Here I am in the basement of my house, sweeping cobwebs. There are many, many cobwebs. I have been reduced to this. In my zeal to save on electrical energy and to stubbornly resist turning on the AC this early in "not even summer" yet, I found the basement to be blessedly cool. A quick swipe with the broom on the stairway turned into an hour adventure in the wonders, of cool, damp basements and watching spiders scurry as I attacked their lairs.
I was also in the basement to escape Kurt. If anyone is still reading this blog, and I've got to admit, I wouldn't read it at the rate I add to it, you will have noticed there has been over a month lapse. Lots of things I alluded to earlier on in this blog, came to fruition or more appropriately an end. Kurt's business was sold after a year of uncertainty and unease, and near panic. He and his brother transitioned the business over for 90 days and then retired. We kind of lived in denial during that period, both of us hoping something magical would happen to change what was going to be a new, (and we thought), unwelcome chapter in our lives. Kurt didn't really want to retire and I didn't want him retired. He was tired of the struggle of what the business had become, but didn't know any other way to live and was quite frankly, scared about what his life would now be. I was panicked by all the stereotypes I had seen and were in my mind about retirement and how we'd survive it together when we had never done anything 24/7 for more than a couple of week's time in our whole married life.
So we lived in denial until it was done, and then we fell off that cliff together. Its now been a month and we're kind of getting it. There have been moments of silent primal screaming, (mine), and moments when I find him just gazing out into the yard with a faraway look on his face, but I am slowly finding the blessed moments are becoming more prevalent and starting to outweigh every thing else. We are doing the retirement thing by the seat of our pants, but I guess every big event in my life, has been by the seat of my pants and learning as I go along. Its never been what I thought it would be in my murky imaginings, but in the "glass half full" I'm trying to adopt, its always been full of surprises and they have been blessings far and away. I'm trying to find the little things every day that I missed so often along the way to the next big phase in my life. And I was never quite sure I got to that next big phase until I was mostly through it. Go figure.
Still, I am in the basement sweeping cobwebs and relishing being, at least by a cool room, away from him. We now make an effort to do things we couldn't before like take a drive on a hot, midweek evening and stop for ice cream at the Merrill Whippy Dip. We plan on heading up north during the week to see relatives, (also retired), on the non busy part of the weeks. We weed the garden together and sit on our laptops, side by side.
Still, I am in the basement and wishing I could be somewhere else for awhile without him. But I can smile, knowing he would rather be somewhere else without me also. He's a bit lost for now trying to remake his life without that constant of going to work. I am trying to be optimistic and look at this as our chance to live life simply, but still well and slow down and enjoy. That's a tall order for me as I tend to take every headline, every ache and pain to heart and the "Sky is falling, Chicken Little", but I am trying.
I am in the basement sweeping cobwebs, but its a blessing as without retirement, I wouldn't be in this cool basement, badly in need of sweeping and some critical analysis on what should be stored away years upon years ago. Things I can now put in order.
My plan is to now really write. The elephant in the room is now exposed and now its time to live the rest of life. Things to write bubble from me, but I am not a disciplined person. I do what I have to do, but so often great things to write come when I am away from the house or lying in bed, too tired to get up, but too wide awake to sleep.
Maybe its time to start a new blog, but for now, this Grandma is still learning and I'll stick with that and sweep some more cobwebs.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Monday, May 14, 2012
Time with Mom
Yesterday was Mother's Day. I wasn't too excited by the day, but then excitement is kind of a foreign word to me these days. Excitement means anticipation and I haven't anticipated much of late, in fact too many days I am just trying to get through.
But it was Mother's Day and I still had a very much alive mom, I wanted to appreciate. I had thought to take her to her church as we have done that the last few years. I had gone on Saturday night to our church, so thought Sunday morning with Mom would be perfect, that is, if my brother, Kim and his wife, Tammy weren't going to take her. It had been a misty, cloudy, humid day on Saturday and I've got to admit, not the best of days, though not the worst either. When I called Mom in the early evening, she sounded despondent and said she was just having a bad day and didn't want to go to the Mother's Day celebration at her church as she had been there and done it before. I was caught a bit off guard by her wanting to stay home but didn't push it. Mother's Day should be a day to enjoy.
