Baltimore, Life in the City

In mid-August my husband and I reached the 40-year mark.  It is a big deal that two people can live together that long without losing themselves in each other, or killing each other, or pretending to live together while not really.   So we take our accolades with salted chocolate and admit luck has a significant part to play in the duration of any marriage and the breakdown of a marriage does not necessarily reflect any more immaturity than we all harbor.  We didn't want to spend a lot of money flying somewhere as Hubby had a trip coming up, so we drove north to Baltimore for the weekend.


Baltimore is a changing city.  I used to drive up there for meetings when I was working and had to make sure I got parking passes for the John Hopkins campus before heading out, because if you parked anywhere outside the campus area, it was really creepy and probably dangerous.  Like New York, you can make one wrong turn and feel very unsafe.


But I will have to admit that the last decade has been kind to Baltimore.  The harbor area has been re-vitalized with lots of high-end restaurants, fun museums, and tourist activities.  There are also inexpensive activities for families to enjoy.  We stayed in one of those expensive waterfront hotels and got nice morning and evening views across the harbor.

The bright light in the center below is the stadium where the Orioles game was being played.

This city has drama and intrigue and both "The Wire" and "Homicide: Life in the City" were filmed here reflecting the grittier side of this town.   I think Baltimore is a 'little' like New Orleans or Venice in that there are some very artistic and passionate citizens that keep the city interesting in spite of the crime and poverty that lies just beneath the surface.  The building below is where "Homicide" was filmed.

While there was much lovely restored and new architecture along the greatly improved waterfront, one did not have to walk too far before you could see the painful transitions that are still ongoing.

We ate at my one of my favorite high-end restaurant chains, Roy's. While those Roy's in Hawaii are the best, they do try to keep that Asian fusion thing going across the continent.  Italian wine, spicy edamame appetizers, a crisp Asian spinach salad, tiger shrimp on jalapeno risotto and roasted veggies followed by a wonderful creme brulee.  It may sound too eclectic, but actually it was very good, and the restaurant was only a block's walk from the hotel, so the high 90 degree temperature did not ruin the weekend.  (This was also the same weekend when I saw the art film I Am Love and one of reasons we are still married is that hubby sat through the whole thing and actually stayed awake enough to help forward the after-conversation!)

Compliments, That Fragile Gift

I was thinking of compliments the other day.  Perhaps as a result of my submitting my blog to that site for review.  Why do we we want them?  How do we get them?  How we treasure them!  Can we trust them?  I am not a good person for compliments...getting them, that is.  I do not receive them gracefully and I rarely believe them in full.  I am a reasonable cynic, although, I, of course, think that is being a realist.  Perhaps because my mother was very sparse in handing out compliments to her children.  She was an expert on the criticism sharing I remember.  I also think I am not a generous person with compliments.  If I give one, it usually has a pretty solid kernel of truth in it, or I will not give a compliment just to make someone feel better.  Unless, of course, they need one for survival at that time in their life.

My FB friends are most generous when commenting on my photos. I love that they love the photographs that I post.  But it IS like having loving friends comment.  Your friends always praise your work because they like you and want to be nice and want you to succeed or they are friends of your children and have been raised to be polite and do not really care enough about you to criticize you.  Your FB friends are complimentary because only the jokes can be derogatory.  Perhaps, they do not want to be de-friended if they were too honest!  An FB friend said my photos reminded him of Ansel Adams.  That compliment only made me smile, because I knew it wasn't true.  It wasn't even close.  But, it was a friendly, well-meant exaggeration.

Bloggers are most gracious in posting about my photos and my writing.  Their comments truly warm my soul, especially when I know many of them are far better with the camera or the computer keyboard than I could ever hope to be.  Some of them even make a living at it, the writing or photography---not giving compliments.  Therefore, while I get a big smile when I read these compliments, I also feel deep in my soul that they would never qualify their remarks with a dose of harsh honesty or even gentle criticism.  So, of course, they are only left with agreeing or praising me or perhaps reading my blog in stony white silence..."if you can't say anything nice..."

But, real compliments are the best when they come un-expected.  Sometimes they are wordless and just the expression on someone's face,  such as the time my 16-year-old son failed to shift gears successfully on the Bronco going up the inclined driveway, and I took the driver's seat and did it quite easily.  I wish I had had a camera, because I had never seen that look in his eyes before.  Admiration from a child (especially a teenager) is golden.

I overheard my daughter talking to one of her friends when they were deciding how to get pictures at the swim fun day.  She suggested asking me because she said 'my mom is a semi-professional at it.'  Gold, pure gold.

When my husband goes back for seconds at some experimental dish I have tried, I think that is a lovely compliment.  He usually says something about how good it is...but he says that often when I cook.  When he gets seconds I know he really likes it.


Yesterday, the oven repair men (young) said that I was a really nice lady when talking to me about working out the warranty issues with the company.  I somehow felt they really meant it because they had nothing to gain from me and it made me feel good about working at my negotiating skills over my life.

