DEAR FRIENDS:
Occasional letters from
a prodigal daughter back on the prairie (Achoo!)
Apr 29, 2009:
120 YEARS AGO
"Four insane patients ar-
arrived at Oak Lawn Retreat
yesterday from Colorado."
120 years later -- no need
to recruit from afar -- we're all nuts here!
Grab a cuppa and read on...
LAST DAY OF APRIL
Brewed
English Breakfast in honor of William and Kate this morning before
staggering off to the Y after a v. late night posting tombstone
photos. The rest of the world got up early to watch the pagent.
The other morning I looked around Y water class and thought what a winter of full
lungs it's been. We all hack and cough,
one woman
reported to have a fungus. I call her
The Cougher and keep my distance. Where’s
compassion? (The Fan is back in class--the gal who turns on the fan in the
dressing room when folks are wet and cold—because she’s hot.) Whether or not we admit it, most of us have
been sick
off and on all winter, often with a flu or cold "from hell...first time
I’ve
been to a doc in years, folks say". What
impresses me most is a lotta folks are only sick a couple days. My colds/whatevers drag on for
months.
The group is increasingly bionic. Musta been a sale on new parts recently. Quite a few new hips and knees in the water. People seem pleased. I wince to imagine of a new femur head and renew my yoga practice, stretching feet and balancing knees enthusiastically. You gotta be kidding. I guess folks are in such agony…. Carol’s better than ever with the new hip joint; Ann got one also, same doc. Virginia and her daughter both had both somethings replaced--knees, I think. Cheryl's daughter has a new hip I think. Rose has a knee. Jan’s aunt, a new knee. Sal's putting her knee. However the v. oldest, charge into and through their 9th decades without so much as the sniffles or a new part! Several are so light and limber as they climb out of the pool effortlessly, I'm jealous.
A new feature in water class is that Mr Fezziwig has joined us with his own program. I can’t actually read Dickens, but I recognize his characters when I see 'em. One morning an old character lumbered down the steps into the pool, and began walking along the floats separating the shallow and deep ends of the pool, right into the middle of our 9:30 class. Mr Fezziwig was all I could think!! Right here in the Y pool in No River Here city! Honest Injun. Who would believe it! Silver hair, bulbous nose, elephant ears, chin wattle, piles of soft flesh. (So now, in addition to Scrouge and Truman Capote, we boast our own Fezziwig!) From time to time I say a feeble howdy-- we’re within inches of each other. The eyes don’t flicker; they're in another century. We’ve lost another strip of 3 or 4 feet of the deepest water we all fight over to his water walking from one side to the other. Anyone else has to wait until class is over to do one's own thing--not Fezzi. His jaw moves in constant conversation with himself.
The group is increasingly bionic. Musta been a sale on new parts recently. Quite a few new hips and knees in the water. People seem pleased. I wince to imagine of a new femur head and renew my yoga practice, stretching feet and balancing knees enthusiastically. You gotta be kidding. I guess folks are in such agony…. Carol’s better than ever with the new hip joint; Ann got one also, same doc. Virginia and her daughter both had both somethings replaced--knees, I think. Cheryl's daughter has a new hip I think. Rose has a knee. Jan’s aunt, a new knee. Sal's putting her knee. However the v. oldest, charge into and through their 9th decades without so much as the sniffles or a new part! Several are so light and limber as they climb out of the pool effortlessly, I'm jealous.
A new feature in water class is that Mr Fezziwig has joined us with his own program. I can’t actually read Dickens, but I recognize his characters when I see 'em. One morning an old character lumbered down the steps into the pool, and began walking along the floats separating the shallow and deep ends of the pool, right into the middle of our 9:30 class. Mr Fezziwig was all I could think!! Right here in the Y pool in No River Here city! Honest Injun. Who would believe it! Silver hair, bulbous nose, elephant ears, chin wattle, piles of soft flesh. (So now, in addition to Scrouge and Truman Capote, we boast our own Fezziwig!) From time to time I say a feeble howdy-- we’re within inches of each other. The eyes don’t flicker; they're in another century. We’ve lost another strip of 3 or 4 feet of the deepest water we all fight over to his water walking from one side to the other. Anyone else has to wait until class is over to do one's own thing--not Fezzi. His jaw moves in constant conversation with himself.
LAST DAYS OF FEBRUARY 2011
As soon as the big snow started
disappearing a few weeks ago-- without pooling, it was explained,
because the
ground never froze--skenes of geese called on their way north.
Amazing. Day and night I hear their calls. Here I am, heavy
with winter, yet hear come the geese! As blue gray as I've been,
I'm going to miss the season of hibernation. It's excellent
people watching.
The other night I went off to hear Dr. Wolf talk at
the library about Lincoln's (The Lincoln--Abraham) contemporary,
Koerner. Sounded good
to me! All of seven of us showed up (including the
speaker). I took note of Dr W's spikey hair. Instead of
combing the last of his hair up and over--Dr W is way too practical to
worry about hair--it was cut short around his bald head.
Looked good to me.
This weekend I finally visited Sal's country
church--11 of us, including the pastor. The stained glass was
everything I'd been told. But my eyes kept jumping from the
windows to a head of gravity defying hair. An older gent had
combed his hair from the bottom up and over, leaving an interesting
bald circle behind
for me to wonder what might attach there! Although hair
can be
interesting, second to the beautiful windows, were the amazing super
broad
shoulders of an older faded blond man 2 rows ahead. Visions of a blacksmith pounding red hot iron
danced in my head. Shoulders like that I hadn't seen for decades,
stuffed into a black and white
checked shirt with suspenders.
Not the hunched shoulders of weight
lifters, but old fashioned, 3-D farmer shoulders. A
wife with big hair sat beside. The yoga teacher in me was drop
jawed and my mind ran wild.
Two lights on each side of a ceiling fan lit the
church. The day was gray and showery. My stomach
growled--my 2nd service for the morning--
as did rolls of thunder. Rain splattered.
Afterwards I met nearly everyone and tried taking photos of the
windows but refrained from standing on pews. Sometimes a gray day
is good for light. Excused
self to find
the local cemetery. Neither rain nor snow is keeping me from
photographing tombstones these days--my escape from cabin fever--I
guess. A bit dark and wet for some stones, however I had a jolly
time squooshing around, and found maybe 1/3 of the stones on the
request list.. As I got in the car to leave, saw the distant
silhouette of a critter watching from a bare field.
