anyway. On Wednesday we have choir practice. We are a very small church so the choir is small, too. We have four altos, 5-7 sopranos, 2 bases and 1 tenor. For Christmas and Easter cantatas we might pull in a few extras for a few weeks, but mostly it's just the few of us. What we do have is an outstanding music director. He has taught us to sing--literally.
Higo is from Brazil. He attended school in a small Baptist college in our state. Several years ago our minister got the wonderful idea to use the music students at this college as music directors for our church. For some reason, this college has formed an alliance with Brazil. They have a very large student population, most of them with ties to the music college. These gifted students
have opened our eyes to the culture and warmth of their country. They come to the US, some of them with very limited English, but all of them with a great determination to achieve an education.
Through these students we have expanded our horizons and opened our hearts. The first student we had lived in the trailer that my father occupied during his life here. We thought, in our ignorance, that he would be thrilled to have such a nice home. We found out later that he came from a very affluent family. His grandfather was a minister of some note and a professor at the university. He lived in Fontaleza a beautiful, coastal city. His parents had immigrated to the United States and now lived in Orlando, Fl. He was much more cosmopolitan than any of us in our small town.
What these students have is a tremendous dedication to getting an education. In their country it is very difficult, if not impossible, to get into a college. Many, many apply and very few are accepted. They simply do not have the educational opportunities that we take for granted. It is very expensive for parents to send them to the US. The Brazilian dollar trades at 2 to 1 for US dollars. Many of the parents will make huge sacrifices to keep their students here for four years. Also, because travel is very expensive many will not see their children again for at least one year and maybe more. Thank goodness for computers--their main contact.
Higo, our current director, came here with limited English. The first time he tried to direct us it was like playing charades. He would pantomime and we would guess what he meant. However, when he started playing the piano we didn't need a translation for the extraordinary music he created. We have grown together. He now is so fluent in English that he can make quite subtle and funny jokes. We have learned musically until we can follow his directions without making too many embarrassing mistakes. He has lifted us way beyond what we ever dreamed we could do. More than once we have looked at the music he has selected and been positive that we could never accomplish it. However, he has led us patiently until a miracle has happened and a beautiful piece of music appears. He has made us dream, and reach for our dreams, and sometimes we even reach our dreams.
He has done all of this with a deep, abiding faith that makes us all feel lacking. He has taught us that each hymn is literally a praise song for God. He has taught us that faith is the bottom line in all of your life. He lives his faith. We have been blessed by his talent, his willingness to teach us, and the opportunity to meet his family and learn about his country. However, we have been blessed most by his example of faith.
Our church doesn't have Wednesday night services, but we praise the Lord anyway. On Wednesday we have choir practice. We are a very small church so the choir is small, too. We have four altos, 5-7 sopranos, 2 bases and 1 tenor. For Christmas and Easter cantatas we might pull in a few extras for a few weeks, but mostly it's just the few of us. What we do have is an outstanding music director. He has taught us to sing--literally.
Higo is from Brazil. He attended school in a small Baptist college in our state. Several years ago our minister got the wonderful idea to use the music students at this college as music directors for our church. For some reason, this college has formed an alliance with Brazil. They have a very large student population, most of them with ties to the music college. These gifted students
have opened our eyes to the culture and warmth of their country. They come to the US, some of them with very limited English, but all of them with a great determination to achieve an education.
Through these students we have expanded our horizons and opened our hearts. The first student we had lived in the trailer that my father occupied during his life here. We thought, in our ignorance, that he would be thrilled to have such a nice home. We found out later that he came from a very affluent family. His grandfather was a minister of some note and a professor at the university. He lived in Fontaleza a beautiful, coastal city. His parents had immigrated to the United States and now lived in Orlando, Fl. He was much more cosmopolitan than any of us in our small town.
What these students have is a tremendous dedication to getting an education. In their country it is very difficult, if not impossible, to get into a college. Many, many apply and very few are accepted. They simply do not have the educational opportunities that we take for granted. It is very expensive for parents to send them to the US. The Brazilian dollar trades at 2 to 1 for US dollars. Many of the parents will make huge sacrifices to keep their students here for four years. Also, because travel is very expensive many will not see their children again for at least one year and maybe more. Thank goodness for computers--their main contact.
Higo, our current director, came here with limited English. The first time he tried to direct us it was like playing charades. He would pantomime and we would guess what he meant. However, when he started playing the piano we didn't need a translation for the extraordinary music he created. We have grown together. He now is so fluent in English that he can make quite subtle and funny jokes. We have learned musically until we can follow his directions without making too many embarrassing mistakes. He has lifted us way beyond what we ever dreamed we could do. More than once we have looked at the music he has selected and been positive that we could never accomplish it. However, he has led us patiently until a miracle has happened and a beautiful piece of music appears. He has made us dream, and reach for our dreams, and sometimes we even reach our dreams.
He has done all of this with a deep, abiding faith that makes us all feel lacking. He has taught us that each hymn is literally a praise song for God. He has taught us that faith is the bottom line in all of your life. He lives his faith. We have been blessed by his talent, his willingness to teach us, and the opportunity to meet his family and learn about his country. However, we have been blessed most by his example of faith.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Small World
It really is a small world.
Thirty-eight years ago Bob accepted a job to open an office for a lending company for farmers in a small town. We had passed through there going to and from school, but didn't know anything about it. It was pretty and a lot like the small community that we grew up in, but that was the extent of our knowledge of it. Of course, the first thing we did was call our parents and tell them the news. This would mean that we would be only about one hour from home, which tickled them. The first thing my dad said was, "I think I know someone from there. Let me check."
Sure enough, the next night we get a call. There was a couple who lived just up the street from my parents, who had been friends with my grandparents. He had originally come from this same community and just happened to have a nephew who still lived there and was a real estate agent. Small world. I also believe in "meant to be". We called this young man, made an appointment to see some houses on a Saturday morning on the way to see my sister. We looked at three houses, talked all night and made an offer on our way back through on Sunday evening. An impulse that put us in a perfect location with great neighbors for the next 13 years. It was meant to be.
Then the small world part kicks in again. Around the corner lived a great couple with a large family. Some were grown, some still in high school. In talking to this couple I realized that one of their daughters was a friend from college. In fact, we had pledged the same sorority. For years after that, when she came home she would trot around the corner for a quick catch-up visit.
Life moves on. Our children grew up, we moved to the country, she moved to another town. We still kept in touch, sort of, through her mother, but we really lost touch. Then this morning I received a call from her mother. With a catch in her voice she said, "you know our Kate has cancer". It seems she is taking chemo and losing her hair. Her mother said that she remembered how good my wigs looked and wanted to help her daughter find a perfect one. I immediately gathered up my wig catalogs, that I keep on hand for just this reason. I took them to her house and had a long talk with her. I think she felt better. I did love my wigs. They were cheap, synthetic, and kept me from feeling that I looked sick. I was so glad that I could help in a small way with this traumatic time.
It is a small world.
Thirty-eight years ago Bob accepted a job to open an office for a lending company for farmers in a small town. We had passed through there going to and from school, but didn't know anything about it. It was pretty and a lot like the small community that we grew up in, but that was the extent of our knowledge of it. Of course, the first thing we did was call our parents and tell them the news. This would mean that we would be only about one hour from home, which tickled them. The first thing my dad said was, "I think I know someone from there. Let me check."
Sure enough, the next night we get a call. There was a couple who lived just up the street from my parents, who had been friends with my grandparents. He had originally come from this same community and just happened to have a nephew who still lived there and was a real estate agent. Small world. I also believe in "meant to be". We called this young man, made an appointment to see some houses on a Saturday morning on the way to see my sister. We looked at three houses, talked all night and made an offer on our way back through on Sunday evening. An impulse that put us in a perfect location with great neighbors for the next 13 years. It was meant to be.
Then the small world part kicks in again. Around the corner lived a great couple with a large family. Some were grown, some still in high school. In talking to this couple I realized that one of their daughters was a friend from college. In fact, we had pledged the same sorority. For years after that, when she came home she would trot around the corner for a quick catch-up visit.