I wonder how other bloggers feel about comments, compliments and criticisms.  Do you need to be prepared or can anyone bring it on if it is honest and helpful?

Movie Review---I Am Love

You can skip this post if you haven't seen the movie or have no desire to read movie reviews, but I felt compelled to write this post after seeing the movie in the title above...which really isn't a review as you will soon see.


I was reading Millie's blog where she mentioned she went to see I Am Love and that she liked it.  It is a foreign art-house film, so you may not have heard about it.  I was on a trip to Baltimore to celebrate the big 40 anniversary and told hubby I wanted to see this film --- all Italian with subtitles, so it is not everyone's cup of cappuccino.  It is a love story that ends in tragedy.  I liked it, but much of symbolism was too obvious or too complex for me, because I left the theater with lots of questions.  The cinematography is a feast for the eyes,  and the acting subtle and sparse of dialog.  But I had so many questions.

1. Why is the 'chef' introduced so briefly at the first and we are not shown a single real clue about the magnetism he has?
2. What were they racing--- cars, horses---it is, after all, the middle of winter in Milan?  Why don't they develop this mutual interest more fully so that we can understand the friendship that grows between the two men.  Why did they portray this friendship almost as a gay love when it wasn't?
3. Why is the chef so shy...just like she said her husband was shy?  Is that what attracts her to him?
4. Why didn't they draw a bigger clue to Russian cooking?  Was she homesick, for Russia, really?
5. Why is everyone else drawn with such subtlety and the daughter is so overly cliche!
6. How many boobies and bees and beetles does it take to make a love scene before it becomes overdone and boring?
7. What was in the note that the son wrote to his mother?  Was he thinking of committing suicide?
8. Why was the housekeeper's devastation scene so long?  What was the meaning of seeing a child like her waking the mother?  Did the mother grow up with her and bring her from Russia?
9. Why was the housekeeper packing when no one leaves with those suitcases?
10. And finally, why was the pregnant daughter-in-law so ignored in all this?  Was that some male chauvinism Italian cultural thing or did it have deeper meaning?

I guess I liked the movie, well-crafted, but it seemed to be filled with symbolism that I could not quite grasp and as you can tell, left me with many questions.  One movie review said that there isn't any motivation for anyone in the film.  I tend to agree.  It is all very subtle.  If you see the movie I will be thrilled to hear your comments.

Soldier's Return

It is strange how flat and quaint
this room seems to ear and eye
when trudging back after a long
and challenging trip.


The spaces are narrow
and confining.

The colors seem faded and
hidden even more
by the dust that floats
in the air of the sunbeams
that fall through the window.

Are these the walls
that once sheltered
and comforted me and 
protected each confidence?

Why that odd painting
above the fireplace?
Oh yes, it belonged to
Granny and we saved it.

Why is it so quiet here?
Where did the life go?
How can the world
grow and change and
yet this place ignores
and stays the same?

How changed am I.

Each time I fit less and less.
This time I am afraid
I may fit no more.

Adapting

When you are old and Wisdom is the only best friend whom you can trot out eagerly to show others the closeness of your friendship, he usually brings Adaptation along for the ride.  Life will be hell if Adaptation does not hang close.  Adaptation insures that you will not be crabby, tired, or out of touch on the rest of the long journey ahead.  It is the best second friend you will ever have.

I once attended a conference on algology.  (Look that up in your Funk and Wagnells or if you bring along Adaptation you can Google it.  And yes, I saw that yawn.)  Anyway, I am not an expert in this area, but found one of the lectures most fascinating.  It was a discussion how oceanic cellular algae adapts to predators and diseases.  When something starts munching or invading, the algal plant later adds toxins or bitterness to the new growth to discourage more grazing.  Trees and other plants also use this adapting technique.  Howler monkeys in Belize can graze the new leaves in the tree tops in the spring for food, but later in the season the leaves are toxic and will make them ill.  

I have been thinking of this in my flower gardening.  If a plant is being eaten I remove the pest, but if I cannot find the pest I wait and see if it is going to continue to graze.  Many times I notice it usually only hits the tender new growth for a short time, and I am guessing that is because the plant becomes bitter or hard to eat.  This doesn't work for Japanese beetles or other non-indigenous bugs, and I have made the decision that it is because it takes some lengthy evolutionary time for the plant to adapt to the new threat and produce something the bug doesn't like.   So my great grandchild may find the Japanese beetle not as irritating as I do.

You can be a stubborn warrior as you get attacked with age and all of its physical and mental difficulties and changes.  But, if you want to enjoy the rest of the ride, you must compromise and find new ways to adapt to the handicaps.  I like being around people who accept what cannot be changed, keep a sense of humor about it all, but also find some new way (or several adaptations) around the problem and then go forward and get on with the rest of their life. 

