Roadtrip Longings

I long to pack up a bag, fire up Black Beauty, and hit the road for an adventure.  T feels the same way.   On our usual adventures, we identify a place and wander that way in search of farm stands, antique shops, historical sites, charming back roads, and night time skies with stars.  With a loose agenda, we go and stop when we like, filling the days in a meandering way.

The current state of the world rather prevents this kind of hapless, unplanned adventure.  For now, we’re not even sure when such a modest trip can be undertaken.  But we both like daydream about such an adventure.  For now, that will to be enough.

Competitive Reading

Yesterday afternoon, I curled up on the sofa with my current book.  I’m nearly done reading it so, as is my habit, I had two others nearby, nominees for the next book I will read.  At some point, T came downstairs and found me there, asleep with three books on my lap.  When I woke up, she teased me about it, amused that I took to the sofa with three books, as if some sort of book apocalypse might befall me there in the living room.

I defended myself by pointing out that I am nearly done with the book du jour and was auditioning candidates for my next read.  She laughed but I could tell she thinks I am a crazy book lady.  As I am in fact a crazy book lady, I took no offense.

I record books that I have read on Goodreads and, in keeping with my competitive spirit, participate in their yearly Reading Challenge, whereby you pick a number of books you expect to read in the year and the app records the books.  This morning,  I logged in to record the book I finished the night before.

At this point, Goodreads informed me that I am behind in the reading challenge for 2020.  Though this is an entirely artificial matter and there is neither reward nor bragging rights involved (I am private on Goodreads and so no one but me sees it), I am quietly freaking out.  Behind on reading?  Me?  What will become of me?  How will I face myself each day?  And most importantly.....How can I read more?

It is ironic that this terrifying news happened less than 24 hours after I fell asleep on the sofa with three books in my lap.    I feel like Goodreads needs to check in with T, who can attest to my bona fides as a good reader.

Nervous Energy

Right after we dropped JT off, T had surgery on her left arm to remove an unwelcome lump.  It’s likely to be a benign lipoma, but while we await the pathology report and she recovers from the surgery (complete with a nearly 4 inch incision and a left arm totally casted for the first week of recovery), I have a lot of nervous energy to burn off while I serve as her nurse.

Enter cooking, my traditional task for showing my affection.

I’ve roasted chicken for T.  I baked a tomato pie with garden tomatoes and made zucchini pancakes with local produce.  This afternoon, I’ve stirred together an amazing summer corn chowder recipe that cooks in the crock pot.  We’ll have that for supper alongside some grilled bacon-wrapped shrimp.  Later this afternoon, I’ll bake some brownies.

Tomorrow, I plan to make toasts with chèvre, radish, and scallions, one of those easy combinations that tastes far more amazing than the time that goes into it.  We’ll enjoy it with leftovers from the week and the taste will remind me to stop and enjoy these last days of summer.  

I always enjoy cooking.  Unlike most things in my life, it’s work that usually ends in a finished product, which I suspect is much of the enjoyment I derive from it.   It’s something I can do while T heals and we try not to fret.  It’s my way of showing love and burning off energy.

It’s also delicious and that’s happy!

The Blue Room

After 8 years together, T and I are merging households later this month.  We’ll stay at Sassafras House and part of that process has involved making her an office from the room formally known as the guest room.  Potential guests need not fear; there are still extra beds in this house.  In preparation for the conversion, I’ve spent a good deal of time sorting out the many things jammed into the guest bedroom and its closet over the years .  There is no before picture because it was an unholy mess and why should I tattle on myself?  But I started the big cleanup in February and by April the room was cleaned out and ready for its next life.

T and I looked for paint to refresh the faded yellow room, which gets Southern and Western exposure from two large windows.  We both like blue and settled on a color called Fresh Air.  A few weeks back, I got up painter’s tape to protect the white woodwork trim.

On Good Friday, I used my day off from work to good effect as the painter-in-chief.  I started on the ladder edging in the trim, of which this corner room has a great deal.  