Life moves on. Our children grew up, we moved to the country, she moved to another town. We still kept in touch, sort of, through her mother, but we really lost touch. Then this morning I received a call from her mother. With a catch in her voice she said, "you know our Kate has cancer". It seems she is taking chemo and losing her hair. Her mother said that she remembered how good my wigs looked and wanted to help her daughter find a perfect one. I immediately gathered up my wig catalogs, that I keep on hand for just this reason. I took them to her house and had a long talk with her. I think she felt better. I did love my wigs. They were cheap, synthetic, and kept me from feeling that I looked sick. I was so glad that I could help in a small way with this traumatic time.
It is a small world.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Summer Time
We have been having a string of hot weather. Temperatures have been topping out over 95 most days and have hit 100 several times. Add in our usual humidity and you have some miserable weather. I have coped, like a lot of people, by staying inside in the air conditioning. I can't help but wonder about how we coped when we didn't have central air. Don't get me wrong, I do remember those days. I just don't remember how we managed.
I can see my mother now, all dressed up, driving us to church. When she would get out of the car she would have sweated through the back of her blouse. She didn't go "Oh, I have to change. I'm all sweaty!!" She just went to church. Everyone was sweaty and hot. Cars didn't have air conditioning, churches didn't have air conditioning--you just dealt with it. Now, I wear a sweater to church because it is so cold inside that I get chilled.
I remember my dad talking about sleeping porches. Big porches, usually upstairs off the bedrooms, that everyone moved out onto in the hot summer nights to sleep. The boys would all sleep together on pallets made out of quilts and tell stories when they couldn't sleep. Sometimes grandpa would join them and tell even bigger stories. If they got too rowdy, then grandma would come out and shush them. As a kid, we didn't have porches to sleep on in town, so we made do with windows and fans. My dad was a master at air control. He would aim a big fan out the upstairs window and close all the windows but the bedroom. A cool breeze would then be pulled into the house, over the beds, and out the upstairs. Along with the breeze would come all the summer sounds. Katydids, frogs, crickets, sleepy night bird sounds, and rustling trees. It was a lullaby that few could resist.
As kids we stayed outside all day. For one thing, the houses were hot, so staying inside didn't have any benefit. While, if we went outside, then we were at least out of immediate adult supervision. One of my favorite places was the cool, damp area behind the huge hydrangea bushes on the side of the house. Once you crawled through the foliage you were in a perfect kidsized area all shady and private. It was a great place to catch rolly-polly bugs and watch them roll into perfect little gray balls. It was also a great place to hide from older sisters or share childish secrets with a friend. I don't remember ever being afraid of the creepy, crawlies that also lived in that area. Even spiders, which send me running for a broom now, didn't seem to bother us.
Even as a kid I knew that kitchens were not a pleasant place to hang around. Even with the ever present fan pushing air around, it was a hot place to work. Meals tended to be quick and cold. Cold sandwiches, fresh fruit, cottage cheese, and lots of iced tea. I swear my dad invented the chef's salad. He loved to cook and he loved salads. So he would make a huge salad with everything he could find left-over in the refrigerator. In would go the basics, lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, radishes. After that might come anything. He would dice up leftover roast, cold potatoes, olives, pickles, cheese, broccoli, cauliflower, and toss it into the mix. Then he would add my mothers special Italian dressing and toss it all together. The result was never the same twice and always delicious. A whole meal. Probably the greatest moment in his life was when he saw the first salad bar and he could build his own in a restaurant.
You know, there are a lot of disadvantages of air conditioning. Yes, we are cool, but we've lost the front porch, the outdoor sounds through an open window, long, lazy talks under a shade tree and the connections you had with others who were outside to beat the heat. Now we tend to isolate ourselves in our own little cool pod. That's life I guess, you gain a little and lose a little, all at the same time. Frankly, at 100 degrees, I think it might be a fair trade-off.
I can see my mother now, all dressed up, driving us to church. When she would get out of the car she would have sweated through the back of her blouse. She didn't go "Oh, I have to change. I'm all sweaty!!" She just went to church. Everyone was sweaty and hot. Cars didn't have air conditioning, churches didn't have air conditioning--you just dealt with it. Now, I wear a sweater to church because it is so cold inside that I get chilled.
I remember my dad talking about sleeping porches. Big porches, usually upstairs off the bedrooms, that everyone moved out onto in the hot summer nights to sleep. The boys would all sleep together on pallets made out of quilts and tell stories when they couldn't sleep. Sometimes grandpa would join them and tell even bigger stories. If they got too rowdy, then grandma would come out and shush them. As a kid, we didn't have porches to sleep on in town, so we made do with windows and fans. My dad was a master at air control. He would aim a big fan out the upstairs window and close all the windows but the bedroom. A cool breeze would then be pulled into the house, over the beds, and out the upstairs. Along with the breeze would come all the summer sounds. Katydids, frogs, crickets, sleepy night bird sounds, and rustling trees. It was a lullaby that few could resist.
As kids we stayed outside all day. For one thing, the houses were hot, so staying inside didn't have any benefit. While, if we went outside, then we were at least out of immediate adult supervision. One of my favorite places was the cool, damp area behind the huge hydrangea bushes on the side of the house. Once you crawled through the foliage you were in a perfect kidsized area all shady and private. It was a great place to catch rolly-polly bugs and watch them roll into perfect little gray balls. It was also a great place to hide from older sisters or share childish secrets with a friend. I don't remember ever being afraid of the creepy, crawlies that also lived in that area. Even spiders, which send me running for a broom now, didn't seem to bother us.
Even as a kid I knew that kitchens were not a pleasant place to hang around. Even with the ever present fan pushing air around, it was a hot place to work. Meals tended to be quick and cold. Cold sandwiches, fresh fruit, cottage cheese, and lots of iced tea. I swear my dad invented the chef's salad. He loved to cook and he loved salads. So he would make a huge salad with everything he could find left-over in the refrigerator. In would go the basics, lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, radishes. After that might come anything. He would dice up leftover roast, cold potatoes, olives, pickles, cheese, broccoli, cauliflower, and toss it into the mix. Then he would add my mothers special Italian dressing and toss it all together. The result was never the same twice and always delicious. A whole meal. Probably the greatest moment in his life was when he saw the first salad bar and he could build his own in a restaurant.
You know, there are a lot of disadvantages of air conditioning. Yes, we are cool, but we've lost the front porch, the outdoor sounds through an open window, long, lazy talks under a shade tree and the connections you had with others who were outside to beat the heat. Now we tend to isolate ourselves in our own little cool pod. That's life I guess, you gain a little and lose a little, all at the same time. Frankly, at 100 degrees, I think it might be a fair trade-off.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
The Big C
Nine years ago this month I was diagnosed with breast cancer. No lump, no signs, just a suspicious group of white dots on my annual mammogram. It seemed so unreal that everyone was so serious about what looked like dust specks on the film. I went from "you see what?" to choosing whether to have a breast saving lumpectomy or a mastectomy in only minutes. I think the hardest part was everyone pushing you for quick answers when you don't even grasp what the question is. It was all so rushed. Suddenly I was being bombarded with information and questions in what seemed like a foreign language. I needed translations for the simplest statements. Words like carcinoma, stages, FSH testing, chemotherapy, lymphectomy, lumpectomy, mastectomy, radiation, all bounced around in my head, while I tried to make sense of all the meanings. While the whole time a voice inside was screaming I HAVE CANCER!!
The thing is that in a personal crisis, the world doesn't stop turning. You still have to make decisions about the day to day things, too. In just over a month my husband and I were leaving on a long awaited dream vacation. A cruise to Alaska. Did we just cancel it and lose our money or was it unreasonable to even think of our dreams at a time like this? Thank goodness for an understanding doctor who listened to our confusion and distress. I wanted to take this cruise. I was facing the possibility that this might be the last big trip we would take. I wanted to have this time with my husband. My doctor encouraged me to not give up our plans, but to have the surgery and go on. He assured me that in a month I would feel well enough to go and enjoy the trip. Most people thought we both were crazy, but it worked. We had a wonderful trip and plan on doing it again!
That was my motto through all the chemo and radiation. I tried not to let it keep me from doing the fun things. It wasn't a fun time but there were some wonderful moments. I took chemo every three weeks for four treatments. They really made me sick for about four days, then I would feel a little better each day. About the time for the next treatment I would feel really good. There were three couples that were very supportive and close. Just before the next treatment we would all go out to dinner and celebrate my "last supper" before being sick again. They were wonderful dinners, full of laughter and fun.