Thursday Thoughts (29)--Language and Communication

1. "Walking the dog, and Zara spook"...I overheard from a recent telephone conversation at my house.  Some of you have a clue to what this all means....;-)
2. One of my friends on FB posted that he was "splitting quasihemidemisemiquavers."  I think I must be friends with some really cool young people.
3. People spend more than 700 billion minutes per month on the FB site and, according to Facebook, 400 million of them have logged in during the past month  (sharing and sharing). Keep in mind there are only 309 million people in the United States -- total.
4. According to a recent Newsweek article in 2000 there were 12,000 active blogs and today there are 141 million.
5. In the same article in 2000 there were 282,242 books published and in 2010, 1,052,803 were published.  We are becoming great communicators.
6. I asked for feedback on my blogging, and I got it!  It took so long I almost forgot that I asked.  It was not as harsh as it could (should) have been, but he did mention my age several times, so perhaps was afraid he might give me a heart attack if he was too honest.  I was vindicated for not doing memes.  Writers always need feedback, and this was fairly painless.  He did suggest I needed more Eat, Pray, Love in my style...right!?  Although it made me realize how boring I and my life are and made me change to "compelling comments".
7. Someone keeps posting comments on my blog in Chinese han and I keep deleting them because I cannot figure out what their blog is all about.
8. On the importance of using food to communicate love the less stuff cooked, the better.
9. John Bassinger, retired theater professor, at 76, can recite John Milton's 10,565-line poem by memory.  It takes him 3 eight-hours days to communicate this.  At 76 I think I might be doing something else.
10. If you send an email from an army.mil domain, you are sending an email from the Army. From foxnews.com or from nytimes.com – those emails can be interpreted as though you are acting on behalf of those companies.
11. My husband and I have been married almost 4 decades and we still have problems communicating...but now he says it is because he doesn't hear clearly what I am saying!  He says it has to do with not focusing on me...not loss of hearing.  (That is flattering.)
12. Maybe I should do the pheromone dance that the bees do to communicate my point!
13. And finally, "Home is not where you live, but where they understand you."...Christian Morgenstern.

(For those who asked about the Thursday Thirteen challenge in a prior post---which I am not creative enough to play with any regularity---go here.)

Thankfulness

Every once in a while, especially after losing something precious, I need to make a thankfulness list...

• Tabor is thankful for the clear, safe, and cold well water from her kitchen faucet as she makes her coffee before the sun rises on this summer morning.
• Tamila is thankful for the new yellow bucket her brother brought her this morning to carry water from the well that is a mile down the road.
• Tabor is thankful for air conditioning as the outside temperatures will mimic the low 100s C by midday. 
• Tamila is thankful for the shade of the old acacia tree in her back yard as she must sit there often to prepare her food.
• Tabor is thankful for the luxury of using a cell phone or a computer to communicate quickly with her loved ones that are far away.
• Tamila is thankful that her loved ones in the next village are no longer suffering and she communicates with them silently by prayer each morning.
• Tabor is thankful that her doctor said her leg pain is just a muscle strain.
• Tamila is thankful that her leg pain is gone...for today.
• Tabor is thankful for the flowers in her garden that bring delightful color to her eyes each day.
• Tamila is thankful for the colorful turaco that sits in her tree waiting for a piece of mango.
• Tabor is thankful that she has been given the financial freedom to retire.
• Tamila is thankful that she has been given the freedom to live one more sunny day.

Mind Games

Over the recent 4th of July Holiday weekend both my husband and I were sick.  It was strange because my illness was a raspy sore throat and then a chest cough that only occurred at night.  His illness was a sore throat but also several raging fevers, aches and pains, tender skin, scratchy eyes and general weakness and malaise.  Between playing with our grandchildren the week before and hitting a late night bar crowd for our son's band that same weekend we could have caught this bug anywhere, if we indeed shared the same bug.


What was so unusual was that he was really sick and I was just annoyingly so until days after he got well and then my cough got worse.  Ninety-nine percent of the time he is the one mildly ill and I drag myself from bed to couch for several days complaining and putting life on hold.  


I realized about a decade ago how I draw on his leadership and strength.  Being the mother and Chief cook and bottle washer (bill payer, house cleaner, appointment clerk, etc.) for years, I always thought I was the headstrong and stalwart person while herding our goslings, as perhaps I was.  But our years together and aging senses have caused us to lean more equally on each other through all of life's later challenges.


His appetite was good so I was not too worried.  But at our ages I could not help but think about what it would be like if this illness was serious.  If we were entering the time in our lives when I would be caring for him day in and out as he started on that journey where his body needed more and more rest until he left me, left all of us.  I could not help thinking of that day when I might be left to walk this trail alone.   It was a black and scary thought, but it did not freeze me in my tracks, because I knew it was possible and I knew others shared this journey.