It’s not a huge room and by late afternoon, the painting was done.

That night we pulled down the painter’s tape and in the morning light, the dried walls looked quite splendid.

Then the pine floors got a good scrubbing and were refreshed with Rejuvenation, which works like a dream on old floors with a polyurethane finish.  The original 1931 pine floors are shining.  Within the month, the room will be filled with T’s desk and bookshelves, a cozy blue oasis with a splendid view of Old Man Tree.

Even better than that is the two of us living together full time.  After eight years together, it’s time!

Raccoons!

From time to time, a neighborhood cat pops up on the back porch and my very indulged indoor cats, spying the outsider from the sliding glass back door, promptly lose their minds, howling at the glass.  On Saturday night, T and I were watching Netflix when Tiger and Lucy went to the backdoor and commenced an alarm.  It wasn’t the usual howl, more of an announcing sort of meow.  We got up to scare off the cat outside but when we got to the glass, it wasn’t a cat staring in at us. 

It was a raccoon.

As we contemplated the best course of action, we realized that there was another raccoon on the back deck.

And a third, fourth, and fifth one playing in old man tree.  They weren’t full-gown, more like teenaged raccoons, and they were having a blast in the backyard.  

I’ve been known to be charmed by raccoons but this was no laughing matter.  I’ve never spied a single raccoon in the backyard, let alone five of them, and T and I jumped into action.

Well, actually T did.  She pulled on her boots and set out through the front door to scare them out of the backyard.  She brought a big stick and a rather impressive bark.  It took a few rounds, but she sent them packing.  Tomorrow, I’ll call the local animal control folks.  I’ll also call my tree guy to make sure the raccoons haven’t hollowed out a nest in the tree.

Until then, T is watching raccoon removal videos and contemplating how she’d look in a ‘coonskin cap.  As for Tiger and Lucy, they are napping, which they find to be a solid response to any number of troubling developments.

Lifetime Limit, Edition 2

The backstory: As is the case with any sentient person, I spend plenty of time in the public places that feature music from the easy listening/classic rock continuum.  Over the years, some songs have lost their appeal.  To that end, T and I have compiled a list of songs which have achieved their lifetime limit, meaning that we never wish to hear them again.  Over the remainder of 2017, I will post nominees for this dubious honor.  

This edition is concerned with rock ballads, a genre that has a great deal for which to answer.  For starters, the tunes whine in your head long after the song has been heard.  Moreover, they all have horrifying videos that still come to mind when I hear them, even though it’s been a solid 20-plus years since I watched any of these videos. Or perhaps any music videos?  Do music videos still exist? But I digress…..the following songs are tiresome and I have reached my lifetime limit.  

1.  All songs by Whitesnake, but especially “Here I Go Again on My Own.” Just fucking go, already.

2.  Poison’s “Every Rose Has It’s Thorn,” which is both an appallingly trite sentiment and frightfully likely to linger in your brain long after the first thorn-related damage has healed.  

3.  I’m a bit reluctant to place Journey’s “Open Arms” on the list because if I never hear it again, I will never have the chance to share a timely laugh with my sister about the time my mother claimed the song was named “Velvet Arms.”  However, in the interests of the common good, I feel obligated to declare I’ve reached a lifetime limit on this damned song.  While I’m at it, I’m also declaring that we’re done with “Faithfully.” 

May your weekend be pleasant and ear-worm free.

Wrapping My Mind Around It

JT has been gone for the last two weeks, his annual vacation with his other mother, and I have been in a quiet house for some of the time.  Not all of it —— T and I made one of our annual adventures, and I made plans for some evenings. I worked most of the days,  but I’ve had some evenings to myself.

That’s time to relax and not be a responsible parent (and when you are the mother of a teenage driver, you sure as hell need time off from that).  My house is clean, my laundry is caught up, the TV is mine to watch (and without interruption).  It’s weird and nice in equal measure and a reminder of the lifestyle that is coming my way soon.