I thought that losing my hair would be terrible. However, it really was just another little bump in a time of huge hills. My beautician of 30 years helped me select several inexpensive wigs and then styled them to more closely resemble my haircut. I wore them everywhere and loved them. There are some real advantages to wigs. The synthetic ones, like mine, don't need styling, just a little fluffing each morning. Also, they don't get messy in wind, rain and convertibles! I could pop my wig on and be ready to go in about one minute. My daughter kept teasing me that I wouldn't ever go back to real hair since this was so easy.
Having cancer changed me. It made me look at life differently. It made me appreciate those who love me. It made me realize that people did care. It made me laugh more and delight in every day. It's made me realize that there are no guarantees. Tomorrow may not come, so don't waste today. The hardest thing has been that although I have been cancer free for nine years, I am not cured. It could come back at any time. I once met a lady who had been cancer free for 25 years then had a recurrence. It has made me realize that I can't relax and become lazy, I have to LIVE every day!
The thing is that in a personal crisis, the world doesn't stop turning. You still have to make decisions about the day to day things, too. In just over a month my husband and I were leaving on a long awaited dream vacation. A cruise to Alaska. Did we just cancel it and lose our money or was it unreasonable to even think of our dreams at a time like this? Thank goodness for an understanding doctor who listened to our confusion and distress. I wanted to take this cruise. I was facing the possibility that this might be the last big trip we would take. I wanted to have this time with my husband. My doctor encouraged me to not give up our plans, but to have the surgery and go on. He assured me that in a month I would feel well enough to go and enjoy the trip. Most people thought we both were crazy, but it worked. We had a wonderful trip and plan on doing it again!
That was my motto through all the chemo and radiation. I tried not to let it keep me from doing the fun things. It wasn't a fun time but there were some wonderful moments. I took chemo every three weeks for four treatments. They really made me sick for about four days, then I would feel a little better each day. About the time for the next treatment I would feel really good. There were three couples that were very supportive and close. Just before the next treatment we would all go out to dinner and celebrate my "last supper" before being sick again. They were wonderful dinners, full of laughter and fun.
I thought that losing my hair would be terrible. However, it really was just another little bump in a time of huge hills. My beautician of 30 years helped me select several inexpensive wigs and then styled them to more closely resemble my haircut. I wore them everywhere and loved them. There are some real advantages to wigs. The synthetic ones, like mine, don't need styling, just a little fluffing each morning. Also, they don't get messy in wind, rain and convertibles! I could pop my wig on and be ready to go in about one minute. My daughter kept teasing me that I wouldn't ever go back to real hair since this was so easy.
Having cancer changed me. It made me look at life differently. It made me appreciate those who love me. It made me realize that people did care. It made me laugh more and delight in every day. It's made me realize that there are no guarantees. Tomorrow may not come, so don't waste today. The hardest thing has been that although I have been cancer free for nine years, I am not cured. It could come back at any time. I once met a lady who had been cancer free for 25 years then had a recurrence. It has made me realize that I can't relax and become lazy, I have to LIVE every day!
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Chicago Drivers
We just returned from our first visit to Chicago, home of Oprah, traffic, Lake Michigan, traffic, the Cubs, traffic, beautiful cityscape, and did I mention lots of traffic????
People definitely drive differently in the city--at least this city. The sheer numbers were staggering, but the manners were unbelievable. Down here in the south in our little towns we tend to treat others as we would like to be treated. That means we are courteous, considerate, and even a little understanding. It's a little different when you are battling a few hundred people for your spot in the road.
Our first lesson was that you don't use your turn signal. If you signal your intentions to change lanes then everyone hustles to close up any minute gap there may be so you can't possibly change. It's like it is a grand conspiracy to be sure that you can't get anywhere other than where you are. I told my hubby that they all drive like only the first 10 people are going to be allowed in, so they have to be first. Competitive, is putting it mildly.
Lesson two was that you can't leave more than a foot or two between cars. If you do someone will cut in front of you at 70 mph, whether there is room or not. We drive with the understanding that it takes more than a foot or two to stop at 70 mph so we leave a little more room. My hubby got over than pretty quickly. By now I am clutching the dash with one hand and the door with the other.
Lesson three is that all roads are toll roads. I didn't even realize that interstate highways could be toll roads. For $15 dollars you can go anywhere in Chicago. The trick is to have a pass to get through the toll stations. Of course, we didn't have one, so we had to go to the cash booth. That means cutting across 10 lanes of traffic (they are always at the spot where you have traffic entering and exiting) and dash into one of 6-10 booths. Then all the 6-10 lanes converge into one lane and enter the highway again. Now I have one foot on the dash and am clutching the seat belt with my teeth.
Lesson four, the traffic will stop. You can just bet that at some point you will be stalled in traffic with a couple of hundred other drivers who are desperate to get somewhere in a hurry. Not a fun scene at all. Thank goodness for air conditioning, I hate to think what I would have heard with all the windows down.
Lesson five, the horn is necessary for driving. It must be because all the drivers use theirs a lot!! Now for us little country people having someone blasting away on a horn every few minutes is a little unnerving. They blow if you slow down, they blow if you don't slow down, they blow if you don't start up fast enough, they blow if you stop too fast, they blow just to relieve some of the frustration of being stopped at all.
This all being said, we did love Chicago. The city is beautiful, the lake is magnificent, we had a great time and will go again. Although, I think I will fly and take a taxi!
People definitely drive differently in the city--at least this city. The sheer numbers were staggering, but the manners were unbelievable. Down here in the south in our little towns we tend to treat others as we would like to be treated. That means we are courteous, considerate, and even a little understanding. It's a little different when you are battling a few hundred people for your spot in the road.
Our first lesson was that you don't use your turn signal. If you signal your intentions to change lanes then everyone hustles to close up any minute gap there may be so you can't possibly change. It's like it is a grand conspiracy to be sure that you can't get anywhere other than where you are. I told my hubby that they all drive like only the first 10 people are going to be allowed in, so they have to be first. Competitive, is putting it mildly.
Lesson two was that you can't leave more than a foot or two between cars. If you do someone will cut in front of you at 70 mph, whether there is room or not. We drive with the understanding that it takes more than a foot or two to stop at 70 mph so we leave a little more room. My hubby got over than pretty quickly. By now I am clutching the dash with one hand and the door with the other.
Lesson three is that all roads are toll roads. I didn't even realize that interstate highways could be toll roads. For $15 dollars you can go anywhere in Chicago. The trick is to have a pass to get through the toll stations. Of course, we didn't have one, so we had to go to the cash booth. That means cutting across 10 lanes of traffic (they are always at the spot where you have traffic entering and exiting) and dash into one of 6-10 booths. Then all the 6-10 lanes converge into one lane and enter the highway again. Now I have one foot on the dash and am clutching the seat belt with my teeth.
Lesson four, the traffic will stop. You can just bet that at some point you will be stalled in traffic with a couple of hundred other drivers who are desperate to get somewhere in a hurry. Not a fun scene at all. Thank goodness for air conditioning, I hate to think what I would have heard with all the windows down.
Lesson five, the horn is necessary for driving. It must be because all the drivers use theirs a lot!! Now for us little country people having someone blasting away on a horn every few minutes is a little unnerving. They blow if you slow down, they blow if you don't slow down, they blow if you don't start up fast enough, they blow if you stop too fast, they blow just to relieve some of the frustration of being stopped at all.
This all being said, we did love Chicago. The city is beautiful, the lake is magnificent, we had a great time and will go again. Although, I think I will fly and take a taxi!
Monday, August 2, 2010
Class Reunion
Last week-end we attended my hubby's 45th class reunion. Actually it was their first class reunion but celebrating 45 years after graduation. We both attended the same small high school, so I knew his classmates pretty well. His class had about 40 members. Four have passed away, so that brought the number down to 36. Of those, about 21 showed up for the reunion. Which isn't bad. The worst part is that four or five that didn't show up still live in the same little community. We would have enjoyed seeing them, too.