I am luckier than many people because I think I can get my mind around this darkness, even though it is painful.  I have lost both my parents and a younger sister and  I am practical in knowing we all go this way at some time in our lives and I do resign myself to the inevitability of those things we cannot change with the force of our emotions or the demands of our 'needs.'  We face one day at a time and enjoy its jewel like quality for the brief glow it provides.  Life is such a temporary gift that breaks so easily.  While we may wish to curl up in a fetal ball, the sun will continue to rise, flowers will bloom, songs will be written and sung, couples will make love, and children will laugh and play without us.  This is a good thing.  But I do admit, that at my age, death becomes much more than a theoretical mind game or philosophical thought.  Being stoic is not always enough to ease the anxiousness that only visits in the middle of the night.


(I should probably clarify that I wrote this a while back...)

Bye, Barry

I cannot say anymore than others have posted. Yes, we will miss those lovely rambling walks with Lindsay across the woods and dunes and Barry's wonderful writing about his family. Linda, thank you for sharing these past months.  So many others will be posting tributes in the days to come as he touched many bloggers.

Just Asking

While eating a river-side lunch I decided to explore the area. I found these feathers. I think I know what some of them are. But those of you who have an ornithological bent, give me some ideas.  The white feather on the right is the muddy color and not a pure white.  Click on the photo if needed.

Battle Strategy Follow-up---War With the Cardinal

I got the most comments ever on my Battle with the Cardinal post and thus feel obligated to write a follow-up.

Since the rubber snake worked to dissuade the cardinal on the bedroom window last year, I move it to the dining room bay window ledge. Then I g0t the plastic life-size owl that had broken away from its pole down on the dock and put him on the deck next to the lower part of the deck window, Mr. Cardinal's second favorite spot. ( I just have to remember to cover the bottom hole in the hollow plastic owl with duct tape to avoid the wasps using it as a nesting cave!

I searched the internet for photos of owl eyes and printed out two in extra large size that look intimidating, at least to me. One photo I tape to the inside of the dining room window and the other I tape to the inside of the kitchen window. Several days passed and still no cardinal has re-appeared.  I am not totally convinced I have won the war...just this phase which will last who knows how long?

I should explain that prior to this battle strategy implementation my husband and I took advantage of a cool day or two and washed the windows!  Dear me, we have put the fate of all in the hands of the Cardinal as the windows are now sparkling clean and can reflect his image perfectly.


Then we went away on a short trip and I returned to find Mr. Crazy Cardinal back pecking at the windows about the kitchen sink.  Clearly the glaring owl eyes do not work there.  Next stop is to find some kind of spinning device or flag to see if that keeps him wary.

Art One Oh One

I have been learning a new software and have gotten totally addicted to creating "artwork" with it.  Here is my stella-de-oro Japanese style, or what I think looks a little like a Japanese woodcut.  Perhaps to you it looks like a 6th grade cut and paste?


Below is the same photo processed as if found in a church.

My problem is that I do not track the steps in my post-production process to see if they can be duplicated in the next photo.  I just tweak and tweak until I like the look or hate it.

War With the Cardinal, Himself

It seems to be a moist gray morning that has come too soon.  I am awake and do not know why, but push off the light quilt and head into my dark kitchen to make coffee.  Soon the water is hot and the smell of liquid amber fills my nostrils.  I take my cup and sit on the front porch trying to shake away the fog from my mind as the rising sun begins to silhouette the tree tops.  I am wondering why I woke up so suddenly out of a restorative sleep as I sip my caffeine and enjoy the pink and blue sky in early dawn.  In a short time my reverie is interrupted.


Crows are in the right side ravine making a brass band's worth of noise in the high poplar trees.  I cannot see them, but their cawing is most annoying and unusually angry.  They are probably ganging up on an owl or hawk that has landed in the woods.  The band of crows will give him no peace until he leaves this area completely.  These home boys own the block and do not give way to anyone without regard for claws and sharp bills.  The crows' weapons are confusion and backstabbing.


I finish my coffee and head back inside.  As I reach across the coffee table to get my paperback, the morning sleep disturbance mystery is solved.  First I hear a tap, followed by tap, tap, followed by tap, tap, tap.  There, at the dining room window, is that newly grown male cardinal.  He is small but has all his adult red coloring.  He bangs at the dining room window flying up to the top until my appearance startles him and he rounds the house away from me and continues banging at the kitchen window above the sink.  He has been doing this tapping at the window for several weeks, and I have been trying to ignore him.  Except now he starts his communication before dawn!

And now there is a new twist as I see the mess on the window he has left.

I watch closely and see him hanging at the base of the window and notice that his mouth is full of some green juicy caterpillar thing.  It is so disgusting I can barely watch on my coffee stomach as it oozes insect life from his bill.  My husband mentioned he had seen a similar meal in the bird's bill yesterday  So, is this cardinal now spreading this mess across my window attempting to feed his reflection?  Is he gay and thinking this is his mate to which he offers a gift of fresh breakfast?  Is he a childless father driven by an instinct to feed that he cannot understand or control?  Or is he a pacifist and thinking this male antagonist (reflection) can be won over by an offer to break bread (bug) rather than fight?  Is he in love with me and wants to bring me gifts so that I will fill the bird's water bowl on time?  My guess is that he is just crazy!  We have that crazy cardinal gene pool thing going in our woods which you can read about here and here.