Binoculars revealed Coyote.
Having been captivated for years by Edgar Lee
Masters and his Spoon River anthology, and deeply affected by Wilder's Our Town--both of which I believe I
encountered after leaving the Midwest--perhaps it was inevitable, I'd
be comfortable wandering among the dead, pondering that thin veil and
stories above and below.
Steamed broccoli and carrots
with Sally crowned a wonderful Sunday on the prairie.
WINTER 2011
The subtitle/ theme of my life hit me sometime last year. Of course! Something on the order of ACHOO: a life of allergies and dripping nose. The Handkerchief is another possibility. (Gave up kleenex decades back.) Some people can't go anywhere without their shadow; for me, it's a handkerchief. A life time of sneezing started here on the prairie where it'll prob end there. When I "see" mom, there's a drip on her nose; elder brother's droplet is backlit in mountain sunlight; youngest brother's honking still rings as does dad's loud sneeze. Allergies to ragweed, sage, who knows what all. Later I realized I could add anything to the list I didn't like, say dogs or cats, getting up early, boring talks... Inner crying, whatever, got it big time. Mid August is especially explosive, depending where I'm living. Now that I'm back on the Illinois prairie--I'm amused to hear sneezes coming from out of the dark in the community park-- no hiding on the prairie. If nothing else, we're a community of sneezers. This winter I heard an astounding sneeze in Albuquerque. I was well across the room. Heads turned. The sneeze filled an enormous ballroom and must have frightened those near. I'm from Illinois, an expert. Good job, brother/sister. Feel better?
Now that we/most of us don't chop wood and carry water winters, those who don't go to Florida are left stewing in one's own juices. That's what I do well--stew. Haven't written much, just fermented, fomented and stewed. A recurrent theme swung back with vengeance recently. Writing either fans flames, or helps cool 'em. Hopefully, I'll amuse myself. I'm skeptical--this is a nasty one I've pushed away. Could be why I haven't been able to sleep...
Like to think I've done most of my forgiveness work--Patty for clobbering me in double trouble, rascally family and friends. All are small peanuts compare to the resentment I harbor against... The Whole Country! for supporting airport security. (Not My Country, of course. My country wouldn't pry heirlooms out of teary old ladies hands like they're terrorists. Not my country. Your country, maybe, those of you who don't want to take any chances with folks like me who make the friendly skies unsafe. Your country where old ladies are frisked so you'll feel safe while mother rapers as the song--Arlo Guthrie?-- put it, are waved through. Grrrrr.)
Seems I'm STILL furious about airport security taking away (as in forever) grandfather Mann's teeny, tiny pocket knife I accidentally left in my pack a few years ago. Maybe two inches swiveled open, grandfather's initials ASM etched on the sleeve. Cute, cute little knife; must have brought home when mom and I cleaned out the Tucson house in the early '70s, or I snatched it from The Garage Sale in Durango. (Of course it was not waiting for me when I got back to the airport.)
How can anyone feel safer because I no longer have Grandfather Mann's knife and the "security" person who stole does!!!!
Have those who feel safer because of my loss had their family momentos confiscated? I doubt it. Would I feel safer if they had a a tiny family knife taken from them? (I doubt it.) What's the difference in our thinking? Why do I think safety is more than searching bumblers for jells and creams?
Do Americans really feel safer because my creme brule was snatched in the Seattle airport?? Surely not! It's insane to take lunch or dessert or breakfast away from old ladies, or old men, or kids, from ANYONE at all, in the name of keeping airline travelers safe. As in, should be locked up, no trial. Those locked behind bars are small potatoes compared to what's going on in the name of keeping the country safe. My undeveloped, cherished opinion!
What makes one person feel safe where another feels frightened? Who wins? The one who's most frightened??!! The first thing some folks say is "What's wrong!" Guilt assumed!
Isn't safety a state of mind?
I need a logician! A+B isn't equaling C. What's going on?
Perhaps I'm in such a blind rage because I'm the taxpayer paying to have myself ripped off! As I see it, airport security creates terrorists, not the other way around. I know. I've become one.
So I haven't traveled for awhile. I'm pissed at the American obsessesion with safety--from me, from storms, from themselves. Bigger highways so loved ones will be safer, bigger cars and trucks. Removing slides and jungle gyms from play grounds. It's really too much folks. Not to mention germs and drugs! Time to take responsibility for sick thinking and actions!!! Keillor's Fear Monger shop can't keep the shelves stocked!!
I'm going to feel a lot better if i can work through my apparent faulty thinking, and tee hee possibly that of others!
Lately it's just been too hard to follow the wisdom to take nothing personally. When I stew about airport security and hand sanitizing stations, life seems full of dirty rats and I want out, out, out.
A few days after I faced this awful subject, I visited Great Decisions, only to learn the subject was security. Eek. Sure enough, it seemed as though younger folks felt safer knowing I wasn't carrying creme brule. Good to hear some of the ancients recall the days when one was allowed onto a plane to say goodbye to travelers. Imagine that. In one lifetime. Perhaps it would be helpful to think like a 20 year old to get along in this world where increasingly fear is running the show.
WINTER 2010-11
How
much fun can I take? Though I wasn't terribly surprised when
Sharon
scoffed at global warming last week (attends the B church); didn't
expect her to take on dinosaurs and evolution
while she was at it. (Why not?) Don't know if I
replied. She's
disturbed that her late 90s mother leaves the stove on, faces
moving her.
Have I mentioned lately that this Lake Wobegon has it's very own Scrooge and Truman Capote? yup. Honest injun. Depending on my degree of mental health, some days life here is too good to be true, other days au contraire... Stories and opinions fly out of us as we tread along in the swimming pool or gather at Wendys. One never knows! I calm myself when I find a neighbor's visitor's SUV backed onto my yard, parked on a sprinkler head, during a gala event. You wouldn't park like that on your yard, would ya? ach! People!