Bob was the class vice-president, voted most likely to succeed, selected as Mr. Senior by the faculty and was generally a nice guy. Of course, if you don't have many in your class you have a better chance of getting selected for things. His best friend and the guy we double dated with in school, was the president. It fell to him to get the ball rolling to organize the reunion and host the meal. It's funny how often you get it right. He was definitely the guy for the job, but how did they know that when he was 18? Bob was picked most likely to succeed and he has. He probably wasn't the most successful in their class but he has had the drive and ability to run his own business and done very well. Did that drive, aggressiveness, dependability, astuteness show up when he was in high school? We didn't always know. Some have accomplished more than we ever thought possible, some never reached the potential you knew they had. Some were very content and satisfied, some seemed to feel they had missed their opportunities. Some were divorced, some never married and some (like us) have been happily married for over 40 years.
The fun was in getting to know everyone again and discovering that the person you knew is still there, even though the packaging has changed. It wasn't long until the class clown was taking jibes at one of the girls. Immediately, you flashed back to classes when those two had gone at it just the same way. Stories were told and memories flowed. All in all it was a good evening.
Bob was the class vice-president, voted most likely to succeed, selected as Mr. Senior by the faculty and was generally a nice guy. Of course, if you don't have many in your class you have a better chance of getting selected for things. His best friend and the guy we double dated with in school, was the president. It fell to him to get the ball rolling to organize the reunion and host the meal. It's funny how often you get it right. He was definitely the guy for the job, but how did they know that when he was 18? Bob was picked most likely to succeed and he has. He probably wasn't the most successful in their class but he has had the drive and ability to run his own business and done very well. Did that drive, aggressiveness, dependability, astuteness show up when he was in high school? We didn't always know. Some have accomplished more than we ever thought possible, some never reached the potential you knew they had. Some were very content and satisfied, some seemed to feel they had missed their opportunities. Some were divorced, some never married and some (like us) have been happily married for over 40 years.
The fun was in getting to know everyone again and discovering that the person you knew is still there, even though the packaging has changed. It wasn't long until the class clown was taking jibes at one of the girls. Immediately, you flashed back to classes when those two had gone at it just the same way. Stories were told and memories flowed. All in all it was a good evening.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Lost Phone
This week I have endured one of life's most trying times. I lost my cell phone. We just don't realize how addicted we are to being in constant communication until that link fails. I know the phone is either in the house or one of two other places--church or the grocery. It was one of those weeks when I just didn't go anywhere. I had it on Monday then I didn't have it a day later. We have searched everywhere. You know the drill, when you have looked in all the possible places you start on the impossible. To make the search more fun, while it rang one time that evidently was it's last little bit of battery. So now I can't even call it to locate it.
After a week I gave in and decided to buy a new one. Fortunately, my contract was almost up so I qualified for the new contract discount. That was about my only bit of luck. Dealing with phone companies is only rivaled by dealing with satellite television companies for complete frustration. I can't fault the little store in our hometown. They were as helpful and considerate as they could be. They let me play with phones to my heart's content and even encouraged me to take one home to see how I liked it. Then after talking to my daughter I decided that since I already had an ipod, I would splurge and get an iphone. Then I could switch all my apps over to the iphone and as a bonus I would already be familiar with how it worked. So back I go to my local store to make the switch. Wrong. It seems that ATT doesn't allow local stores to sell the iphone. You have to go to a corporate store, a 30 mile trip. My effort to support the local economy just took a big hit.
My local store actually encouraged me to make the trip, since they agreed that it made since for me to combine the two gizmos.
So off I go to make my purchase at the corporate store. I arrive to discover it is take a number and wait your turn. There were people everywhere and three very harried employees trying to keep up. I get my chance and discover that the iphone4 is backordered for 3-4 weeks. Now I am faced with the choice of buying the 3G iphone or living another month without my phone. I chose instant gratification and go with the older model. Good news, it will cost less. Wrong. It used to sell for $100 but since the iphone4 has come out they have raised the price to $200, BUT you get a cover, charger and protection plan thrown in. Two things I would have bought cheaper somewhere else and one thing I wouldn't have bought anyway. Why do I always feel like I have been taken for a fool when I deal with these companies? I feel like the victim of a scam artist.
The good news is that I really like my phone. I'm learning to text to my kids and love having the advantages of the ipod without having to hunt wifi. Now, if I can just figure out how to change everything over to the phone. Maybe one of the grandkids can help me.
After a week I gave in and decided to buy a new one. Fortunately, my contract was almost up so I qualified for the new contract discount. That was about my only bit of luck. Dealing with phone companies is only rivaled by dealing with satellite television companies for complete frustration. I can't fault the little store in our hometown. They were as helpful and considerate as they could be. They let me play with phones to my heart's content and even encouraged me to take one home to see how I liked it. Then after talking to my daughter I decided that since I already had an ipod, I would splurge and get an iphone. Then I could switch all my apps over to the iphone and as a bonus I would already be familiar with how it worked. So back I go to my local store to make the switch. Wrong. It seems that ATT doesn't allow local stores to sell the iphone. You have to go to a corporate store, a 30 mile trip. My effort to support the local economy just took a big hit.
My local store actually encouraged me to make the trip, since they agreed that it made since for me to combine the two gizmos.
So off I go to make my purchase at the corporate store. I arrive to discover it is take a number and wait your turn. There were people everywhere and three very harried employees trying to keep up. I get my chance and discover that the iphone4 is backordered for 3-4 weeks. Now I am faced with the choice of buying the 3G iphone or living another month without my phone. I chose instant gratification and go with the older model. Good news, it will cost less. Wrong. It used to sell for $100 but since the iphone4 has come out they have raised the price to $200, BUT you get a cover, charger and protection plan thrown in. Two things I would have bought cheaper somewhere else and one thing I wouldn't have bought anyway. Why do I always feel like I have been taken for a fool when I deal with these companies? I feel like the victim of a scam artist.
The good news is that I really like my phone. I'm learning to text to my kids and love having the advantages of the ipod without having to hunt wifi. Now, if I can just figure out how to change everything over to the phone. Maybe one of the grandkids can help me.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Rainy Day
After a wet spring, we have had a hot and mostly dry summer. The occasional "pop-up" showers have given random amounts of rain, but it's been so hot that they often don't help much. Today we are having a real, rainy day. The rain started this morning early. Since hubby had an early meeting today that would last through lunch, he thoughtfully left me in bed. There is something about a rainy day that just makes me want to "cocoon" and do nothing. I gave myself a stern lecture during breakfast to get me going to the gym for my morning workout. I need to work on my lecture technique. It didn't work on me any better than it did on the kids. Before I knew it I was curled up on the couch, deep in a good book.
I don't know what it is about a quiet house with rain gently hitting the roof that makes me feel that tomorrow won't come. I just feel like I am in a vacuum and that the moment will go on forever. No rush, just turn the pages (or in my lazy case just hit the button on my Kindle). Why is it that the much needed quiet time to do work on a report due at an August board meeting, a stack of last week's ironing, way overdue housework, thank you notes to thoughtful friends after my mother-in-law's funeral,just seems to drift away. I know I need to work but I just keep putting everything off.
Whatever the reason, today is a perfect rainy day. I'll hurry like crazy tomorrow but for today, I'm living like I have nothing but time. In this wild, rushed world where every minute is a deadline, that's a pretty wonderful feeling. Got to go, it's time to turn a page.
I don't know what it is about a quiet house with rain gently hitting the roof that makes me feel that tomorrow won't come. I just feel like I am in a vacuum and that the moment will go on forever. No rush, just turn the pages (or in my lazy case just hit the button on my Kindle). Why is it that the much needed quiet time to do work on a report due at an August board meeting, a stack of last week's ironing, way overdue housework, thank you notes to thoughtful friends after my mother-in-law's funeral,just seems to drift away. I know I need to work but I just keep putting everything off.
Whatever the reason, today is a perfect rainy day. I'll hurry like crazy tomorrow but for today, I'm living like I have nothing but time. In this wild, rushed world where every minute is a deadline, that's a pretty wonderful feeling. Got to go, it's time to turn a page.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Running Away
My hubby and I ran away on Saturday.