My brother and I planned a cookout over to Mom's on Sunday afternoon. Sunday dawned sunny and gorgeous, the kind of day we live for in Michigan when the winter's are long and April doesn't quite know how to act. My son, Ryan, Alison, his wife, and Luca, my grandson were invited but weren't sure of their exact plans.
There was nothing revolutionary about the cookout. I came to no epiphanies and we didn't do anything we hadn't done before, but it was nice. It was nice to sit with my brother who knew my history the longest of anyone aside from Mom. It was nice to just relax and talk about our adventures as kids and the neighbors now gone and missed.
After dinner, Mom put us all to work with some chores she wanted done. Tammy and I moved outdoor furniture out of the basement and back onto the screened in porch, Mom's favorite summer hangout. We moved more furniture from the garage to her side porch. Kim and Kurt took to cutting down a couple of gangly peach trees who were too tall for Mom and in a bad spot. They also cut down a couple of dead and dying trees and trimmed lower branches so Mom could mow under the dwarf fruit trees. Mowing her lawn is Mom's chief joy. I think she missed her calling as a groundskeeper for a golf course. We had planned to pile the cut up trees on the old tractor loader that Dad had kept around. But it wouldn't start so we just dragged the branches and stumps over to an area out of the way and piled them up.
My brother reminds me more and more of our dad as we age. I suppose he might say the same of me about Mom. He has Dad's voice and his mannerisms and yesterday as I walked behind him while he was carrying a chain saw, his forearms were exactly like Dad's. Funny, how that brief look took me back to my dad carrying things and the fact that his arms were a memory in my mind. Had I told my brother that, he may not have appreciated it. We like to think we are like one parent or another for only good, intelligent reasons, not for physique as that tends to tell us we're aging.
My mom is growing shorter which I guess would be an oxymoron as she isn't really growing any longer and one can't really grow shorter. She barely comes up to my shoulder now, and I'm not tall. She has finally let her colored hair go gray, and I think it will match the lines of living on her face better. She doesn't ask much from us and likes her life on the farm. Sometimes that seems such a lonely place to be, but her memories are what get her up in the morning. She misses Dad and the life she once had. It goes by in the blink of an eye, and we are left with all those things that once were and wishing they were again. If we knew our futures we would often stop time and just want those memories to be once more. They are such good memories, and we just know nothing will ever be that good....
After we got home and the kids and my grandson had left, Kurt suggested ice cream at the Merrill Whippy Dip. At first I didn't want to, and neither of us really needed ice cream after all we had eaten today, but something inside of me told me to do it. There is something about pulling up to the Whippy Dip on the first nice evening that speaks of summer to come. There is something about seeing it open for the new season and the crowds of people patiently waiting their turn. You can't rush great ice cream and it always gives us a chance to greet and catch up with old friends. There is always someone you know. The Merrill Whippy Dip speaks to me of the summer to come and that there are always things to anticipate no matter how long we live. A slow drive home was mandatory. Farmers will be in the fields in full force and it is planting time. A time of new beginnings... It was a good Mother's Day....
But it was Mother's Day and I still had a very much alive mom, I wanted to appreciate. I had thought to take her to her church as we have done that the last few years. I had gone on Saturday night to our church, so thought Sunday morning with Mom would be perfect, that is, if my brother, Kim and his wife, Tammy weren't going to take her. It had been a misty, cloudy, humid day on Saturday and I've got to admit, not the best of days, though not the worst either. When I called Mom in the early evening, she sounded despondent and said she was just having a bad day and didn't want to go to the Mother's Day celebration at her church as she had been there and done it before. I was caught a bit off guard by her wanting to stay home but didn't push it. Mother's Day should be a day to enjoy.
My brother and I planned a cookout over to Mom's on Sunday afternoon. Sunday dawned sunny and gorgeous, the kind of day we live for in Michigan when the winter's are long and April doesn't quite know how to act. My son, Ryan, Alison, his wife, and Luca, my grandson were invited but weren't sure of their exact plans.
There was nothing revolutionary about the cookout. I came to no epiphanies and we didn't do anything we hadn't done before, but it was nice. It was nice to sit with my brother who knew my history the longest of anyone aside from Mom. It was nice to just relax and talk about our adventures as kids and the neighbors now gone and missed.