I was practically marching through Walmart today as I stewed over their nasty corporate politics and the saints who work there anyhow, chanting Rousseau's "Do not judge and you will never be mistaken". "Take nothing personally", I added, growing more furious as I remembered I'd just been bumped from subbing classes without being told. "They" were just gonna let me show up and find out! Snarl, snarl. By the time I'd learned my photos weren't back and was told I couldn't try on earrings I've eyed for months, I was headed to the door. Heard a commotion before I got there. A crowd was gathering in the pizza section where there was shouting. I overheard "close the exit" and dashed out. As I headed to find the car, heard sirens as a police car turned into the lot. Guess I'm not the only one in with post holiday grumps.
Met Suz's group last night for live music. They got the last of the soup; I had oriental salad with dressing to which chili must have been added. grrr. We've lost our sense of taste. I don't like loud music OR spicy food! What good am I! Jon puts his hearing aids in for the music; I go to the car for earplugs. Gonna stop right now and order some industrial ear protectors, red if they still have them. Ach, there they are -- shotgunner hearing protector. Maybe I'll get some shooting glasses while I'm in the mood. Wait, wait, better check ACE first, or WM.
Maybe I'm just rebounding from being in Minneapolis a few days over Cmas, where NPR is not a typo for NRA. Gotta be in denial to live here.
My list of you'd gotta- be- here to believe these has slipped from mind. Some days I come home just bursting with delight. Umm... Like some weeks ago... recapping The Met Live opera at the nearby cafeteria with esteemed music faculty. One mentions, "The fellow with the turban (lets say, I've forget the descriptor by now) who only appeared at the end..." Before I know it, I've leaped in excited, "He was in the first Act!", disagreeing with the overeducated once again. I was incredulous--I'd seen the guy! Bless teachers, trained to act like they're right, even when they're not. I may be faceblind, but with screen sized faces I do considerably better, being a keen observer of traits like scars, astonishing wigs, makeup--things men don't notice, especially not when they're sleeping it turns out. The men shake their heads disagreeing with my siting of said character earlier. Shortly however one of the PhDs let slip he'd dozed off early on, what with all going on in his life. The other confesses the same. (Read: serious sleep with snoring-- I've been near). I'm glad a pair of buddies can amiably snooze during a 4 hr opera. I slept later, I mention, which is why I hadn't be sure said actor had been in the last act but was sure he was there earlier! Interesting--the need to be right addiction. The incident had me chuckling.
Ever since I moved back to Lake Wobegon (and was refused a library card until I could show a deed of home ownership), I've winced that the library regularly lists "lap sits" in the weekly events calendar. Having been around the block-- this smacks of a porn term. I'd never allow my library to advertise one (that's why I'm not in charge). I've not said anything--who wants to hear from a prodigal daughter (son maybe, but not daughter). In this sex obsessed country, what are they thinking!. As I was stewing over this, plodding up the library stairs to fetch or return an interlibrary loan, splatted into The Director. Why not (because I know better.) Brought the subject up--finally. T.D. shrugged something about the board... floor sit would be better description... kids sit on the floor (not laps). Bet if I put a nasty comment the Open Whine about the library pushing porn, fur would fly. Instead, it's still in the paper, because that's the way it's always been. Of course.
Only my old gym teacher and I showed up for water class one snowy morning this week. Two or 3" is considered a blizzard nowadays--schools and institutions close--someone might sue. She was hoping to swim laps, instead found an eager student wanting to loosen up after long, tense hours in the dentist chair this week. While she-the-teacher talked, I did the hip circles, leg kicks and hamstring stretches I needed and she followed me! She picked up the pay check. Whatever.
I'll probably associate snow with the dentist the rest of my days. I've been waiting with dread and desperation since September to get a broken tooth fixed, along with a dozen fillings put in. First there was the root canal, then antibiotics and waiting... Then early January, storms marched across the country. With even the possibility of snow, folks start getting out of things they didn't wanna do--my big chance to move my appointment up weeks and week, a win-win for all. Never thought I'd want to go to the dentist, but after waiting so long, shifted position. Have snow tires and shovel, will travel, no problem. Took back to back cancellations, lay on my back gassed to the max, hour after hour, peaking out the window from time to time at the snow. Eight cavities filled one day; a crown and another cavity the next. Of course it was rather dreadful. However the team was extraordinary, having worked together decades. I like to think some of my childhood horror of dentists was lessened, not far from where it all began, down the street. What a mind-body adventure. Some fun remains for February.
Have I mentioned lately that this Lake Wobegon has it's very own Scrooge and Truman Capote? yup. Honest injun. Depending on my degree of mental health, some days life here is too good to be true, other days au contraire... Stories and opinions fly out of us as we tread along in the swimming pool or gather at Wendys. One never knows! I calm myself when I find a neighbor's visitor's SUV backed onto my yard, parked on a sprinkler head, during a gala event. You wouldn't park like that on your yard, would ya? ach! People!
I was practically marching through Walmart today as I stewed over their nasty corporate politics and the saints who work there anyhow, chanting Rousseau's "Do not judge and you will never be mistaken". "Take nothing personally", I added, growing more furious as I remembered I'd just been bumped from subbing classes without being told. "They" were just gonna let me show up and find out! Snarl, snarl. By the time I'd learned my photos weren't back and was told I couldn't try on earrings I've eyed for months, I was headed to the door. Heard a commotion before I got there. A crowd was gathering in the pizza section where there was shouting. I overheard "close the exit" and dashed out. As I headed to find the car, heard sirens as a police car turned into the lot. Guess I'm not the only one in with post holiday grumps.
Met Suz's group last night for live music. They got the last of the soup; I had oriental salad with dressing to which chili must have been added. grrr. We've lost our sense of taste. I don't like loud music OR spicy food! What good am I! Jon puts his hearing aids in for the music; I go to the car for earplugs. Gonna stop right now and order some industrial ear protectors, red if they still have them. Ach, there they are -- shotgunner hearing protector. Maybe I'll get some shooting glasses while I'm in the mood. Wait, wait, better check ACE first, or WM.
Maybe I'm just rebounding from being in Minneapolis a few days over Cmas, where NPR is not a typo for NRA. Gotta be in denial to live here.