It’s strange and sometimes difficult to head into this coming September with the thought that this is my last school year as a full-time mama of a living-at-home child.  On the one hand, it feels like a foreign landscape.  For the first time in nearly 18 years, the prospect of the next season doesn’t just mean snowfalls or tulips peaking through the ground.  The next season also feels like one filled with endings…..the last time I will make JT’s picture on the first days of school, the last snow days JT and I will enjoy together, my final seasons as a parent cheering on her son in an RPS jersey…so many lasts that they stack up in a way that is sometimes hard to contemplate.  I expect that among the uncertainties to come, there will also be blessings to enjoy.  But uncertainty remains part of the picture for now and I’m the sort of person who likes a spoiler, so uncertainty is unsettling.

Of course, it’s easy to miss your 17 year old when he’s been away for two weeks.  When he returns with bushels of attitude, piles of laundry, and multiple expensive requests, it might be a whole lot easier to embrace a future when our paths will diverge.   I am genuinely excited for this next chapter in JT’s world.  It’s thrilling to see a boy who was once every inch a Peter Pan as he walks toward greater independence and autonomy, prepared to actually grow up.  And I’m excited for me and T, as we embark on the next steps in our life together.  For now, however, daily life will once again feature a boy.  And though it won't always be so sweet, I’m looking forward to his loud and messy return.

Enchanted Garden

T and I planned a summer adventure to visit the Harriet Tubman Underground Railroad National Historical Park on the eastern shore of Maryland (more on that next week).  On the way south, we stopped at the Winterthur Estate in Delaware.  There, we took time to enjoy the lovely perennial garden that covers sixty acres of the 1,000 acre estate.  Winterthur was once the estate of the du Pont family and you can rest assured that they were never short of cash.  The estate has the house and a collection of the American furniture and textiles that Mr. du Pont enjoyed collecting.  They are housed in his 175-room, nine story mansion.  

Such opulence on our way to see the world to which Harriet Tubman was born seemed a little silly, so T and I opted to mostly enjoy the acres and acres of splendid and lovely gardens.

There is a fairy garden added to the estate to appeal to children and, I suppose, children at heart.  It was a quiet destination for our Saturday morning, made more lovely by the few children who were there, laughing and enjoying the fairy paths.

Lovingly designed for children with rich imaginations, the garden path meanders from a small gate to bridges, windows in which to peak, a mini circle of rocks, a thatched cottage, a place for a fairy tea party, and small tables and benches tucked into the shaded glens.

We had a pretty good time ourselves.

I am reminded how much I like visiting gardens, something I plan to make more time for in the coming years.  

That’s happy!

Lifetime Limit

The backstory: As is the case with any sentient person, I spend plenty of time in the public places that feature music from the easy listening/classic rock continuum.  Over the years, some songs have lost their appeal.  To that end, T and I have compiled a list of songs which have achieved their lifetime limit, meaning we never wish to hear them again.  Over the remainder of 2017, I will post nominees for this dubious honor.  

First up, "Karma Chameleon" by Culture Club.  Nothing against Boy George, but this song has used up its time.  Also having achieved maximum annoyance with a minimum of value is Ozzy Osborne's "Crazy Train."  Is it just me, or does that song last 15 minutes?  Get me off that damned train now. Foreigner's whining effort to get into somebody's pants, "I Want to Know What Love Is," has also outlived it's dubious-in-the-first-place value.  Katrina and the Waves should stop "Walking on Sunshine."  And finally, having achieved maximum ear worm status (it's playing in my head right now), I declare a lifetime ban on Whitney Houston's "I Wanna Dance with Somebody."  

Flowers for Friday

Again, I note that I am spoiled.

Seasonal Bunnies

I have a soft spot for the furry creatures who live in my backyard, especially the squirrels and bunnies.  My affection for the rabbit world is long-standing.  Something about those fuzzy tails and perky ears charms me.  And I especially love pictures of anthropomorphized animals.  Knowing this, when T came across the illustrations of Racey Helps, she knew I would lose my mind when I saw them.