He is driving me crazy; well, crazier as well!  My windows are now covered in streaks of bug guts.  I had planned on cleaning them a few weeks past and I now pat myself on the back for my wise procrastination in the heat of summer.  Sun-baked bug protein is just what any of my few dinner guests want to see while eating a meal and observing our sunsets through the windows.

OK.  Clearly the day has started with a thrown gauntlet.  I rinse my coffee cup and begin planning a battle strategy.

The Heat Is On

The tulip poplar trees
Over a hundred feet high
Have begun to throw off
Their golden leaves
Like slow chubby strippers
Resigned to this hot dance
That comes every July.

The sun's spotlight
Obscures their sheltered stage
Of cool green leaves
And dark green shadows
Blinding the eye
With hot light
And turning green to gray sage.

Even the dark coal crows

Sit high like black tree knots

With their mouths open

Panting for some

Relief from the hot

Golden agony 

That is summer.

The bird bath is
The hot new spot.
Take a number
To shimmy on the dance floor.
And then later jitterbug
High in the poplar branches
Drops caught like confetti in the sun.

You also will dance 
If you forget that, for you, 
Shoes are required 
At this annual gala
Unless your feet laugh 
And can jitterbug over hot tar
On the pavement.

Happy 4th!

We may not always get it right, but I am so fortunate to have been born in this country.

What is Hot? Thursday Thoughts #28

My Thursday Thirteen because: I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...(Colleen Redmen always gets it tight and right with her Thursday 13 and yes, I know it is not Thursday...at least on this planet.)


What is hot?

1. My back yard
2. My front yard
3. The inside of any car today
4. The new fluorescent coneflower I just bought
5. My granddaughter's temper
6. Burn Notice
7. The steam that put a nasty welt on my wrist from the crab pot
8. The angry lightning from the storm last night
9. My husband's homemade hot pepper sauce
10. Every new #-pad that comes out
11. Dolce-Gabanna men's cologne ads
12. Sam Elliott's voice (Who wouldn't be agreeable to anything he said with that sexy voice?)
13.  Oddly enough the mourning dove in my oak tree...he cannot leave her alone!  Talk about hot and bothered even though spring has long since come and gone.

The Never Ending Story

Tragedy is all in perception and even perspective. Perhaps when you are shell-shocked for years having the blood of another tragedy at your feet, in your face, or, better yet, in the neighbor's yard, you can shake your head in sorrow but move on numbly to the rest of the day without too much angst.  Your perception has narrowed and you are in survival mode.


There are many studies of the numbing that violent games produce in the game player.  There are studies of the personality shells that young children create when living in a crime ridden neighborhood or when trying to survive in an abusive family.  Our soldiers return home only to fight a battle with themselves.


For those of us who do not live where bombs are lobbed into our life on a daily basis, we get addicted to that thrill ride in the entertainment industry forgetting that life is not real in that way.  We want a bigger explosion or more bodies on the ground.  We want larger monsters and bigger weapons.  It is not enough to kill the evil villain the first time.  He keeps surviving and coming back at us again and again.   Get involved with enough shock and awe that doesn't touch you and it becomes an addictive stimulant.


I wonder if our dear Earth also becomes numb in this way.  Or are her earth quakes and weather changes the spanking we deserve?  We keep attacking her with our blundering endless ignorance.


Just to "put in perspective " this oil tragedy,  we have used the earth as an oil toilet in far greater ways, according to the June 14 issue of Newsweek.  The Deepwater Horizon oil well has thus far released 39.1 million gallons with a an outside amount of 94.2 million.  (Needless to say no one can really measure this mess.)  


BUT in:  
1978 the Amoco Cadiz which ran aground released 68 million gallons; 
1979 the Atlantic Empress tanker collision spilled 88.3 million gallons; 
also in 1979 the IXTOC blowout took 10 months to cap and released 140 million gallons; 
1983 the Nowruz which hit an oil platform spewed 80 million gallons; 
1988 the Osyssey broke in half and released 48 million gallons (but far offshore in another neighborhood); 
1989 Exxon Valdez released 10.9 million gallons--the largest in U.S. waters until now
And finally in 1991, the Gulf War Iraqi forces released 252-336 million gallons when they retreated from Kuwait.


See, this is a never ending story.  Aren't you excited?

The Questionnaire

Questionnaire

1.  How much poison are you willing to eat for the success of the free market and global trade?  Please name your preferred poisons.


2.  For the sake of goodness, how much evil are you willing to do?  Fill in the following blanks with the names of your favorite evils and acts of hatred.


3.  What sacrifices are you prepared to make for culture and civilization?  Please list the monuments, shrines and works of art you would most willingly destroy.


4.  In the name of patriotism and the flag, how much of our beloved land are you willing to desecrate?  List in the following spaces the mountains, rivers, towns, farms you could most readily do without.


