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.
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