After dinner, Mom put us all to work with some chores she wanted done. Tammy and I moved outdoor furniture out of the basement and back onto the screened in porch, Mom's favorite summer hangout. We moved more furniture from the garage to her side porch. Kim and Kurt took to cutting down a couple of gangly peach trees who were too tall for Mom and in a bad spot. They also cut down a couple of dead and dying trees and trimmed lower branches so Mom could mow under the dwarf fruit trees. Mowing her lawn is Mom's chief joy. I think she missed her calling as a groundskeeper for a golf course. We had planned to pile the cut up trees on the old tractor loader that Dad had kept around. But it wouldn't start so we just dragged the branches and stumps over to an area out of the way and piled them up.
My brother reminds me more and more of our dad as we age. I suppose he might say the same of me about Mom. He has Dad's voice and his mannerisms and yesterday as I walked behind him while he was carrying a chain saw, his forearms were exactly like Dad's. Funny, how that brief look took me back to my dad carrying things and the fact that his arms were a memory in my mind. Had I told my brother that, he may not have appreciated it. We like to think we are like one parent or another for only good, intelligent reasons, not for physique as that tends to tell us we're aging.
My mom is growing shorter which I guess would be an oxymoron as she isn't really growing any longer and one can't really grow shorter. She barely comes up to my shoulder now, and I'm not tall. She has finally let her colored hair go gray, and I think it will match the lines of living on her face better. She doesn't ask much from us and likes her life on the farm. Sometimes that seems such a lonely place to be, but her memories are what get her up in the morning. She misses Dad and the life she once had. It goes by in the blink of an eye, and we are left with all those things that once were and wishing they were again. If we knew our futures we would often stop time and just want those memories to be once more. They are such good memories, and we just know nothing will ever be that good....
After we got home and the kids and my grandson had left, Kurt suggested ice cream at the Merrill Whippy Dip. At first I didn't want to, and neither of us really needed ice cream after all we had eaten today, but something inside of me told me to do it. There is something about pulling up to the Whippy Dip on the first nice evening that speaks of summer to come. There is something about seeing it open for the new season and the crowds of people patiently waiting their turn. You can't rush great ice cream and it always gives us a chance to greet and catch up with old friends. There is always someone you know. The Merrill Whippy Dip speaks to me of the summer to come and that there are always things to anticipate no matter how long we live. A slow drive home was mandatory. Farmers will be in the fields in full force and it is planting time. A time of new beginnings... It was a good Mother's Day....
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Gently Say Goodbye
Today I said goodbye.
She was my neighbor growing up and more importantly to me, my best friend's mom. Today I went to the only viewing for her before her funeral and said goodbye. Funerals are for the living and a chance to have closure or so they say. But today I said goodbye to Helen.
Helen was as much a fixture in my growing up as my own mom for many years. From the time I was about five years old and I went to our field's fence line and yelled across it at the little girls in the field beyond, my life seemed inexorably tied to my two best friends and their mom.
Marlene and Betty were the middle two girls of four. Betty was 8 months younger than me but in the same grade. Marlene was 6 months older and the grade ahead of me. The sisters were as different as night and day in looks and often in thought, word, and deed. But they had the bond of sisters that I so envied and when push came to shove I was the odd man out. Blood was always thicker than water in our friendship. At the time it made me cry many a time, but I now see it was a trait that is true and they are fortunate for their sharing of that bond.
From the time I received my first two wheeled bicycle and could now "cruise" our rural neighborhood, I lived on the road, and often as not found myself at my best friend's house. We were country kids, so lived outside in the summer months and when the months became hot and sweltering whatever shade tree would give us some relief is where we plopped. I learned early on that my friend's were Catholic, a rather exotic and foreign religion to me coming from the land of the German Lutheran. The saying of the rosary at bedtime fascinated me, and even more was the wonderful concept of meatless Fridays. To a little girl who loved fish sticks and shrimp, having those every Friday night was almost as good as Thanksgiving dinner once a week. I would finagle my way down there virtually every summer Friday, around supper time. Yes, we called the evening meal, supper. We were rural and the big meal was always midday and was called dinner. If I were very lucky there would be a few leftover fish sticks or breaded shrimp. Helen would smile and tell me to clean up the leftovers, and I most happily did. I thought I was being very cagey, but I am sure she saw right through my me, and probably smiled and thought what a pest I was.