My list of you'd gotta- be- here to believe these has slipped from mind. Some days I come home just bursting with delight. Umm... Like some weeks ago... recapping The Met Live opera at the nearby cafeteria with esteemed music faculty. One mentions, "The fellow with the turban (lets say, I've forget the descriptor by now) who only appeared at the end..." Before I know it, I've leaped in excited, "He was in the first Act!", disagreeing with the overeducated once again. I was incredulous--I'd seen the guy! Bless teachers, trained to act like they're right, even when they're not. I may be faceblind, but with screen sized faces I do considerably better, being a keen observer of traits like scars, astonishing wigs, makeup--things men don't notice, especially not when they're sleeping it turns out. The men shake their heads disagreeing with my siting of said character earlier. Shortly however one of the PhDs let slip he'd dozed off early on, what with all going on in his life. The other confesses the same. (Read: serious sleep with snoring-- I've been near). I'm glad a pair of buddies can amiably snooze during a 4 hr opera. I slept later, I mention, which is why I hadn't be sure said actor had been in the last act but was sure he was there earlier! Interesting--the need to be right addiction. The incident had me chuckling.
Ever since I moved back to Lake Wobegon (and was refused a library card until I could show a deed of home ownership), I've winced that the library regularly lists "lap sits" in the weekly events calendar. Having been around the block-- this smacks of a porn term. I'd never allow my library to advertise one (that's why I'm not in charge). I've not said anything--who wants to hear from a prodigal daughter (son maybe, but not daughter). In this sex obsessed country, what are they thinking!. As I was stewing over this, plodding up the library stairs to fetch or return an interlibrary loan, splatted into The Director. Why not (because I know better.) Brought the subject up--finally. T.D. shrugged something about the board... floor sit would be better description... kids sit on the floor (not laps). Bet if I put a nasty comment the Open Whine about the library pushing porn, fur would fly. Instead, it's still in the paper, because that's the way it's always been. Of course.
Only my old gym teacher and I showed up for water class one snowy morning this week. Two or 3" is considered a blizzard nowadays--schools and institutions close--someone might sue. She was hoping to swim laps, instead found an eager student wanting to loosen up after long, tense hours in the dentist chair this week. While she-the-teacher talked, I did the hip circles, leg kicks and hamstring stretches I needed and she followed me! She picked up the pay check. Whatever.
I'll probably associate snow with the dentist the rest of my days. I've been waiting with dread and desperation since September to get a broken tooth fixed, along with a dozen fillings put in. First there was the root canal, then antibiotics and waiting... Then early January, storms marched across the country. With even the possibility of snow, folks start getting out of things they didn't wanna do--my big chance to move my appointment up weeks and week, a win-win for all. Never thought I'd want to go to the dentist, but after waiting so long, shifted position. Have snow tires and shovel, will travel, no problem. Took back to back cancellations, lay on my back gassed to the max, hour after hour, peaking out the window from time to time at the snow. Eight cavities filled one day; a crown and another cavity the next. Of course it was rather dreadful. However the team was extraordinary, having worked together decades. I like to think some of my childhood horror of dentists was lessened, not far from where it all began, down the street. What a mind-body adventure. Some fun remains for February.
AUTUMN 2010
Left Illinois sweltering mid September, drove West to visit. By the time I returned near the end of month the season had changed. Almost didn't recognize the midwest. We'd baked so long.
Slowly folks are coming back to life to join those who love the heat. At long last, I thought I looked and felt like I was back with the living. Then 4pm one Thursday a sneezing cold struck like a bolt of lightning. Amazing. I'm back in the ozone, joining the snifflers, as various harvesters work fields in headlights, surrounded in clouds of dust. Many of us hacking and sneezing anywhere one goes. After the rainy summer, we've had nearly 2 months without rain. I'm carrying bathwater to the glorious, thirsty, front walk flowers. I grow very little but it's lookin' good right now. They're across from the new, white railing that's in 2 sections--thanks, Gary!!
We're in the midst of extreme Indian summer, most of us glorying in this stay of execution. The first week of October I still heard lazy cicadas in the nearby older tree neighborhood--wow--isn't that late? When did the fireflies quit? Think I saw a few in September. Even when I camped in eastern IL a few weeks ago, heard the occasional slow saw of a late cicada, along with distant owl and coyote pack. Oh how I love to get away and sleep under the oaks, big Jupiter and the waxing moon. In the morning, watched leaves float, spiral as they fell.
Others moan about winter while we're still sleeping with just a sheet. At last I'm out of summer hibernation, back sitting on the back porch. Pat's crew, finished draining the murky green pool I started on and stalled; refilled; the "waterfall" is back for the first time since spring, when I couldn't keep the pump unclogged. Doves, robin, cardinals, jays, sparrows, wrens-- the winged neighborhood seems to enjoy-- along with of course squirrels and several cats (grrr). Felt bad when I glimpsed the Coopers hawk dining on a small one last week. Why not a cat? As farm wife acquaintance Sally and I sat out one afternoon the small nuthatch visited. I've met a kindred backyard observer. We're no longer carried off by mosquitos, just a few bites. Seriously buggy summer.
Two falls ago the mild fall helped me make it through winter. This fall feels similar. However, there's a twist--it's the Year of Fixing Teeth. The upcoming months/years? will target saving teeth. The sooner I surrender, the better. Dental work has always been a nemesis. Doped with benedryl from the last minute cold, somehow made it through root canal #1/?. This medicare year is a really, really tough one--health wise.
Fall happenings are underway. I missed cruise night (alas ;~)) and Prairie Land Heritage Fest. My oversized belly is relieved I've managed to miss a few church luncheons by raveling. This being a 4th year, the hospital had it's benefit-- entirely over the top, an evening to remember. I was moved to the core. The miracle of the small town. Mercy. What an evening. Exhausted from laughing and tearing. Another night a high school classmate, one yr ahead, returned to play with the local symphony-- another extraordinary event followed by an open house where a saw a few more old faces I'd been waiting to run into. Another weekend I hooted through the local theater fall play. Recent Saturday morning listened to a super Presbyterian elder's funeral from the balcony. Adjourned to the UCC basement with Barb for a fair trade fair and soup lunch.