When you live on a farm you can't just take a day off. It doesn't work. There is always something that needs to be done that gets in the way of drifting off for a nap in the hammock. Frankly, I'm not sure why farmers have things like hammocks, porch swings and lovely porch furniture. We never seem to have time to sit and just "chill" as the kids say. Especailly if you are married to a "part-time" farmer that has to squeeze in all his farming after a full days work. However, sometimes you just have to run off. Saturday was one of those days.
We left about noon and traveled the back roads. I love to do this and hubby usually doesn't, but he needed some pictures of some farm buildings he was insuring a couple of counties over, so back roads it was. It was a beautiful July day in Kentucky. If you haven't been there I probably can't describe how beautiful it is. We passed lovely farm houses in lush, green velvet lawns, shaded by trees that seemed to be embracing the houses. The corn is head high and thanks to some recent rains, green and dense. Corn always seems to be moving. It is as if you can see it growing and straining up to the sun. The roadsides looked like flower beds. Orange Black-eye susans, white daisies, the blue of wild phlox and chickory, the pink of wild roses,red trumpet vine and lots of white queen Ann's lace to fill in. The fields were lush and filled with placid cattle grazing contentedly. Some of the area we traveled through was hilly and forested. I remember as a child (before air condiditoned cars) that passing into these wooded areas brought an immediate inrush of cool air. Everything seemed to be at peace and at rest.
It wasn't long before the peace of the countryside began to reach into us. Even if you live in the midst of this beauty every day, you need to step outside of the daily grind to see the wonders of the world we live in. Too often we are so caught up in getting the next chore done that we fail to appreciate the life we have and the place we live.
Sometimes you just need to run away to appreciate coming home.
When you live on a farm you can't just take a day off. It doesn't work. There is always something that needs to be done that gets in the way of drifting off for a nap in the hammock. Frankly, I'm not sure why farmers have things like hammocks, porch swings and lovely porch furniture. We never seem to have time to sit and just "chill" as the kids say. Especailly if you are married to a "part-time" farmer that has to squeeze in all his farming after a full days work. However, sometimes you just have to run off. Saturday was one of those days.
We left about noon and traveled the back roads. I love to do this and hubby usually doesn't, but he needed some pictures of some farm buildings he was insuring a couple of counties over, so back roads it was. It was a beautiful July day in Kentucky. If you haven't been there I probably can't describe how beautiful it is. We passed lovely farm houses in lush, green velvet lawns, shaded by trees that seemed to be embracing the houses. The corn is head high and thanks to some recent rains, green and dense. Corn always seems to be moving. It is as if you can see it growing and straining up to the sun. The roadsides looked like flower beds. Orange Black-eye susans, white daisies, the blue of wild phlox and chickory, the pink of wild roses,red trumpet vine and lots of white queen Ann's lace to fill in. The fields were lush and filled with placid cattle grazing contentedly. Some of the area we traveled through was hilly and forested. I remember as a child (before air condiditoned cars) that passing into these wooded areas brought an immediate inrush of cool air. Everything seemed to be at peace and at rest.
It wasn't long before the peace of the countryside began to reach into us. Even if you live in the midst of this beauty every day, you need to step outside of the daily grind to see the wonders of the world we live in. Too often we are so caught up in getting the next chore done that we fail to appreciate the life we have and the place we live.
Sometimes you just need to run away to appreciate coming home.
Friday, July 16, 2010
The Garden War
It's July, the temperature is 98 degrees and the humidity is about 95%, so it's time to pick green beans.
My husband and I have war every year when it is time to plant the garden. He loves to plant. He can't wait to get out and plow, disc and till. He's like the grandsons, he just loves to play in the dirt. I have been known to stand in the middle of the plowed area to keep him from making it bigger and bigger. He just loves to prepare the soil. I guess that's part of being a farmer.
The war begins when we get ready to plant. I'm the one who picks the vegetables, hand weeds the rows and crawls around on all fours getting the goodies off of the low growing plants. So, I feel I have a say in how they are planted. He wants to get as many rows as he can in the space. I want them far enough apart to till them after they get grown and not have to crawl through overlapping plants and weed filled rows to pick. I yell "further apart!!!" He moves the string marking the rows closer together. It's a wonder we don't plant in zig-zags instead of rows.
The little plants come through the ground and it looks beautiful! Hubby is out there tilling and making everything look like a model garden. Then it's hay time, hubby is busy and the plants get bigger. The weeds grow faster than the garden plants, so the nice neat garden starts to look like it has little trees growing up and down the rows. The big tiller that he insisted on buying because he can do a whole row with one trip is now too big to go through the rows without tilling up the plants. I can't use the monster tiller because it drags me through the rows like a bulldozer. The weeds start to grow with a gleeful vengeance. Soon the cucumbers are disappearing, the beans are growing in a green lawn of little weeds, the tomatoes are becoming a thicket,and the squash have formed a canopy over the eggplants.
Now, panic sets in. The only hope is a hoe and hand weeding. As soon as we get a shower and the ground softens a little we attack. Off we go pulling weeds, chopping out the rows and trying to find the cucumbers. I work with a will but I don't go quietly. Every weed I pull up is accompanied by muttered threats concerning close rows, tillers, husbands, and next year!! Finally a stalemate is reached. The garden plants can be found and the weeds are at least held a bay if not eliminated.
Then the temperature reaches 98 degrees and it's time to pick. We picked one and half rows last night and got two 7 gallon buckets of beans. These will be snapped, put into jars, pressured and cooled to create about 34 quarts jars of beans. I only have 4 rows of beans left to pick. By then the first rows will be producing beans again. We eat approximately 50 quarts of beans a year. You are beginning to see why I stand in the garden to keep him from plowing up more.
I'm beginning to consider the cost of green beans in the store reasonable and logical. At some point in the picking in the hot sunshine, with sweat dripping in my eyes, I also consider divorce or murder reasonable and logical. Fortunately, the satisfaction of seeing those jars of green beans ready for the family for the winter keep me from following that thought----at least this time!
My husband and I have war every year when it is time to plant the garden. He loves to plant. He can't wait to get out and plow, disc and till. He's like the grandsons, he just loves to play in the dirt. I have been known to stand in the middle of the plowed area to keep him from making it bigger and bigger. He just loves to prepare the soil. I guess that's part of being a farmer.
The war begins when we get ready to plant. I'm the one who picks the vegetables, hand weeds the rows and crawls around on all fours getting the goodies off of the low growing plants. So, I feel I have a say in how they are planted. He wants to get as many rows as he can in the space. I want them far enough apart to till them after they get grown and not have to crawl through overlapping plants and weed filled rows to pick. I yell "further apart!!!" He moves the string marking the rows closer together. It's a wonder we don't plant in zig-zags instead of rows.
The little plants come through the ground and it looks beautiful! Hubby is out there tilling and making everything look like a model garden. Then it's hay time, hubby is busy and the plants get bigger. The weeds grow faster than the garden plants, so the nice neat garden starts to look like it has little trees growing up and down the rows. The big tiller that he insisted on buying because he can do a whole row with one trip is now too big to go through the rows without tilling up the plants. I can't use the monster tiller because it drags me through the rows like a bulldozer. The weeds start to grow with a gleeful vengeance. Soon the cucumbers are disappearing, the beans are growing in a green lawn of little weeds, the tomatoes are becoming a thicket,and the squash have formed a canopy over the eggplants.
Now, panic sets in. The only hope is a hoe and hand weeding. As soon as we get a shower and the ground softens a little we attack. Off we go pulling weeds, chopping out the rows and trying to find the cucumbers. I work with a will but I don't go quietly. Every weed I pull up is accompanied by muttered threats concerning close rows, tillers, husbands, and next year!! Finally a stalemate is reached. The garden plants can be found and the weeds are at least held a bay if not eliminated.
Then the temperature reaches 98 degrees and it's time to pick. We picked one and half rows last night and got two 7 gallon buckets of beans. These will be snapped, put into jars, pressured and cooled to create about 34 quarts jars of beans. I only have 4 rows of beans left to pick. By then the first rows will be producing beans again. We eat approximately 50 quarts of beans a year. You are beginning to see why I stand in the garden to keep him from plowing up more.
I'm beginning to consider the cost of green beans in the store reasonable and logical. At some point in the picking in the hot sunshine, with sweat dripping in my eyes, I also consider divorce or murder reasonable and logical. Fortunately, the satisfaction of seeing those jars of green beans ready for the family for the winter keep me from following that thought----at least this time!