Betty and Marlene's parents and my parents and the neighbors down the road, the Graf's, (parents of all boys, so my brother's best friends), were the neighborhood group. At one time we all lived on farms with dairy cows, so the dads all milked twice a day. Our excursions for fun were day trips in the summers to Crystal Lake and Stu's Beach, Sanford Lake, and big time trips like the memorable Detroit Zoo trip, forever frozen in a snapshot of the group, standing by an open car door. Our parents played cards together, went to movies together, and had summer neighbor hood parties and holiday parties for the grownups. We were the country edition of suburban living in the 1960's. Our mom's all got their ear's pierced one day and later we girls had ours done by neighbor Joyce, who was a nurse and knew how to do it, a cube of ice and a sterilized sewing needle. One day when I was about seven or eight our mom's came home from an afternoon home hair day, platinum blondes. I still remember how shocked I was to see my brown haired mom suddenly this Marilyn Monroe wannabe. It was an experiment that didn't really take for my mom anyway, who went back to her brown hair at some point but gradually entered the world of Miss Cairol and lighter hair.
I will most remember Helen for her, (to me), famous kolache. Kolache is a wonderful Czech pastry, made either in small crescent bundles or Helen's preferred way, a long jelly roll type treat, sliced in differeing thicknesses. There were generally two kinds, poppy seed and nuts in an almond and brown sugar paste as filling. I preferred the nuts kind. Helen was of German descent but Jimmy was Czech and I am sure somewhere in her early marriage she learned to make this treat. She usually sent down a kolache or two at Christmas time and I grew to look forward to those melt in your mouth treats. My mom tried to make them one year and though Mom was an excellent baker, she couldn't achieve that flaky dough surrounding the yummy filling.
We grew up and went our separate ways. Though Marlene and Betty stayed within the state, neither lived really close and as we had our own families, it became increasingly hard to get together as time here was spent with their parents. Marlene and Betty both worked full time and I didn't and right or wrong, it was kind of a dividing line, at least in my mind, of the divergent paths we took. About ten years ago Helen and Jim moved to a condo in Thomas Twp. They sold the farm a few years later and emptied the house. I saw Marlene for the first time in years as she and her husband helped them clean out and sell what they didn't need from the family farmhouse, Jimmy had grown up in.
We were infrequent correspondents. With email making catch up so easy and accessible, we didn't. I don't know why but we didn't. Sporadic Christmas and birthday cards. When Dad passed away Marlene and Betty came for the viewing and vowed we would keep in touch, but we really didn't. After that time, I would see Helen and Jimmy in the big superstore by their condo. The joke was that in the last years, Jimmy went three times a day, just to see people he knew and talk.
Helen was never famous, was never known for her superb cooking, gardening or housekeeping, though she was as good at all three as any country woman of her time. She loved her girls and bragged about her grand kids when I would see her in the later years. They bought a cottage on Torch Lake for their 25th wedding anniversary and until the last years spent most of their summers there.
The country neighborhood, I grew up in slowly lost ground. Neighbors moving away, but most just passing from this earth as that lively group I grew up knowing was no more. Now Mom is the only one left, still on the family farm. Sad, but that is the way of it.
The history of Fremont Twp and the Nelson Road area is that it was settled by seven Scotch-Irish families. Later German and Czech immigrants came to farm on lands adjacent. When I was a child the Scotch-Irish who founded the little Catholic church by my parent's place, called Guardian Angels, were nothing but names of old places. McPhee, McCormick, and McDonald, were a couple of old women and some home places. All are gone now, the farmhouses gone and the families moved away. Guardian Angel church was shut down two decades ago and sold finally a few years back. The Czech and German people of my parent's generation are slowly disappearing. It is the way and the cycle of time. We are here and we are gone.