I have them on my bulletin board at school and swap them out on a seasonal basis so that I can appreciate the variety in my collection.  The illustrations are cute and sassy, with terrific attention to detail.  The bunnies headed to school have carrots and slate boards in hand; there is a chestnut roaster at the edge of a snowy field where the bunnies play; the Mama bunny wears a cheery and slightly exasperated expression as she herds her babies to get a balloon; the teacher bunny is unfailingly patient.  They are just my sort of thing and they make me ridiculously pleased when I see them. 

On Leadership

On Friday, T and I wandered north to Hyde Park, New York, the home of President Franklin Roosevelt.  We visited the president’s home and his presidential library and had plenty of time to think about the meaning of leadership in American history.

FDR wasn’t perfect, of course, but comparisons to the current resident of the White House don’t highlight FDR’s imperfections nearly as much as they reveal the vast inadequacies of the current occupant.  To read FDR’s descriptions and plans to deal with the Great Depression is to understand that leadership requires both the capacity to develop plans to address national problems and also the ability to express compassion and sympathy that will lead to national courage as we address our shared challenges.  FDR always seemed to understand that our problems were collective; that we must look after one another.  Instead, Donald Trump is rolling out a budget of tax cuts for the wealthy, an unnecessary wall, and vast weapons increases paid for by cuts to nutritional assistance for children and elderly.  Gutting the NEH and the NEA and ignoring the ways in which our privileges demand an active presence in the world isn’t leadership.  It’s foolhardy cowardice.  Trump’s plan isn’t about compassion or understanding; instead it is a reminder of how far our nation has sunk.

As we walked through the library displays on the years of Roosevelt’s presidency, we listened to selections from his Fireside Chats. Even now, the compassion and concern in his voice is palpable.  The comparison to Mr. Trump’s  efforts to communicate with the nation is just so disheartening.  At times I wasn’t sure which of Trump’s shortfalls was worse: the lack of leadership, the incoherence of his rhetoric, or the complete lack of principles in Trump’s world view.  It’s a sorry list of deficits.

FDR’s genius was in his ability to be genuine and sympathetic as he led the nation forward.  His definition of the national interest was broad and compassionate and his ability to sustain courage in the nation made us better together.  FDR’s policies were driven by genuine concern for the people, not an interest in adulation.   

I tell myself there are leaders like FDR in our future.  I tell myself that our current divisions are temporary.  Four years isn’t such a long time, I think.  We can endure and come out the other side of Trump’s reign with a better sense of who we are and who we want to be.  I want to have confidence that our history can be a guide to our our future.  I live in hope.

A Peaceful, Easy Feeling

In the coming week, the faculty will return to school for the meetings which signal the start of the school year.  In the evenings, we’ll have picnics and social events for new students and their families.  On Friday, all the new students will come to school for a half day.  They’ll bring their parents and we’ll welcome them to the community.  All week, JT will have afternoon cross country practice and he’ll be hurriedly finishing his summer reading.  The laundry will pile up and the week will have a frenzied, anticipatory feel to it.  Then we’ll have a long weekend for Labor Day.  Before we know it, Tuesday will have arrived and school will have begun.

In the pause before the frenzy, I’m making lists of things that still need to be completed.  I’m looking forward to the school year; I always do.  But I’m sorry to say goodbye to summer’s easy feel.  The pace of morning without school is much gentler than my scheduled days; there’s always time for one more cup of coffee and an extra chapter in my book.  It's hard to see those days end.

I’m sitting on the front porch this morning soaking up the last of summer’s easy feeling.  I suppose I could regret its passing but if the last five years have taught me anything, it’s to set aside regret and appreciate the blessings in my world.  