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Andy and Opie
I think I live with Opie and Andy. I watched from the window yesterday evening as my husband and grandson left with their fishing poles dangling for a visit to a friend's pond. I was reminded of the opening scene of the Andy Griffith Show where Andy and Opie are heading for the fishing hole. It was a gentler, kinder time when long summer days were made for lazy afternoons fishing. Unfortunately, times have changed. Now our days are so crammed with chores, committments, activities, going places, and a hundred other things, that the days aren't long and lazy but short and frantic. So the fishing expedition was a big event.
We finally have had some rain-almost two inches, which we needed badly. (It's amazing how we go from complaining of too much to begging for more) The temperature had cooled down and it was too wet to move hay. So a holiday was declared! Bob had rashly promised at lunch that if Justin couldn't find anyone else to fish with he would go after work. Well, that ended the search for a fishing partner. Justin declared that the fishing would be perfect after work, because fish always bite after a front goes through.
Now, Bob is not a fisherman. It took some time to find a fishing pole that still had fishing line in it. Then we had to find one with a hook. Most were rusted, dusty and tired, but one was sorted out. I was amazed at how many we had collected over the years and stuck back in one of the buildings. (We are a pair of "keepers". We never throw anything away! Products of parents who lived through the depression.) Finally. both were outfitted with fishing rods and feed buckets to bring home the catch to put in our pond. (I will cook anything they bring home, but it has to be cleaned and ready to cook. That stops most of the things they catch, shoot, find, from being brought home.) So off go Opie and Andy for an evening of fishing.
Two hours later, as I'm getting ready to step into the bathtub, I get a call from my husband. "Get your camera!!" "I'm getting ready to get into the tub," I complain! "Forget the tub, we got FISH". he shouts. So, I grab the camera and go to take pictures of my two fishermen and their catch. Several small bass and a beauty of a catfish. It was obvious that both "boys" had had a wonderful time and were puffed up with pride at their fishing abilities.
You know, it's not about fish. It's about fun times spent with your kids. I think Andy and Opie had it all right.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Sorry that I have been missing from my post for a few days. On July 4th, just as the fireworks were bursting forth across the country, my mother-in-law, went home to be with her husband and son in heaven. As one gentleman said, "She was born on Abe Lincoln's birthday and went out, with a bang, on our nation's birthday". Born of Swiss immigrant parents, she lived nearly her entire life, in Lincoln Co., Ky. , just a few miles from where she was born.
She was a great mother and mother-in-law. I can honestly say I can't remember her ever saying a catty or mean thing about someone. She tried hard to never be unkind or rude. She was the perfect mother-in-law who never favored one daughter-in-law over another. (With three sons, this was a huge gift to us.) I once gave her a yellow skirt and blouse for her birthday. Every time we were home, she would wear that yellow outfit and tell me how much she liked it. It was years later I learned that she hated yellow.
She was 97 years old. Wow! She lived for 19 years as a widow. The last 10 years she lived in ever deepening dementia. We were blessed that it wasn't the wilder manifestations of Alzheimer's but more a regression into the past. It was a sad and tragic time for her sons. As she moved back into her past she was more and more frequently a young woman or even a child in her mind. When these middle-aged men would present themselves and call her "Mom" she would often just be confused. However, we often saw that what the mind can't recognize the heart can. We noticed that when my husband would sit and hold her hand for a while, she would often rise above her dementia and know him again, even if only briefly. On her last night, we were monitoring her blood pressure and noticed that her highest readings were when her sons were there with her. The heart knows.
She quietly quit breathing about 8:30 in her own bed with people that loved her with her.
I was the person primarily responsible for her during the last seven years of her life. People have asked me how I managed the stress of being "on call" 24-7. There were times when it was a strain on my family. I could never commit to doing long-term baby-sitting for the grandchildren, because I might have to go to Grandma's on a moment's notice. Every trip became a challenge to get somewhere and not be called home. Every dinner or party was planned with a back-up plan, in case I had to leave suddenly. I live an hour from her home and would often find myself making two or more trips a week to run errands, go to doctor's appointments, interview sitters, fill in for sitters who were ill or quit, take care of her property, and on and on. Yes, it was stressful--but it wasn't Mother that was stressful, but the situation.
The biggest stress was finding sitters who could cheerfully and lovingly deal with a little lady who might wake up as a fractious 8 year old. Over the years we have had good ones and bad ones. For the last three years, when her dementia has deepened, we have been blessed to have a woman who has cared for Mother with the love you usually reserve for your own loved ones. She called her "Granny" because as she said, "she is now MY Granny, too". When it became too difficult to find quality sitters, we reached the decision to move her from her home to a nursing home. Debi came to us with a request to take her into her own home and care for her 24 hours a day. We agreed to do it on a trial basis. It lasted 8 months, until her death. I don't know how she did it but it was the best thing we could have done for Mother. Thanks to Debi she was able to live in a loving family atmosphere and die in her bed surrounded by love. Debi opened her home to us so that we could spend as much time as we wanted with her and made us feel welcome to do so. As she often put it "This is her home now, so come whenever you want." And we did.
We have been blessed. Someone asked once if I didn't wonder why God had let her linger on in this twilight world? She was as devoted to her God and church as any human could be. A lifetime church attendee, her faith was deep and complete. So, why was God leaving her and not taking her home? It took me years to realize that she had been left, not as punishment for her but as a gift for us. Through her, I have learned patience and peace. Many days I would arrive frazzled and stressed. I would spend an hour or so sitting with her, sometimes just holding her hand, sometimes talking about things long in her past, sometimes just playing "finger games". Always, I would leave feeling peaceful and blessed by my association with this little lady. She has made me realize that love is not just the easy kind when you love the ones that are good to you. Real love is when you know you might not get anything in return--sometimes not even the acknowledgement of your presence. It's when you just .....love, like God loves us.
She was a great mother and mother-in-law. I can honestly say I can't remember her ever saying a catty or mean thing about someone. She tried hard to never be unkind or rude. She was the perfect mother-in-law who never favored one daughter-in-law over another. (With three sons, this was a huge gift to us.) I once gave her a yellow skirt and blouse for her birthday. Every time we were home, she would wear that yellow outfit and tell me how much she liked it. It was years later I learned that she hated yellow.
She was 97 years old. Wow! She lived for 19 years as a widow. The last 10 years she lived in ever deepening dementia. We were blessed that it wasn't the wilder manifestations of Alzheimer's but more a regression into the past. It was a sad and tragic time for her sons. As she moved back into her past she was more and more frequently a young woman or even a child in her mind. When these middle-aged men would present themselves and call her "Mom" she would often just be confused. However, we often saw that what the mind can't recognize the heart can. We noticed that when my husband would sit and hold her hand for a while, she would often rise above her dementia and know him again, even if only briefly. On her last night, we were monitoring her blood pressure and noticed that her highest readings were when her sons were there with her. The heart knows.
She quietly quit breathing about 8:30 in her own bed with people that loved her with her.
I was the person primarily responsible for her during the last seven years of her life. People have asked me how I managed the stress of being "on call" 24-7. There were times when it was a strain on my family. I could never commit to doing long-term baby-sitting for the grandchildren, because I might have to go to Grandma's on a moment's notice. Every trip became a challenge to get somewhere and not be called home. Every dinner or party was planned with a back-up plan, in case I had to leave suddenly. I live an hour from her home and would often find myself making two or more trips a week to run errands, go to doctor's appointments, interview sitters, fill in for sitters who were ill or quit, take care of her property, and on and on. Yes, it was stressful--but it wasn't Mother that was stressful, but the situation.
The biggest stress was finding sitters who could cheerfully and lovingly deal with a little lady who might wake up as a fractious 8 year old. Over the years we have had good ones and bad ones. For the last three years, when her dementia has deepened, we have been blessed to have a woman who has cared for Mother with the love you usually reserve for your own loved ones. She called her "Granny" because as she said, "she is now MY Granny, too". When it became too difficult to find quality sitters, we reached the decision to move her from her home to a nursing home. Debi came to us with a request to take her into her own home and care for her 24 hours a day. We agreed to do it on a trial basis. It lasted 8 months, until her death. I don't know how she did it but it was the best thing we could have done for Mother. Thanks to Debi she was able to live in a loving family atmosphere and die in her bed surrounded by love. Debi opened her home to us so that we could spend as much time as we wanted with her and made us feel welcome to do so. As she often put it "This is her home now, so come whenever you want." And we did.