One still mild Wed. noon Sally volunteered the backyard for lunch with the Y water women. Made end of season vegetable hamburger soup and upside down rhubarb cake that never got turned over. The gals stopped for sandwiches. Mary (who I'd photographed summer before last by her corn crop of one stalk the noon she entertained us in her farm home by a pond) brought cheetos--bless her. Sally brought liverwurst. Probably last had that in Illinois!! Barb, zucchini bread. Not only am I not organized at entertaining, learned I don't have stable porch tables; will be keeping an eye out.
The farmers market, all 3 or 4 growers, has also had a stay of execution-- no hard frost yet. Spinach, lettuce and arugala have returned; late limas and green beans. Such a treat! Today I baked cauliflower and made white and sweet potatoes with leek into a potato salad in case I go to the water classes potluck tomorrow.
Simply gotta get that genealogy online and gold rush diary finished! My latest obsession has been tracking Hemphill cousins in Philadelphia. Learned a fair bit, but not how and why they are cousins. I dream about this. Most keen to go to Philadelphia and research and see the historic gothic cemetery where both cousins and wives are buried. How are the parents???
Halloween week is my only chance to wear my 2010 Folklife T-shirt that scares folks-- a band of skeletons playing music. I'm a fan of right living and dying. Last month I hauled out an old cassette player, plugged into car, began listening to favorite old tapes. This week I've listened to Joan talk about dying. I was a little amused that some of her descriptions of death resemble my every day experiences.
Adventure coming up. Ymca can't find any one to take Karen's "high level" early morning water class while she gets a new hip. I'm gonna start showing up until they can find a cute young thing who wants to tread water with 70, 80 and 90 year olds at 8:30am. Meanwhile, the hospital is finally willing to let us use a classroom for yoga (Y still says no.) Can hardly believe furthermore the Y won't let me post a flyer for slow yoga. How unhealthy! We'll see if I can handle high level seniors. I've no illusions of telling people anything new. They can overachieve all they want. The newest season of life guards are allowed to read and text during their shifts, more than a little bizarre, this new world. I'm warned seniors don't thrash, just sink. Going to be interesting-- old fashioned girl brushing against the new order. Again.
JULY 2010
Every time I pull in or out the driveway without dragging, I'm nearly ecstatic the neighbor's asphalt team had time to fill the ditch at the bottom of the drive. Perhaps I'm easily grateful (and thrilled)! Could be the highlight of this oh so strange "summer"--being able to go in and out of drive without scraping!
It's the first summer I ever remember that I'm not grieving shorter days. Either I'm not sure it's summer, or I just don't think about it. The whole year has pretty much been about survival. Don't sweat the small stuff? Like the car dragging on the drive? Weeds coming through pavement. Try not to.
This season's home improvement goal seems modest, though the months roll on without progress-- have the nearly dead maple by the front door removed and replaced with perhaps amelachior. Pat has several terrific ideas. After that, may break down and have a railing built along the walk, knowing full well those who've complained they want one will probably never return to use it. Hopefully others will appreciate one. True, the sidewalk slants-- especially treacherous in winter. It's why I teach mindfulness (whether or not anyone listens, esp me!)
This morning as I poured new applesauce, recalled another highlight. Joe showed up at the farmers market with transparent apples! Enthusiastically filled a couple of recycled bags from the car. Haven't seen transparents since the roadside sign in Indiana a couple summers ago. Everywhere I live, I scout these early treasures and knock on strangers' doors. Flavors from childhood--" real" applesauce and tomatoes. Last night I carved the 1+ lb brandywine (farmers market of course) like a roast. Put slabs on thin, dark German bread with onion and mayo...
Come to think of it, I'm also delighted by the colorful entry walk flower bed that's evolved, my only gardening. Every color flower greets me (unlike the neighbor's matching row)--peach, magenta, red, gold, blue (not doing well), pink, white...
Easily pleased, easily deflated, yoyo-ing my way through a prairie summer.
A new cloud over this already turbulent summer is the recent death of a local man in Afghanistan, bringing the middle east war right here. A week of headlines and personal interviews with family, veterans, bystanders; photos of the casket returning, parade. A big, sober deal that can only take me back to dad's flight unit and photos I just brought back from Minneapolis. Would it be less awful if the 5 tour sergeant hadn't left wife, who works at the hospital, and children? I struggle, as I always do, to accept the loss of a full strong life. His photo devastates me. Maybe the soldier took it better than me. The flag has been at half mast nearly 10 years now. We as a nation, perhaps as a world, seem to want both war and peace. Always that tension.
Two winters ago mom's ggfather's gold rush dairy showed up in a family box I finally opened. I'm one of those who still has unopened boxes since The Move. Hanging out in the past is right down my alley; I'm keen to transcribe it for all posterity (via computer, nat.). It's high on my Must Do list, some of which is slowly getting done this summer now that I feel better, though I'm hardly a ball of energy. (#1 on the list --Simplify--is almost too overwhelming to face, though nothing is more important. Need to break decluttering down room by room, pile by pile. Thought I'd start with going through 3 boxes of videos in the basement, but that's getting nowhere fast.)
Getting started on the dairy/log was hard-- outer pages worn, faint. Then I lost some of what I'd done in the hard drive crash of 2010, derailing me again. Tough on eyes. Sit with several magnifying glasses, under the light on the porch, reasonable evenings, and decipher a page or two. Getting better reading numbers, spelling and writing as the writing is stronger and I learn William's daily rhythm. I like the straightforward, uncomplicated entries, but am flummoxed here and there.
Beginning to feel like Shaharazad of the Arabian nights, saving her life by telling an endless tale, or Penelope undoing her stitching every night. The project seem like about the only meaning in my life; I'm loath to finish; it's not long. Then what? Time to go! Finished? Lots of things coming to an end, as I struggle to get myself to go through clothes, books, cds, bedding. Everything. I've several inspiring examples in my life of those who keep or have simplified their lives and homes. Extremely compelling. Though no one would believe it, I've always loved an empty room.
Summer thoughts on a cloudy day, so damp that when I went outside to try to take a photo of the flowers in front, the camera lens steamed over.
JUNE 2010
Folks weary of my whining about trying to be health in the fried chicken/fish-greenbeans&instant mashed potatoes belt. If you don't like it why don't you leave, they chirp between diet pepsi product refills. Whereas I weary of them whining (or bragging) about their bad knees, doc appts, bmi-mri-catscan's and colonoscopies, gkids, ex's, face lifts, in-laws. Why don't they stop holding forth about that stuff!! huh? If I mention I'm sick, dragging around, coughing, no one but me's impressed. I've got to do better. Feeling sick this long--big drama for me--just doesn't make it.