5.  State briefly the ideas, ideals, or hopes, the energy sources, the kinds of security, for which you would kill a child.  Name, please, the children whom you would be willing to kill.


(Taken from Leavings  Poems by Wendell Berry.)


(And, yes, I am somewhat indecisive/dyslexic on what to do with all these blog template choices!)

Swimming in the Gene Pools

I am certainly blessed with the presence of my daughter in my life.  We live an hour and a half away, but do manage to see each other as often as possible.  I rewarded her with a belated birthday weekend at a B&B and wine tour recently.   I was pleased and somewhat surprised that we still are so in sync with our personalities and interests.  We are more alike than different.  I know this is not true with many mother/daughter relations and therefore I am truly thankful.  This weekend together flowed just like honey.  There were no glitches or differences of opinion or problems.


Her daughter, on the other hand, is very different from both of us and we recognize this in her even though she is only three.  She complains each morning about what to wear and changes at least once if not twice, even if clothes have been chosen and laid out the night before.  My daughter and I are social animals, but my granddaughter takes sociability to the top.  She calls across the street to perfect strangers telling them she is going to ballet,  this time she will not be afraid to participate and look at the nice PINK dress she is wearing.  My daughter and I did not talk to strangers so easily when we were children and we both could care less what we wore.  It was only when we discovered we were girls (probably around 13) that we decided to try to dress nicely.


She was bold and loquacious during her open house visit to her new pre-school.  She met the teachers, told them about her clothes, how she couldn't wear her Princess dress to the open house (school rules) etc.  


She is strong as steel and knows how to get what she wants.  She reduces her 5-year-old brother to tears by killing the line of ants in the backyard.  When her mother tries to get her to stop stomping on them she looks up full of conviction and says, "I don't like them!"  She is all girl.  She favors her two grandfathers over the grandmothers, and the old-timers melt like chocolate drops in the hot sun when she turns on the charm.


My daughter and I smile knowingly, but also know she will use these charms to get what she wants from men throughout life, and we hope we can provide the skills of caution in this art of trade.  We are both fascinated by her because she is so different from us.  When I left her yesterday after dropping off her mother she asked if I was coming to see her at her swimming lesson.  I explained I had to head home to meet grandpa.  She looked down at her pretty pink shoes and then up at me and said, "But, I love you!"


The photo above is my daughter taking a picture of the impending storm as we were dropped off at the fourth and last winery of the day.  Even after drinking wine most of the day, we still managed to stop and notice the changes in the Earth.  (This post was written before Father's Day...sort of incongruous in posting it now!)

Can You Spare a Dime?

The saying that 'life can change on a dime' is familiar to many of us.  I searched the Internet to see where this expression came from.  A dime is thin.  A dime is not much money.  A dime is the smallest in size of American coins.  What does this expression mean?  Does anyone know the origin?


My life almost changed on a dime a few days ago.  After a casual running of errands and some successful plant purchases which I carefully wedged into the trunk of the car to keep them upright, I was heading down the county road toward the bridge that provides access to my side of the river.  Traffic was steady but not crowded with everyone doing 45 and keeping the correct distance.


A nasty storm was building on the distant horizon so people were probably a little eager to get to their destination.


I was following a construction truck full of equipment with three large aluminum ladders tied to the top bars above the truck bed.


Suddenly and without warning the middle ladder flew into the air and tumbled toward my car.  I hit the brakes (not too hard but steady) and pulled to the right side of the road toward the easement worrying about the cars behind me not being able to slow down and hitting my rear.  The ladder hit the pavement on one leg and did a pirouette before falling to the ground.  It then started sliding toward my front tires following me to the right even as I swerved.  Luck was on my side as the ladder came to rest just beside my car as I continued to move by it and came to a stop several yards in front of the now stationary aluminum missile which I saw in my rear view mirror.  It lay at an angle just inside the lane.  


I quickly looked in my rear view and side mirrors.  All of the cars behind me slowed suddenly and began to creep by.  The truck driver in front pulled to the side of the road and then ran back to see me.  He was a big black fellow with a heavy Southern accent.  He was so excited that I had trouble understanding him at first.  He was far more excited than I, clearly worried he might have seriously hurt me.


I reassured him that I was OK as he repeatedly apologized for not tying off the ladder more securely.  


Oddly enough I was not frightened or even concerned, just relieved that it had all happened without great incident and it wasn't until I got home that I remembered my plants were still in the trunk.  I hurried to open the trunk and was amazed to see they had remained tucked upright belying the near accident.


Yes, indeed, life can change on a dime.

The Muse

I cannot think of anything to write about. Hubby has been gone on a long trip and returning shortly.  I have gotten down to wandering around idly and taking photos of fungus in the yard. I post this. Does it stimulate any poetry in your soul. ;-)!  (How about a caption contest?)