If we are lucky we are remembered even if its for Helen's kolache or the fond memories of jumping off Bill Graf's broad shoulders when I was a little girl to dive in to a cold lake. It was my dad filling up a pick up truck bed with giggling kids and taking us to a community pool in a town, seven miles away for a summer afternoon of swimming. It was summer evenings watching home movies or projector slides in a back yard with a big sheet hung for a screen. Tables laden with food from a potluck. Kids darting in and out, playing "Bloody Murder" and hide and seek, statue tag, and pick up ball games. Grownups playing cards and sitting around laughing and talking. If we are fortunate we have those oh-so wonderful memories...
I said goodby to Helen today. Alzheimer's had robbed her of recognition of any of us and sickness had taken her body. Her girls told me she went quickly in the end and we all know it was a blessing. But when our parents and friends parents leave us, our memories go with them. Our kids will never know those things we smile about and fill our eyes with tears. Gentle memories....Goodbye Helen.
She was my neighbor growing up and more importantly to me, my best friend's mom. Today I went to the only viewing for her before her funeral and said goodbye. Funerals are for the living and a chance to have closure or so they say. But today I said goodbye to Helen.
Helen was as much a fixture in my growing up as my own mom for many years. From the time I was about five years old and I went to our field's fence line and yelled across it at the little girls in the field beyond, my life seemed inexorably tied to my two best friends and their mom.
Marlene and Betty were the middle two girls of four. Betty was 8 months younger than me but in the same grade. Marlene was 6 months older and the grade ahead of me. The sisters were as different as night and day in looks and often in thought, word, and deed. But they had the bond of sisters that I so envied and when push came to shove I was the odd man out. Blood was always thicker than water in our friendship. At the time it made me cry many a time, but I now see it was a trait that is true and they are fortunate for their sharing of that bond.
From the time I received my first two wheeled bicycle and could now "cruise" our rural neighborhood, I lived on the road, and often as not found myself at my best friend's house. We were country kids, so lived outside in the summer months and when the months became hot and sweltering whatever shade tree would give us some relief is where we plopped. I learned early on that my friend's were Catholic, a rather exotic and foreign religion to me coming from the land of the German Lutheran. The saying of the rosary at bedtime fascinated me, and even more was the wonderful concept of meatless Fridays. To a little girl who loved fish sticks and shrimp, having those every Friday night was almost as good as Thanksgiving dinner once a week. I would finagle my way down there virtually every summer Friday, around supper time. Yes, we called the evening meal, supper. We were rural and the big meal was always midday and was called dinner. If I were very lucky there would be a few leftover fish sticks or breaded shrimp. Helen would smile and tell me to clean up the leftovers, and I most happily did. I thought I was being very cagey, but I am sure she saw right through my me, and probably smiled and thought what a pest I was.
Betty and Marlene's parents and my parents and the neighbors down the road, the Graf's, (parents of all boys, so my brother's best friends), were the neighborhood group. At one time we all lived on farms with dairy cows, so the dads all milked twice a day. Our excursions for fun were day trips in the summers to Crystal Lake and Stu's Beach, Sanford Lake, and big time trips like the memorable Detroit Zoo trip, forever frozen in a snapshot of the group, standing by an open car door. Our parents played cards together, went to movies together, and had summer neighbor hood parties and holiday parties for the grownups. We were the country edition of suburban living in the 1960's. Our mom's all got their ear's pierced one day and later we girls had ours done by neighbor Joyce, who was a nurse and knew how to do it, a cube of ice and a sterilized sewing needle. One day when I was about seven or eight our mom's came home from an afternoon home hair day, platinum blondes. I still remember how shocked I was to see my brown haired mom suddenly this Marilyn Monroe wannabe. It was an experiment that didn't really take for my mom anyway, who went back to her brown hair at some point but gradually entered the world of Miss Cairol and lighter hair.
I will most remember Helen for her, (to me), famous kolache. Kolache is a wonderful Czech pastry, made either in small crescent bundles or Helen's preferred way, a long jelly roll type treat, sliced in differeing thicknesses. There were generally two kinds, poppy seed and nuts in an almond and brown sugar paste as filling. I preferred the nuts kind. Helen was of German descent but Jimmy was Czech and I am sure somewhere in her early marriage she learned to make this treat. She usually sent down a kolache or two at Christmas time and I grew to look forward to those melt in your mouth treats. My mom tried to make them one year and though Mom was an excellent baker, she couldn't achieve that flaky dough surrounding the yummy filling.