Something for everyone to whine about in a small town. The difference may be that I've never known this scale of intimacy. I know whose mockingbird says what to whom as well as who has chemo where, not as in clinic, but as in body part. Our American addiction to the need to know oughta be wildly satisfied here. Gossip?
Some of my dearest friends are in big cities living lives all but 180 from my Lake Wobegon existence. They endure world class programs, music, art and of course, food. They can't imagine living without city excellence. I'll always miss some of that.
Maybe this round of intimacy started with a woman telling me how her foster mother decided not to waste money sending her to beauty school. When she got on her own she won both contests getting her into beauty school-- her dream came true. Suddenly I understood perfect hair and strapless swim suits in senior exercise! Then I learned more than I wanted about a baptist marriage--from the husband; twice I responded-- not touching that with a 10' pole. Noooo. When Sal pulled me to the side to share backyard nature dramas, I began seeing the pages of a wonderful kids book turn--yes, yes. Maybe some evening we'll sit on her country back porch and watch stars. Maybe travel together with our local bard if a grandkid isn't having a birthday or a shower...
One never knows what will slip out during a story... kidneys failing... taken alzheimers drugs for years. I prefer hearing stories about snakes in trees. It's all here if one... listens.
Invited self over to sit on L&J's porch the other Sunday night. When the 3rd emergency siren zoomed by, J went for the police scanner and we listened in! "I know the family", J said.
I was with the prof the other afternoon when he answered the phone (caller i.d. of course), explained the situation to yet another caller wanting walmart, then proceeded to have an extensive catch up with a former student. Reached for a magazine.
Last weekend I cooked much of one day--the frig was avalanching--scrumptuous soup and apricot-peach cobbler. Hoped to snag bible therapy folks for lunch the following Monday. My scheme was foiled by a trip to the emergency room I missed witnessing (being late as usual). I was left with 2 reluctant takers both above cooking, would probably have preferred Dairy Queen, but were too hot to fight my invite. They were a bit confused by fresh food, but came around; I think we all enjoyed the change of pace and a different configuration of personalities. No longer a part of the in crowd, I enjoyed cooking for 3.
I support the small farmers market here with missionary zeal, buying from everyone (4 opportunities a week!). I so appreciate folks growing vegetables and fruits. One never knows what might appear. Like, just one basket of gooseberries (still sitting in the frig). Yesterday for the first time in several years, "out of the blue", a box of transparent apples appeared--never seem 'em in Jax, though I've inquired. The man who sells anything he can catch had beauties. Now they're in bags on the floor, waiting to be sauced. Don't keep well--my opinion. The frig is stuffed as solid as the Great Wall. Hasten slowly! Gooseberries and transparents await! Time to quarter and cook.
I'm traveling as though I've waited all winter, which I have. Shortish trips--Chicago, St. Louis, Minneapolis, long weekends I call them. Driving. But I hurry home. To water front yard flowers, though we've had record breaking rain again this year, and to feed ants. With ever drop on the kitchen sill I feel guilty; I share the kitchen, especially, with no one. Now euonymus is threatening to cover the walk; shrubs have shot upward. The dying maple in front needs replacing... Sigh.
APRIL 2010 - showers and more
This is becoming something
of a dairy of a manic depressive (as if the obvious needs mentioning),
as the seasons zigzag along midwest style. Spring truly burst
open suddenly,
though I remained in a gray wintery mood. Drove self to
Albuquerque, Flagstaff, Utah and Colorado for a spring revival after
Easter. Loved driving hwy 36 slowly thru MO and KS, feeling sun
again
(drying into a prune), visiting old buddies, camping, enjoying
inspiring church conference. Sublime weather; no need to say the
world is exquisite
everywhere in spring
My lighter mood lasted several days. Then the central Illinois rain and storms re-started. When I got back, my mini flower strip had deep dry cracks, had hardly seen rain while I was away. My spirits began flagging. Again. I love listening to rain--I think--now we can pull weeds--but once again I can't wrench myself out of the cozy bed mornings. The other morning I learned the birds start singing almost at 3am on the dot, when I couldn't sleep and took an early morning bath (where I finally fell asleep). Last Sunday I barely dragged myself to the latest (church) service. Came out revived, recentered and grateful again. A sublime late Sunday afternoon library concert lifted us higher. The frosting on the day that started so slowly came by surprise around the big round table at the usual Sunday early evening senior supper gathering. Like migrants, several lutherans returned after months away, and out of the mouth of one of the most proper came the tale of her pursuit of truth re: who's hanging out with whom in the dressing room as seen through a clothes rack in Penny's! Perhaps a tiny woman in the size small section can get away with this! We listened with jaws dropped to this improbable investigation from it's unlikely source. Nothing more satisfying that a surprise drama!
Headed into the new week in pretty good spirits. After senior singers practice we adjourned to the rummage sale around us. In the parking lot as I chatted with our coach, looked over at my car, parked at the farthest end of the parking strip and saw a sizable bash in the bumper. One of the group I'd be singing and rummaging with, had hit and run Silver Bell! In an instant, my attitude and spirits plunged. Again. Those sly, lying seniors! I grumbled and groused. My unsympathetic listeners laughed and told me how run over medians and such. ha ha--suck it up, sister.
Who needs a yoyo; I am one.
MARCH 2010 - Surviving
My lighter mood lasted several days. Then the central Illinois rain and storms re-started. When I got back, my mini flower strip had deep dry cracks, had hardly seen rain while I was away. My spirits began flagging. Again. I love listening to rain--I think--now we can pull weeds--but once again I can't wrench myself out of the cozy bed mornings. The other morning I learned the birds start singing almost at 3am on the dot, when I couldn't sleep and took an early morning bath (where I finally fell asleep). Last Sunday I barely dragged myself to the latest (church) service. Came out revived, recentered and grateful again. A sublime late Sunday afternoon library concert lifted us higher. The frosting on the day that started so slowly came by surprise around the big round table at the usual Sunday early evening senior supper gathering. Like migrants, several lutherans returned after months away, and out of the mouth of one of the most proper came the tale of her pursuit of truth re: who's hanging out with whom in the dressing room as seen through a clothes rack in Penny's! Perhaps a tiny woman in the size small section can get away with this! We listened with jaws dropped to this improbable investigation from it's unlikely source. Nothing more satisfying that a surprise drama!