Outrunning an Inconvenient Truth

I was trying to work through the 1,000's of photos that I keep taking and then collecting.  I was trying to be honest and delete most of them because they are worse than mediocre.  We fall in love with our mediocrity, I guess, thinking it is a bit of our immortality and representative of our pregnancy with genius in some way.  The genius that, in my case, never gets born.  Anyway, I have many bird photos and a good portion are water birds.  When I took the photo above it made me think of joy.  Running along on the beach with the wind at your back and the waves singing a song is a pleasure in life that everyone should experience.


Now, as you can guess, this photo has the feeling of impending disaster.  I hope this bird can outrun it, but I am guessing time is not on his side.

Truth Be Told

While assisting my 2-year-old granddaughter (shy of 3 by only 2 months) with her daily duties, we got to talking in the bathroom...where women always chat.  At her age they can spend quite a bit of time on the throne and therefore we must fill the time with chit chat.  (She did send me outside a time or two so she could have 'privacy', but then got lonely and called me back.)


While checking out the wallpaper, she informed me that she was a Princess.  (That is certainly the truth.)  She asked if I was a Princess and I replied, "Of course!"


She then pointed to my watch and asked what it was.  Being the former educator I went on a small lecture about watches telling the time of the day for meals and errands and how watches have become rarer because people look at the time (Mommy and Daddy for example) on their cell phones or blackberries and no longer need watches.  I explained that only old people like me still use watches and that is why she doesn't see them very often.


She looked me in the eye and said "You are not old.  You are grandma."


I was quite pleased with this comment, probably reading far more into it than I should have, because on the next downbeat, she looked at my midsection and asked,  "Are you a girl?"

Owning a Pot to **** In

A few weeks ago my husband discovered that I had accidentally purchased not one but two bags of lemons. There they sat in the fruit bin in their abundance of lemonness waiting for iced tea or fresh fish, or perhaps a guacamole.  Hubby became worried that we would forget them or ignore them and he was suddenly motivated.  He would make a lemon cream pie!


I realized that he has NEVER made a lemon cream pie and his baking skills while reasonably adept are not expert.  As he read the various recipes he realized he needed a double boiler.  This is a cooking tool he has never used.  He asked if we had one.


I have not used a double boiler in a long time and when we made the final move to this house I am afraid I got rid of any Rube Goldberg pots that would have worked as double boilers.

Now that we are retired we frequently strike when the iron is hot (to use a totally unrelated idiomatic expression).  So, we went in search of a double boiler.  We shopped at all our local venues...K-mart, Target, Wal-Mart, and Sears...none had double boilers.  No surprise as very few people even cook anymore much less cook slow food where you actually have to stand at the stove stirring for more than 5 minutes.

The next day we drove up north to the larger shopping areas looking for that over-priced but super inventoried store called Williams Sonoma.  With a name like that you almost feel as if you have to bring out the white gloves and tea hat before you peruse the shelves.  I walked in, and to avoid any dangerous perusing, went straight to a young clerk and told her I wanted the most inexpensive double boiler they had in stock.


She looked at me with wide-eyes.  "We just got them in!"


Who knew?  I had just told my husband that no one used double boilers anymore.  No one cooked slow.  She took me to the shelves that had the pot that you see in the above photo.



While it had a French brand on the label claiming that had been around for about 100 years, a more careful reading of the box revealed that it was made in China.  What isn't these days?  It was not a double pot but a single pot with an outside envelope into which you put water.  What fun!  I think.  It was much cheaper than anything hubby had found online so we took the plunge.


By the time we got back from our long drive in the late afternoon we were too tired to use it.  The next day we cooked fish and made some lemonade.  It is weeks later and we STILL have not used it!  Geesh!  Eventually I will have to see if it works.

Huh?

If you close your eyes and remember this past winter...I know you don't want to go there, but stay with me... perhaps you will remember how we escaped from my front yard with the downed trees via canoe crossing two feet of snow as we left early for a week in sunny 'tropical' Florida.  And, naturally, once we got there, warm weather...well, not so much!  It was as cold as a Minnesota fall.  Six weeks later we left once again, this time with the grandkids and their parents, for another jaunt in an attempt at finding early summer and summer was still was being held hostage somewhere down near the equator.

Our first day at the beach late last March was really not so bad...just pretty windy but not enough to blow sand in your face. We tucked behind a sand dune and when I got up to go exploring I saw this 'person' on the other side of our dune in the shelter of another little sandy hill. It was NOT that cold.  I cannot fathom what on earth he was thinking if this was the necessary costume and attitude for him to spend a day at the beach.  He should have stayed back at the condo or hotel or saved money and stayed at his home up North...or PERHAPS he was here hiding from all of his family that were holding up back at the condo avoiding the wind.  Hmmmm.  Maybe I feel sorry for him.  (This isn't you, hiding from you know who, is it?)


(Remember our troops this Memorial Day weekend if you live in the great U.S.A.)

Moving in and Out.