We grew up and went our separate ways. Though Marlene and Betty stayed within the state, neither lived really close and as we had our own families, it became increasingly hard to get together as time here was spent with their parents. Marlene and Betty both worked full time and I didn't and right or wrong, it was kind of a dividing line, at least in my mind, of the divergent paths we took. About ten years ago Helen and Jim moved to a condo in Thomas Twp. They sold the farm a few years later and emptied the house. I saw Marlene for the first time in years as she and her husband helped them clean out and sell what they didn't need from the family farmhouse, Jimmy had grown up in.
We were infrequent correspondents. With email making catch up so easy and accessible, we didn't. I don't know why but we didn't. Sporadic Christmas and birthday cards. When Dad passed away Marlene and Betty came for the viewing and vowed we would keep in touch, but we really didn't. After that time, I would see Helen and Jimmy in the big superstore by their condo. The joke was that in the last years, Jimmy went three times a day, just to see people he knew and talk.
Helen was never famous, was never known for her superb cooking, gardening or housekeeping, though she was as good at all three as any country woman of her time. She loved her girls and bragged about her grand kids when I would see her in the later years. They bought a cottage on Torch Lake for their 25th wedding anniversary and until the last years spent most of their summers there.
The country neighborhood, I grew up in slowly lost ground. Neighbors moving away, but most just passing from this earth as that lively group I grew up knowing was no more. Now Mom is the only one left, still on the family farm. Sad, but that is the way of it.
The history of Fremont Twp and the Nelson Road area is that it was settled by seven Scotch-Irish families. Later German and Czech immigrants came to farm on lands adjacent. When I was a child the Scotch-Irish who founded the little Catholic church by my parent's place, called Guardian Angels, were nothing but names of old places. McPhee, McCormick, and McDonald, were a couple of old women and some home places. All are gone now, the farmhouses gone and the families moved away. Guardian Angel church was shut down two decades ago and sold finally a few years back. The Czech and German people of my parent's generation are slowly disappearing. It is the way and the cycle of time. We are here and we are gone.
If we are lucky we are remembered even if its for Helen's kolache or the fond memories of jumping off Bill Graf's broad shoulders when I was a little girl to dive in to a cold lake. It was my dad filling up a pick up truck bed with giggling kids and taking us to a community pool in a town, seven miles away for a summer afternoon of swimming. It was summer evenings watching home movies or projector slides in a back yard with a big sheet hung for a screen. Tables laden with food from a potluck. Kids darting in and out, playing "Bloody Murder" and hide and seek, statue tag, and pick up ball games. Grownups playing cards and sitting around laughing and talking. If we are fortunate we have those oh-so wonderful memories...
I said goodby to Helen today. Alzheimer's had robbed her of recognition of any of us and sickness had taken her body. Her girls told me she went quickly in the end and we all know it was a blessing. But when our parents and friends parents leave us, our memories go with them. Our kids will never know those things we smile about and fill our eyes with tears. Gentle memories....Goodbye Helen.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Easter Sunday Thoughts
It is evening of Easter Sunday. The brisk wind that blew in a cloudless sky has finally died down and children who hunted Easter baskets are settled in from their candy induced sugar highs. I have cleaned up the remnants of baked ham and cheese potatoes; my Midwest answer to mac and cheese. Put cheese and potatoes together and everyone north of the Mason-Dixon is happy. The angel food cake, plain white with plain whipped cream is gone and several pots of coffee consumed, the pot now cold awaiting its Monday morning reawakening.
On Maundy Thursday of last week, the world seemed to be hurling its best shots at my head, and I bowed to the weight of the world or so I thought. I buckled and as I have many times this last year, felt myself falling off that cliff. But I survived the night and somehow on Good Friday, a day of somber reflection, I took to heart a suggestion to pray for only the thing I could handle on that day or the thing I needed help with. I did it and decided to put everything else away until after Easter and concentrate on this time that is the reason we are Christians. To reflect, and be somber and be patient and on this morning be joyous. He is Risen, He is Risen indeed. The phrase is one we proclaim every Easter and never has it been more important to me.