We have been blessed. Someone asked once if I didn't wonder why God had let her linger on in this twilight world? She was as devoted to her God and church as any human could be. A lifetime church attendee, her faith was deep and complete. So, why was God leaving her and not taking her home? It took me years to realize that she had been left, not as punishment for her but as a gift for us. Through her, I have learned patience and peace. Many days I would arrive frazzled and stressed. I would spend an hour or so sitting with her, sometimes just holding her hand, sometimes talking about things long in her past, sometimes just playing "finger games". Always, I would leave feeling peaceful and blessed by my association with this little lady. She has made me realize that love is not just the easy kind when you love the ones that are good to you. Real love is when you know you might not get anything in return--sometimes not even the acknowledgement of your presence. It's when you just .....love, like God loves us.
Good-by
My mother and father-in-law loved funerals. They especially loved the ones where someone who was well known in the community had died. For them the only thing better was a church reunion picnic. Both of these involve lots of people that you haven't seen for a while, friends you might have lost touch with, time to visit, and food.
The event would start with a call to us to report what my husband called the "gloom and doom" report. My father-in-law would begin with "Just thought you would want to know that Jim Black has died. " Then would follow a complete list of arrangements and times of visitation. He would conclude with "I know you'll want to come to the funeral home. We'll expect you." In the background you would hear my mother-in-law saying " Wallace, you know they were just babies when Jim lived here and they don't know anyone in the family. They aren't going to drive two hours to come to the funeral!" He never understood how anyone could turn down a prime spot of entertainment, like a funeral.
He would arrive early and stay late. After paying his respects to the departed friend, he would retire to the chairs and prepare to hold court. He and all his old cronies would begin with all the old stories they could remember about the "missing member". Before long the stories would get taller and the laughter louder, until Grandma would work her way back to the group and shush them up. If the stories died down (or the missing member had lived a particularly quiet life) they would then snag everyone that came through and quiz them on the latest news. It might be news about grandchildren, new houses, crops, weather or, best of all, local scandals. If a young woman came through she would have to stop and provide a complete pedigree (father, mother, grandparents, etc.) This of course would ensure her a warm welcome and a warm "welcoming" hug from each old gent. The festivities would continue until the funeral home director would come and firmly inform them that visiting hours were over for the evening and lock the door behind them.
Now, Grandma had her routine too. The women would all gather in another section of the funeral home and do their "visiting". This mostly started with a run-down on the latest accomplishments of their children. Which one has a promotion, graduated at the top of their class (did any of them just make average grades?), bought a new car, gotten engaged, or had a baby. This led, of course, to a list of the accomplishments of the grandchildren. My, my, they certainly produced a long line of over-achievers, to hear them tell it. If this line of conversation lagged they might get into a discussion of food and canning. The newest and latest method of canning beans or freezing corn was always good for a lively discussion. When this slowed down, they too moved on to the local scandals. The only person safe was the "departed". It was an unwritten rule that only good things would be said about them on this night.
The evening would end with Grandma and Grandpa comparing notes and swapping stories on the way home. Grandma would occasionally fuss gently that the men had gotten a little rowdy with their stories. To which he would return that the ladies were so busying gossiping that they wouldn't have noticed a freight train coming through. They would sigh contentedly and agree that it was a great send off for their friend.
Wednesday we did our best to give Grandma a send-off Grandpa would have been proud of.
Verna Leona VonGruenigen Campbell
Feb. 12, 1913-July 4, 2010
You taught us how to live. Thanks.
My mother and father-in-law loved funerals. They especially loved the ones where someone who was well known in the community had died. For them the only thing better was a church reunion picnic. Both of these involve lots of people that you haven't seen for a while, friends you might have lost touch with, time to visit, and food.
The event would start with a call to us to report what my husband called the "gloom and doom" report. My father-in-law would begin with "Just thought you would want to know that Jim Black has died. " Then would follow a complete list of arrangements and times of visitation. He would conclude with "I know you'll want to come to the funeral home. We'll expect you." In the background you would hear my mother-in-law saying " Wallace, you know they were just babies when Jim lived here and they don't know anyone in the family. They aren't going to drive two hours to come to the funeral!" He never understood how anyone could turn down a prime spot of entertainment, like a funeral.
He would arrive early and stay late. After paying his respects to the departed friend, he would retire to the chairs and prepare to hold court. He and all his old cronies would begin with all the old stories they could remember about the "missing member". Before long the stories would get taller and the laughter louder, until Grandma would work her way back to the group and shush them up. If the stories died down (or the missing member had lived a particularly quiet life) they would then snag everyone that came through and quiz them on the latest news. It might be news about grandchildren, new houses, crops, weather or, best of all, local scandals. If a young woman came through she would have to stop and provide a complete pedigree (father, mother, grandparents, etc.) This of course would ensure her a warm welcome and a warm "welcoming" hug from each old gent. The festivities would continue until the funeral home director would come and firmly inform them that visiting hours were over for the evening and lock the door behind them.
Now, Grandma had her routine too. The women would all gather in another section of the funeral home and do their "visiting". This mostly started with a run-down on the latest accomplishments of their children. Which one has a promotion, graduated at the top of their class (did any of them just make average grades?), bought a new car, gotten engaged, or had a baby. This led, of course, to a list of the accomplishments of the grandchildren. My, my, they certainly produced a long line of over-achievers, to hear them tell it. If this line of conversation lagged they might get into a discussion of food and canning. The newest and latest method of canning beans or freezing corn was always good for a lively discussion. When this slowed down, they too moved on to the local scandals. The only person safe was the "departed". It was an unwritten rule that only good things would be said about them on this night.
The evening would end with Grandma and Grandpa comparing notes and swapping stories on the way home. Grandma would occasionally fuss gently that the men had gotten a little rowdy with their stories. To which he would return that the ladies were so busying gossiping that they wouldn't have noticed a freight train coming through. They would sigh contentedly and agree that it was a great send off for their friend.
Wednesday we did our best to give Grandma a send-off Grandpa would have been proud of.
Verna Leona VonGruenigen Campbell
Feb. 12, 1913-July 4, 2010
You taught us how to live. Thanks.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Directions
I am a firm believer in instincts that are bred into animals over a period of time. We once had a border collie that had never been anything but a pet. No one had worked with him or even slightly encouraged him to herd anything. However, that dog would perfectly herd my baby ducks every chance he got. Why? How did he know that was what he was supposed to do? Over generations of breeding the best herding dogs the instinct to herd was imprinted on their brain. They just know what to do.
My daughter lives in Iowa. It's a wonderful state. The land is fertile and it's flat. The people are open, friendly and great neighbors...and it's flat. It's a wonderful place for my grandchildren to grow up....and it's flat. Did I mention that it is flat? I live in Kentucky.....it's not flat. Oh, we have a few flat spots, but for the most part our land goes up and down. We have knobs (little mountains for you uninitiated), real mountains, and just plain hills. It's a beautiful place to live but we have developed a little differently from our friends in Iowa.
If you are getting directions in Iowa, you get DIRECTIONS. You will be told to go north for two miles, then go east for 1 mile. When you get to the spot you will be told to look on the north side of the barn that's through the west gate. Now at this point I am totally lost because I don't know where I am much less what direction north is. These people are born knowing what direction north is. You ask any child to point to the north and they will point as unerringly as a compass to true north. How do they do it?
When you get directions in Kentucky, you'll get landmarks. Go two miles until you get to the red barn with the old tractor out front and turn left at the next road. Go two more miles and turn right by the silver silo and continue until you pass the house with the blue shutters and red door. Why do we do this? Because in Kentucky you might wind around curves until you have gone north, east, south and west before you get where you are going. We don't know what direction we're going until we get there. Our directional gene has been bred out of us. You put me in Iowa and tell me to go north and I'm going to ask "is that right or left". The Iowans have had to learn directions because landmarks are scarce. Turn left at the intersection with the corn field on the corner, just won't help you much. All four corners may have a corn field on them. So their directional gene has developed to a high degree. Just like the dog, we have been bred to do what we need to do.