Headed into the new week in pretty good spirits. After senior singers practice we adjourned to the rummage sale around us. In the parking lot as I chatted with our coach, looked over at my car, parked at the farthest end of the parking strip and saw a sizable bash in the bumper. One of the group I'd be singing and rummaging with, had hit and run Silver Bell! In an instant, my attitude and spirits plunged. Again. Those sly, lying seniors! I grumbled and groused. My unsympathetic listeners laughed and told me how run over medians and such. ha ha--suck it up, sister.
Who needs a yoyo; I am one.
MARCH 2010 - Surviving
The the name of the game since
October has
been survival (my view only, nat). What a tough haul--this
long winter.
Took at least a month to adjust to the shock of winter starting so early. Became sorta hysterical, not wanting to believe what was happening. The longer the snow sat, the funnier. Got sick early. Then got through the holidays without my usual glitches (some illness) by ignoring the season--not baking a thing or mailing off a box. First time in decades, if not ever, I stayed put, didn't go anywhere.
Took at least a month to adjust to the shock of winter starting so early. Became sorta hysterical, not wanting to believe what was happening. The longer the snow sat, the funnier. Got sick early. Then got through the holidays without my usual glitches (some illness) by ignoring the season--not baking a thing or mailing off a box. First time in decades, if not ever, I stayed put, didn't go anywhere.
To my
great disappointment my most meaningful Christmas even--taize with
Dominicans-- was
canceled (flu scare). Christmas Eve I was grateful to be included
with
D's
family and friends. Since I hadn't got to early Cmas eve mass
with everyone, left after dinner to pick up Prof K for church in
the country. En route, stuck in mud--rescued by Baptists coming
out of their service.
Christmas day-- congenial
lunch in the
Prof's tiny kitchen with a couple misc faculty. Paper
towel placemats, baked squash, white & sweet potatoes; turkey,
canned
gravy; I brought green vegetables, whipped cream...; Sharon
butter, other essentials and good music.... The show was stolen
by John's homemade
pumpkin pie on blue
patterned Russian plates. Prof K did his best to carry out his
new resolution to
drink more. Good conversation.
Although there wasn't all that much snow, Christmas week's stuck around into January, was joined by more that stayed into February. Come early March, snow was still piled in parking lots, and drifted in ditches. Ha ha. To understate, I ran out of good humor, not to mention energy. Probably not the only one. I sure knew it.
To survive, more or less successfully holed up and dug into family lines I'd been waiting to do. On the computer I pulled together both mom's Layer and dad's Hemphill information I've been slaving over into tidy outlines and sent files to a brother or two, hoping they'd be interested. Then in February, the computer crashed, knocking me almost all the way back to Go. Years of photos vanished. Haven't recovered--mentally or genealogy-wise
Another memory very much alive of this winter, is the plague of pseudo ladybugs. "Ladybugs" moved into cracks in houses from fields last fall by the millions. They survive by sheer numbers, crunching underfoot. This week, I crunched and spit one out. Blech. The first thing I do when I've been away for the weekend--or most mornings--is pick up upside down bugs (small, half rounds, difficult to get a nail under). All winter they buzzed into lights, tucked under pillows, walked walls, ceilings; laid on the floor, wings poked out, dead or dying. One of my associates gives them the run of the house, like dogs and cats. Gloomy as I am, I still don't allow outdoor critters inside.
Although there wasn't all that much snow, Christmas week's stuck around into January, was joined by more that stayed into February. Come early March, snow was still piled in parking lots, and drifted in ditches. Ha ha. To understate, I ran out of good humor, not to mention energy. Probably not the only one. I sure knew it.
To survive, more or less successfully holed up and dug into family lines I'd been waiting to do. On the computer I pulled together both mom's Layer and dad's Hemphill information I've been slaving over into tidy outlines and sent files to a brother or two, hoping they'd be interested. Then in February, the computer crashed, knocking me almost all the way back to Go. Years of photos vanished. Haven't recovered--mentally or genealogy-wise
Another memory very much alive of this winter, is the plague of pseudo ladybugs. "Ladybugs" moved into cracks in houses from fields last fall by the millions. They survive by sheer numbers, crunching underfoot. This week, I crunched and spit one out. Blech. The first thing I do when I've been away for the weekend--or most mornings--is pick up upside down bugs (small, half rounds, difficult to get a nail under). All winter they buzzed into lights, tucked under pillows, walked walls, ceilings; laid on the floor, wings poked out, dead or dying. One of my associates gives them the run of the house, like dogs and cats. Gloomy as I am, I still don't allow outdoor critters inside.
Continue to learn about the people of
Jacksonville as Col. Vern
Fernandes entitled his book. Several times lately breakfast mates
have
mentioned things that were happening, say, at their church or an
organization function that would
appreciate our financial support. When I scuttle off to said
event, I
notice whoever promoted the event, lured me in, is not there.
Reminds me of the "do as I say" philosophy in Idaho, where
folks had no intention of following their own advice but delusionally
expected others to! Ha! Maybe once. Where's
community? Off at private parties I'm thinking, perhaps the
Chicago Opera; visiting grandkids. There really is a group here
called
The Club. Now, who wouldn't want to
belong to a club that would have them (and not others). Ha ha,
sour grapes.
Month after month I remember, I've pondered the phrase "mean-spirited". Perhaps a step beyond stubborn? I know mean folks were once hurt. However, I don't think I've ever been in the midst of so many who enjoy making snide remarks, lying, hating and making fun, Old folks, not children! Why me? Sometimes I just walk away. More lessons.