Cleaning out the garage the other day I decided to wash out all those buckets and containers full of gardening stuff.  Resealed or re-wrapped all the bags of fertilizer and growth enhancers.  I re-wound my balls of string and collected some plant identifiers for my files.  After a thorough cleaning, I painted the handles of the brown garden tools a fluorescent green primarily to use up some leftover paint on the shelves.  Then I took those pruning shears and others with moving parts and proceeded to cover them with W-D 40 to stave off new rust.  I even spent some time sharpening the edges of the cutting tools!  Well, pat me on the back!


I keep a small green plastic wastebasket full of plastic stakes and small bamboo poles in the corner by the garage door and it was full of stuff so I decided to empty it all out onto the lawn and get things really organized.  The item in the photo below fell out on the lawn as I began my project.  Nice to see I had some temporary spring (winter?) neighbors!

How to Run a Volunteer Program

Volunteers are like full blown roses.  They arrive with energy and expectations (perhaps inaccurate), but expectations none the less, that their time donated to you is valuable.  They are somewhat overwhelming in their eagerness to help.  They may only last a short time in this full bloom of volunteering if they get bored or realize they are only doing something tedious.  Here are just a few basic rules that will keep your relationship with your volunteers running smoothly.

1) Have a consistent and clear schedule but be flexible because you are getting free help.  Pretend that you think their time is valuable even if they are old retired farts.

2) Provide a tour of the facility and make sure you introduce and re-introduce staff over time.  Us older folks cannot remember a name to save our life.

3) It might be a good idea to assign the volunteer to a specific staff person (and a back-up) so that they know who to go to when they get there each time.  It is not courteous to have them stand around grinning at people until they catch someone's eye.


4) Be cheerful and start a small conversation each time they arrive so that they feel welcome.  Don't act distracted even though you are busy, just two to three minutes of cheerful exchange should suffice.  Whatever you do, do not give them the deer in the headlights look when they show up and then look around for someone else to help.


5) Always have something for them to work on.  Try to fit the activity to their expertise and interests if at all possible.  Do not waste their time by going around to other staff asking if they have anything to give the volunteer to do.


6)  And the absolutely most important tip is if you do not need volunteers be honest about that.  Take their name and phone number and tell them you may call them in the future.  Do not feel guilty in turning them away.  Women are particularly bad about this!


The advantages of volunteering in a library is you get to see all the new stuff first, you get to peruse the collection when you read shelves and it is amazing what libraries have today.  You had forgotten, perhaps, that videos, CDs, DVDs, books, magazines, etc. are all for the checking and free!  You have access to dozens of libraries via the interlibrary loan system, so chances are you will be able to get anything you want if you are patient.


Needless to say, my decision to help out at the local library which I began to do this winter is not working out as well as I had hoped.  I encountered some of the issues I mentioned above.  I also overlooked the fact that most of my work would involve moving books and re-shelving books and reading shelves for misplaced or lost books and other media.  I told myself that this re-enforced my Dewey and alphabetical skills and strengthened my biceps and laterals.  I tried to remember some yoga stretches and moves when I got up off the floor after reading the lowest shelves with my trifocals tilted for an extended time .  I was somewhat limited in this yoga moves partnering as I did not want to scare the customers.  I also found it necessary to stifle my groans as I tried to get up with books in hand.  Most days I pretend that they really are happy to see me and a few of them are.  But I if I do not like this as much as I hoped I guess I will be looking for a new volunteer activity in the future.
As a post script when a volunteer leaves you might want to ask them a few questions such as: 1) Will they be volunteering elsewhere? 2) What did they like about this volunteer experience?  3)What didn't they like?  

Spilled Fortune

If you are the kind of optimistic person who carefully plants seeds in the cold dark days of late winter and places them on heating pads under grow lights only to be disappointed that a tiny 30% actually germinate, be patient.  My husband's Thai Pepper plants spent 6 weeks in the little pots of seedling soil, and just as he was ready to toss them all into the compost pile, they perked their green pointy heads to the surface.  They germinated!


Another reason to be optimistic is when accidents happen.  I spent much time planting outside on the patio a few weeks later and put my little trays of seedlings from various annuals and a few perennials in the cold frame and watched them with intense love and interest as spring came and went.  One one of the breezy spring days I had accidentally spilled some seeds on the patio, and I cannot remember what they were.  I just remember the little envelope escaped my hands.  Looks like all that nurturing and care are not really necessary.  When a plant is ready to grow it will survive almost anywhere.

I will be most intrigued to see what these turn out to be if they actually bloom!  (They are looking more and more like baby bok choy...darn!  Looks like hubby spilled some seeds as well since he does the vegetables.  We had to clean the patio and thus it looks like these all went out the little holes.)

Regurgitation

When you have nothing in your fried brain it is nice to be able to regurgitate your brilliance that was dumped onto the Internet in prior posts by linking to it. The recent headlines about Nashville brought to mind a post of mine that I have linked to once before about a challenge I faced when I was younger and stronger.  For some antique knowledge of that time go here.  Some of you have been readers for a long time and I am thankful but this may be an old story for you.