My arthritic knee is up to its old tricks and I’ve developed a lower back ache.  There are piles of laundry beckoning me.  Some of my summer to-do list remains to be done.  But the girl I love is asleep under a soft quilt, I have a fresh pedicure, and a new book to read.  T and I spent yesterday on a tiny adventure, a nice way to end a busy summer of adventures.  There is sunlight and cicadas while I rock on the front porch; cool air conditioning just beyond the front door, and fresh iced tea in a pitcher on the counter.  I am loved and I am blessed to love in return.   

I’ll take it.

New Bloom Thursday: Week 6

I’m impatient to see big progress in the amaryllis, much as I am impatient for the arrival of Spring blooms.  Quite frankly, I’m impatient for all sorts of things….I’m looking forward to Spring Break and packing away my Winter clothes.  I’m looking forward to March Madness basketball because it gets me that much closer to the start of baseball season.  I thumb through my gardening catalogs and I’m impatient to start Spring planting.  I think about the summer and I’m impatient to plan an adventure with T, to make some college visits with JT.

And here is where impatience runs up against my heart.  A look into my not-too-distant future reminds me that in just over two years, my baby will be moving out and heading to college.  That’s exciting and it’s what I want for him but it’s also such an unfathomable development.  Where did the time go?  How is it that I once had a bundle of soft, sweet baby and now have a tall and strong, sometimes still sweet, nearly-16-year old?

Impatience for the things that are coming puts me at risk for not appreciating the here and now.  So I’m going to stop and admire the amaryllis as it looks today.  There is time enough for the future tomorrow.

Coloring Books

Last Fall, T and I were at Barnes and Noble when she showed me some grown up coloring books.  She knew what she was doing; I was intrigued at once.  She gave me two books and some colored pencils for my birthday in November.  For most of that month, I colored when I had a spare moment and I enjoyed every element of it.  Come Christmas, each of us received more coloring books and now we are sold on the activity, carefully sharpening our pencils or selecting the right marker and coloring when we have the time and inclination.  

It’s relaxing and just as enjoyable as it was when I was a kid, though these days I do a much better job staying within the lines.

Some of the illustrations are detailed and beautiful to look at so before color is added, there is the pleasure of leafing through lovely illustrations, looking for just the right page to fill with color.

When I was a child, I had lots of rules about my coloring.  I was often disappointed in the things I colored because I sought a perfection that I was unable to achieve.  As a grown up, I feel free to try unusual color combinations; to leave things unfinished; to select a new page even when the current one hasn't been completed.  I feel free to be imperfect.  That’s a good lesson for me to embrace.

Coloring really is relaxing.  It’s also fun.  It provides time to let my mind wander and be free.  

Today is a rainy Sunday, just perfect for cats to sit on the warm radiators under the windows, brew up a nice pot of tea, and sharpen the pencils for some time with my coloring books.

Unseasonal No More

The neighbors removed the Halloween flag sometime on Saturday the 12th.  We looked up and it was gone.

I won the bet and I’m on a roll of victories so now T says she won’t bet me anymore.  Safe money says she’ll be back in the betting business soon enough.

Unseasonal and Unkind: Week 7

When T and I made our original bet about this flag, I picked December 15 as the over/under day for flag removal.  T selected over and I selected under.  We’re rapidly approaching the 15th and it’s looking more and more like I am going to lose this bet.

Unseasonal and Unkind: Week 6

It’s worth noting that in the last six weeks my neighbors built an impressive back deck for their house.  But the Halloween flag, it still flies.  

Need some tips for getting past your Fall decor?  Check out McSweeney's.

Unseasonal and Unkind: Week 5

The Halloween flag made it through Thanksgiving, unfurled and ready to celebrate some kind of Fall holiday.  

The real challenge, of course, will be making it through this weekend.  No one enjoys hanging Christmas lights when it’s below freezing and with temperatures in the 60s yesterday and today, the rest of the neighborhood is scrambling to get out Christmas decorations before cold takes hold.  Stay tuned for your Week 6 report!

Unseasonable and Unkind: Week Three

Still going strong with Halloween over at the neighbor’s house.