Mrs. Mayflower (the same who attended the lecture a year ago few could hear) and I attended a fundraiser the other night. We're both considered "new" (to town), having
attended high school here, but wandered off for decades, only to show back up much later. Those who did not leave tend to ignore us. Mrs. M-F and I are genially assigned tables at the backs of events. Most recently however, we were seated with 2 friendly, out of town couples, first time attendees (folks who ought to be met and greeted by the Most Charming). Luckily they encountered us returnees; we were delighted to have company! Surely the long timers who ignore us, don't think Mrs. M-F or I yearn to steal the short supply of the male escorts! It's the only thing I can think of!
As I dropped off Mrs. M-F she mentioned one of her sons is going to move into her home when she dies. I was stunned and delighted that she confided this. So few are willing to talk straightforward about life going on after death. Oh, probably more folks than in my former life out west, but still, death is somewhat verboten here, even among those who have known each other generations, and could die at any moment, even among those undergoing chemo.... Have to agree it seems like many folks go on forever here--lotta tough stock here! However, it this hasn't been a winter where thoughts turn to death, then there isn't one!
Although I have a sense of "home" I haven't had for decades, I've come to recognize a loneliness midst people with extensive friends and families, literally closed clubs. It's been a helluva winter. If it wasn't for out of state friends, I'd be totally adrift. After Christmas I faced this loneliness and started reaching out, calling "new" people. My first attempt failed, but now, every few weeks I spend a pleasant afternoon drinking tea downtown with "new to me" faces. Suz and I talk ourselves blue. I'm grateful. Next week--the first classmate lunch in numerous overcast moons.
Surely there were amusing incidents this bleak winter. Let's see.... No stunning funerals like last winter; au contraire several notably unpleasant ones that made one wince. Sobering visits to hospital while J. had feeding tube and port installed. Watched her get weaker and weaker, unable to rest. Important lesson: the system is not my path.
Bank sponsored cruise came and went in February. Weather--sublime. Otherwise, rather outa my comfort zone, this experience of way too much. Needlesstosay this contemplative is not a born cruiser, though I do love to pieces being on and in water.
At least for now, any humor from the winter has been wiped out by the hard drive crash that happened on return from the Caribbean. What a teaching of letting go, simplicity. Indeed, be careful what you ask for.
OK. This just happened when I stopped by Barb's to see if she needed groceries. This time she did. One of her caregivers brought in a tv (far as I know B and I have the only tv free homes in the area). I found B and her helper blissfully watching what should have been an X rated nature show, something of a spring mating spectacular. I shifted and rolled my eyes as B laboriously wrote her shopping list. (How I hate to shop for "applesauce" when I'm sure there's a preferred brand and size!!) Piles of snakes writhed, praying mantis and black widows chomped lovers, others humped, thumped, bumped, lumped, pumped, rumped, you name it, whatever was near. To keep folks awake, each drama was but a few seconds, jumping from one uhhh scene to the next. I was a wreck, beside myself to bolt from the tv to the store. Why me!! Equanimity, Jeannie, equanimity!! One never know what one will come upon at an early spring stop at a senior's abode. Back to the peaceful ashram!
Month after month I remember, I've pondered the phrase "mean-spirited". Perhaps a step beyond stubborn? I know mean folks were once hurt. However, I don't think I've ever been in the midst of so many who enjoy making snide remarks, lying, hating and making fun, Old folks, not children! Why me? Sometimes I just walk away. More lessons.
Mrs. Mayflower (the same who attended the lecture a year ago few could hear) and I attended a fundraiser the other night. We're both considered "new" (to town), having
attended high school here, but wandered off for decades, only to show back up much later. Those who did not leave tend to ignore us. Mrs. M-F and I are genially assigned tables at the backs of events. Most recently however, we were seated with 2 friendly, out of town couples, first time attendees (folks who ought to be met and greeted by the Most Charming). Luckily they encountered us returnees; we were delighted to have company! Surely the long timers who ignore us, don't think Mrs. M-F or I yearn to steal the short supply of the male escorts! It's the only thing I can think of!
As I dropped off Mrs. M-F she mentioned one of her sons is going to move into her home when she dies. I was stunned and delighted that she confided this. So few are willing to talk straightforward about life going on after death. Oh, probably more folks than in my former life out west, but still, death is somewhat verboten here, even among those who have known each other generations, and could die at any moment, even among those undergoing chemo.... Have to agree it seems like many folks go on forever here--lotta tough stock here! However, it this hasn't been a winter where thoughts turn to death, then there isn't one!
Although I have a sense of "home" I haven't had for decades, I've come to recognize a loneliness midst people with extensive friends and families, literally closed clubs. It's been a helluva winter. If it wasn't for out of state friends, I'd be totally adrift. After Christmas I faced this loneliness and started reaching out, calling "new" people. My first attempt failed, but now, every few weeks I spend a pleasant afternoon drinking tea downtown with "new to me" faces. Suz and I talk ourselves blue. I'm grateful. Next week--the first classmate lunch in numerous overcast moons.
Surely there were amusing incidents this bleak winter. Let's see.... No stunning funerals like last winter; au contraire several notably unpleasant ones that made one wince. Sobering visits to hospital while J. had feeding tube and port installed. Watched her get weaker and weaker, unable to rest. Important lesson: the system is not my path.
Bank sponsored cruise came and went in February. Weather--sublime. Otherwise, rather outa my comfort zone, this experience of way too much. Needlesstosay this contemplative is not a born cruiser, though I do love to pieces being on and in water.
At least for now, any humor from the winter has been wiped out by the hard drive crash that happened on return from the Caribbean. What a teaching of letting go, simplicity. Indeed, be careful what you ask for.
OK. This just happened when I stopped by Barb's to see if she needed groceries. This time she did. One of her caregivers brought in a tv (far as I know B and I have the only tv free homes in the area). I found B and her helper blissfully watching what should have been an X rated nature show, something of a spring mating spectacular. I shifted and rolled my eyes as B laboriously wrote her shopping list. (How I hate to shop for "applesauce" when I'm sure there's a preferred brand and size!!) Piles of snakes writhed, praying mantis and black widows chomped lovers, others humped, thumped, bumped, lumped, pumped, rumped, you name it, whatever was near. To keep folks awake, each drama was but a few seconds, jumping from one uhhh scene to the next. I was a wreck, beside myself to bolt from the tv to the store. Why me!! Equanimity, Jeannie, equanimity!! One never know what one will come upon at an early spring stop at a senior's abode. Back to the peaceful ashram!