What this all means is that when I leave to take my grandaughter to town in Iowa they all wonder if I really will get there.
I am a firm believer in instincts that are bred into animals over a period of time. We once had a border collie that had never been anything but a pet. No one had worked with him or even slightly encouraged him to herd anything. However, that dog would perfectly herd my baby ducks every chance he got. Why? How did he know that was what he was supposed to do? Over generations of breeding the best herding dogs the instinct to herd was imprinted on their brain. They just know what to do.
My daughter lives in Iowa. It's a wonderful state. The land is fertile and it's flat. The people are open, friendly and great neighbors...and it's flat. It's a wonderful place for my grandchildren to grow up....and it's flat. Did I mention that it is flat? I live in Kentucky.....it's not flat. Oh, we have a few flat spots, but for the most part our land goes up and down. We have knobs (little mountains for you uninitiated), real mountains, and just plain hills. It's a beautiful place to live but we have developed a little differently from our friends in Iowa.
If you are getting directions in Iowa, you get DIRECTIONS. You will be told to go north for two miles, then go east for 1 mile. When you get to the spot you will be told to look on the north side of the barn that's through the west gate. Now at this point I am totally lost because I don't know where I am much less what direction north is. These people are born knowing what direction north is. You ask any child to point to the north and they will point as unerringly as a compass to true north. How do they do it?
When you get directions in Kentucky, you'll get landmarks. Go two miles until you get to the red barn with the old tractor out front and turn left at the next road. Go two more miles and turn right by the silver silo and continue until you pass the house with the blue shutters and red door. Why do we do this? Because in Kentucky you might wind around curves until you have gone north, east, south and west before you get where you are going. We don't know what direction we're going until we get there. Our directional gene has been bred out of us. You put me in Iowa and tell me to go north and I'm going to ask "is that right or left". The Iowans have had to learn directions because landmarks are scarce. Turn left at the intersection with the corn field on the corner, just won't help you much. All four corners may have a corn field on them. So their directional gene has developed to a high degree. Just like the dog, we have been bred to do what we need to do.
What this all means is that when I leave to take my grandaughter to town in Iowa they all wonder if I really will get there.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
The Hay Field
The view today from the kitchen window is the hay field. The men (my husband and son) are working hard to get the hay baled before it rains again. We've had a wonderful week for hay--lots of sunshine and hot weather. However, on Sunday the hay baler suffered a major break-down. It was Wednesday before we could get back into the field. Then within five minutes it was down again. This time a minor fix, but that was followed closely by another break-down. Then it rained..... Now doesn't that just make you want to run out and buy a farm?
I read somewhere that farming was the third most stressful occupation. I can't remember what number two was, but number one was an air traffic controller. That should tell you how much fun farmers have. However, you won't find a more dedicated group anywhere. They love it all. Yes, there are bumps in the road (some years it's more like major pot-holes) but they keep on doing what they love. I guess the great days of hard work and seeing what you accomplish, the satisfaction of working together as a family, seeing your children grow with responsibility and a strong work ethic, the love of the land that God has given us make all the problems that go along with it seem worthwhile.
My husband grew up on a dairy farm. He knew early on that if he wanted to get ahead in life he would have to do something besides farm. Farming is a great life but you probably won't get rich while you are at it. He went to college, majored in ag-economics, owns an insurance agency and comes home and farms every night. I tell him that he works to support his hobby.
So why do we do it? I honestly can't imagine living in a city. Nothing against cities, they are great places to visit, shop, go out to eat, but then I want to go home. I want to look out my window and see---well, cows and fields and trees and space. I like being able to water my flowers in my nightgown or sit on my porch and watch the grandchildren without yelling " watch out for the cars" a thousand times. I love being able to go to the garden and pick supper. There are few things more satisfying than being able to put a meal on the table that you have grown for your family.
So today we are putting up hay for the cattle to eat this winter. We are using our resources to provide for those creatures that are in our care. Yep, it's a good feeling.
I read somewhere that farming was the third most stressful occupation. I can't remember what number two was, but number one was an air traffic controller. That should tell you how much fun farmers have. However, you won't find a more dedicated group anywhere. They love it all. Yes, there are bumps in the road (some years it's more like major pot-holes) but they keep on doing what they love. I guess the great days of hard work and seeing what you accomplish, the satisfaction of working together as a family, seeing your children grow with responsibility and a strong work ethic, the love of the land that God has given us make all the problems that go along with it seem worthwhile.
My husband grew up on a dairy farm. He knew early on that if he wanted to get ahead in life he would have to do something besides farm. Farming is a great life but you probably won't get rich while you are at it. He went to college, majored in ag-economics, owns an insurance agency and comes home and farms every night. I tell him that he works to support his hobby.
So why do we do it? I honestly can't imagine living in a city. Nothing against cities, they are great places to visit, shop, go out to eat, but then I want to go home. I want to look out my window and see---well, cows and fields and trees and space. I like being able to water my flowers in my nightgown or sit on my porch and watch the grandchildren without yelling " watch out for the cars" a thousand times. I love being able to go to the garden and pick supper. There are few things more satisfying than being able to put a meal on the table that you have grown for your family.
So today we are putting up hay for the cattle to eat this winter. We are using our resources to provide for those creatures that are in our care. Yep, it's a good feeling.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
A Time of Memories
We have just finished one of life's saddest tasks. My mother-in-law, a sweet, former elementary music teacher, has advanced dementia. For the past seven years she has had to have constant help. We have gone from hiring "sitters" around the clock to now putting her in a private home. We strongly feel that with the advanced stage of her dementia she would not be easy to care for in a nursing home setting. She simply cannot be left alone and must be fed on her schedule when she will eat. So a one on one situation is best for her.
However, this is certainly not the most inexpensive way to provide care for an elderly person. Since she is no longer living in her home and her expenses keep mounting, we have made the decision to sell her home. This means dividing up the household goods and cleaning out a lifetime of collected memories. This is especially painful since she is not gone, just not aware of what is going on.
For the past several weeks we have been sorting through old pictures, letters, awards, music books, keepsakes from her children's school years, and other memories. The decision on what to keep and what to toss out has been heartrending. I want to keep everything but realize that I am just creating a nightmare for my children when the time comes to clean out my "stuff". Just how many boxes of old pictures can you keep? Especially when no one knows who they are anymore. Yet, how can you just toss the memories of a lifetime? What about her mother-in-law's party dishes? Her mother 's collection of delicate handkerchiefs? The fancy aprons (now sadly stained) that her sister made for her each Christmas?
The memories of long gone relatives hung over our shoulders while we sorted and decided. I hope they approve of the decisions we made. They certianly weren't made without a lot of soul searching and thought. I hope our children appreciate the history of the things that we kept. I know they have brought me tender memories of a lovely lady who welcomed me into the family and became my mother. She may not recognize me now, but she will always have my heart. I am blessed to be able to return some of the love and care she gave to me. Thanks for the memories.
However, this is certainly not the most inexpensive way to provide care for an elderly person. Since she is no longer living in her home and her expenses keep mounting, we have made the decision to sell her home. This means dividing up the household goods and cleaning out a lifetime of collected memories. This is especially painful since she is not gone, just not aware of what is going on.
For the past several weeks we have been sorting through old pictures, letters, awards, music books, keepsakes from her children's school years, and other memories. The decision on what to keep and what to toss out has been heartrending. I want to keep everything but realize that I am just creating a nightmare for my children when the time comes to clean out my "stuff". Just how many boxes of old pictures can you keep? Especially when no one knows who they are anymore. Yet, how can you just toss the memories of a lifetime? What about her mother-in-law's party dishes? Her mother 's collection of delicate handkerchiefs? The fancy aprons (now sadly stained) that her sister made for her each Christmas?
The memories of long gone relatives hung over our shoulders while we sorted and decided. I hope they approve of the decisions we made. They certianly weren't made without a lot of soul searching and thought. I hope our children appreciate the history of the things that we kept. I know they have brought me tender memories of a lovely lady who welcomed me into the family and became my mother. She may not recognize me now, but she will always have my heart. I am blessed to be able to return some of the love and care she gave to me. Thanks for the memories.
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