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.
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?
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!)
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!)
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.
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?)
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.
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?"
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.
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.)
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!
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?
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.)
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.
Make some tea or some cool lemonade and come walk with me though my spring garden. I am REALLY lucky this spring that not much has eaten, destroyed or killed my beautiful flowers. So I am enjoying them, because like any experienced gardener, I realize these beauties are most temporary. I wish I could pick a bouquet and bring them right over!
If my daughter says she is coming for the weekend I tend to over-plan. I head out to the grocery for kid-friendly snacks, make sure linens are changed, put out new towels and refill the soap dispenser. I do a quick dusting even though no one will notice and make sure the sidewalk is free of grass clippings. I check the weather to make a soft list of activities in case of rain. I get out the toddler dishes and sippy cups. Of course, I charge my camera battery.
My husband, on the other hand, tends to go with the flow. His most recent approach was to decide after the toddlers had arrived for the weekend to sleep in a tent in the back yard with grandson. He was pretty excited about this adventure. Our two man tent has not been used for maybe a decade (it smells) and the directions have long since been lost along with our foggy memories of how we used to set it up. No surprise, but help from the five-year-old was not as useful as he had hoped. After a couple of hours and some stifled bad words, this was as far as he got before he admitted defeat. I think I am happier facing less disappointment and spending more pre-time as the one who over-plans.
When I was a child I remember how rare candy was at my house. It was rare because of cost, not so much the enforcement toward healthy eating, but I am sure that was part of it. I can remember squirreling away my Halloween candy (admittedly a large bag of it) in my dresser drawer and stingily eating little pieces of it all winter and into the spring until Easter candy took its place. I can remember the rare bag of M and Ms being parceled out piece by piece to all three (long before the birth of my two younger siblilngs) of us kids making sure we all had the exact same number of pieces.
New clothes were also a big deal. I remember one Christmas getting a pink sweater with golden new-moon shaped beads around the neck that I wore and wore until the moons were tarnished, it had become tight under my arms, and it had developed too many holes to wear anymore.
We never had any magazines at our house and I remember devouring them in the reception area of the doctor's office, always hoping that we had to wait a long time before the nurse called us into the examination room.
There were no distractions of children's television, video games, computer activities or phone texts. I could savour the lilacs blooming each spring in the back yard right after breakfast and I did. A good book and my imagination took me on wonderful journeys more detailed than any Avatar movie whose scenes were designed through another's vision. A trip to the city was an exciting adventure, even though we didn't do anything more fun there than shop in a few stores. It was the change of scene and sound that I savored.
If you are allowed every distraction, adventure and luxury as a child, do you ever really savour it. It will be there tomorrow or next season surely once again, why bother to savour it? Do your learn the technique of savouring something or does your life consist of hurrying on to the next best thing? Must the skill of savoring be learned? Does a chocolate cupcake crammed into one's mouth or with just the frosting eaten first taste as good as that one that you eat ever so slowly and think about each bite as it coats your taste buds knowing that it will be a long time before you get to savor another?
For some weird reason we decided to use the rest of the tax refund (i.e. that free loan that you give to Uncle Sam, AND in our case, the State for a year) and spend it on paving the driveway. Hubby and I have gone back on forth on the environmental issues, the weeds with ticks that appear by August down the drive vs. the toxicity of herbicide and pesticide vs. the oil runoff of asphalt and the heat that it will bring to the front yard. I think what pushed us over the edge was the inability to shovel a gravel driveway with any success this past winter after week after week after week of snow.
Then hubby, who is the least pretentious person I know, decided he wanted pavers for the part closest to the house. (Yes, you can close your mouth.) That is an expensive decision and certainly not necessary. I was/am so shocked I decided to go along with it. As I frequently say these days, I am going to die someday, so why not? I do not fear or welcome death; I just know that I am now on that downhill side and any decisions I make are not that important when they help employ others in this recession.
Anyway, I sit here at my desk with clouds of powdered cement drifting across the outside front yard and coating every green leaf and colored flower petal as workmen begin to saw into chunks the current cement sidewalk before starting on the driveway paving. Oh yes, this will be major. The house shakes as they lift huge chunks of cement with a bulldozer and dump it in their truck. The workers (you know, the ones with the green cards that everyone wants to ask for to make sure they are legal ...the ones who are essential to our lifestyle...the ones that actually helped, in a small way, keep retail businesses open during the recession... and one of whom has only two pairs of work shoes but will not wear the other pair for weeks because a bird nested in them on his back porch) are covered in cement dust as they use cement saws to cut chunks of 4 inch thick concrete into manageable sizes. The white guy sits in the front loader and moves the cement to the truck.
They had to carefully move quite a few established plants from either side of the walkway. I am hoping they survive.
Mrs. Bluebird left early and I have not seen her return, and I am VERY concerned that we have driven her off her nest. The distant chickadee in the far birdhouse is still hanging in there in spite of the noise and dust. We had forgotten the issues of spring when we scheduled this project. We also should have been prepared for the washing machine gasket problem (in prior post) and the compressor going out on my little wine cooler in the kitchen.
(Did she say she has a wine cooler in the kitchen? Really?)
Anyway, neither of these are going to be repaired anytime soon.
Discovery and serendipitous cleaning are some of the hallmarks of the time spent in wandering one's house post-visit of toddlers. One cannot just wander through the familiar hallways or saunter into the bedroom as you normally do. Make sure that you have shoes on. Make sure you have your glasses on. Make sure your hands and pockets are free to collect treasures. Do not be squeamish. One child's treasure is ... well, never mind.
If barefoot crossing the kitchen floor you will encounter surfaces that grasp your toes and heels with ardent stickiness. You cannot see where this sticky surface rests, but it is there and will grasp every bit of dust and dirt in the days to come, revealing its presence unless it is scrubbed away right away.
One cannot just vacuum a floor without the same careful perusal of the areas that one uses before mowing the lawn. Something will be camouflaged within the pattern of the Oriental rug or slipped just out of sight beneath the edge of the sofa. Something will stymie that vibration brush on your vacuum or cripple your barefooted arch and leave you limping for days as you step upon that first stair.
The expertise of looking for tiny fairy slippers, pointy plastic swords, and teeny legos is something that must be practiced and learned well. Impatience in this arena will punish you. I have learned this the hard way.
Yet, even I can learn something new. I had collected all the sheets, pillow cases and assorted bath towels and had begun the first load of laundry. When it was done I pulled the heavy damp sheets up into the dryer. Within minutes I heard a clanging noise. I stopped the dryer and pulled wet heavy fabric right and left and found nothing. I continued the dryer again and heard that odd noise. The photo of the metal hoop above is what I finally was able to retrieve from my damp laundry but only after it has torn a small corner off the sheet.
I have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA what it is, where it came from, or whether I should be a little panicked by my lack of knowledge. I do not have one of those fabric tunnels that children can crawl through. Everything is still working in the house. Any ideas? Should I worry? Do you have one of these?
The local theatre brochure arrives by post.
I peruse
and mark those entertainments that look promising.
Unfolding the town paper, I scan the insert
and make a mental note of
weekend frivolities that are intriguing.
A new restaurant in town has live music for lunch, and
I jot a mental note to make sure and drop by.
The evening news showcases a local sports team and
I mark the calendar to see the next game.
My favorite artist has an exhibit in the nearby town and
I clear some space in my week.
The weekend comes and the drama of
the osprey nest building show,
"Engagement one week only,"
claims my time.
The following week there are hyacinth bean seedlings
in the coldframe
demanding transplant.
During the coming spring days,
my lunch hours are filled
with the dance recitals of
hummingbirds and new butterflies.
By month's end, the lonely canoe needs a quick
paddle down the creek to stretch its spine.
So, I will admire the spring landscapes painted by
the local artist, Mother Nature,
while pulling my paddle through the silver water.