I attended Good Friday service with my mother at my former church as I have done for many years. I go mainly for the tradition of their service that has a special Good Friday hymn played at the end of the service every year. Throughout this song, the church bell is rung. I often wonder what it must sound like outside, and wish every nice Good Friday we could go outside and sing and listen to our bell proclaiming, "We Give Thanks to Thee". I can hardly get through the song any longer, it has come to be so important to me, and have to steel myself not to sob out loud, and be "one of those people". My quiet, small mother always grounds me and the service has become something we do together. After the service, I dropped Mom at her house and went home to get the house "ready".
You see, we were having a cookout at my house that afternoon, late afternoon or early evening, however you wanted to figure it. Korey wanted to get everyone together one last time before they returned to New York on Saturday. Jen's parents and her brother Jason were coming, along with Alison, Ryan and Luca. We also invited Darci and Gary, Alison's parents. It would be a house full built around an expensive tenderloin, grilled to perfection by Korey and Kurt. I wasn't sure how I felt about this last party. Maybe it was knowing Baby Girl Vittoria, who brightened my week was going back home. Having her here was an unexpected surprise and treat brought about by the sadness in the death of Jen's grandma. Vittoria delighted all of us in every way and just seeing Korey with her and how good he was, made things in my jumbled world seem right. She was happy in a way that being secure and knowing she was loved by two good parents, makes a child. I looked forward to seeing her and Luca together and having doting grandparents all around, but knew it was saying goodbye again.
With my new Maundy Thursday resolution, I decided to just enjoy the party. I did and had a wonderful time. It was a relaxed affair with lots of beer and lots of laughter and good food. It was the kind of get together I remember from long ago, and it made me smile that we can still create good memories. I said good bye to Korey and his Jen, and their beautiful, funny Vittoria, who just made me smile and smile. I miss her but I am so grateful for having this unexpected time with her.
Saturday dawned sunny and it turned into almost the perfect spring day in April. We ran a few short errands that turned into a leisurely three hours of running into old friends every where we went and just catching up on each others lives. Its one of the perks of finally submitting to heading to the Golden years, life slows to a pace where its a walk not a sprint any longer. And somehow you're okay with it.
When we got back, we worked around the house. On such a day, it was just the right thing for us to do.
Sunrise service today. The familiar songs and the familiar message, but one that never grows old. "I know that my Redeemer lives", accompanied by a choir above us that reminded me of angels singing overhead. A joyous conclusion to a joyous service. Back home and dinner with our smaller family now, but no less special. And an afternoon of remembering how blessed we are. Much is wrong with us and much is wrong with us, as a Nation, but we are still blessed and sometimes we just need to be reminded of all we have.
For one weekend, I gave it up and chose to rely on my Faith and to let the worries go. It felt good. Tomorrow I will be back to everyday life, but I will be different, if only a bit. Different and a bit better.
A blessed Easter to you all.
On Maundy Thursday of last week, the world seemed to be hurling its best shots at my head, and I bowed to the weight of the world or so I thought. I buckled and as I have many times this last year, felt myself falling off that cliff. But I survived the night and somehow on Good Friday, a day of somber reflection, I took to heart a suggestion to pray for only the thing I could handle on that day or the thing I needed help with. I did it and decided to put everything else away until after Easter and concentrate on this time that is the reason we are Christians. To reflect, and be somber and be patient and on this morning be joyous. He is Risen, He is Risen indeed. The phrase is one we proclaim every Easter and never has it been more important to me.
I attended Good Friday service with my mother at my former church as I have done for many years. I go mainly for the tradition of their service that has a special Good Friday hymn played at the end of the service every year. Throughout this song, the church bell is rung. I often wonder what it must sound like outside, and wish every nice Good Friday we could go outside and sing and listen to our bell proclaiming, "We Give Thanks to Thee". I can hardly get through the song any longer, it has come to be so important to me, and have to steel myself not to sob out loud, and be "one of those people". My quiet, small mother always grounds me and the service has become something we do together. After the service, I dropped Mom at her house and went home to get the house "ready".
You see, we were having a cookout at my house that afternoon, late afternoon or early evening, however you wanted to figure it. Korey wanted to get everyone together one last time before they returned to New York on Saturday. Jen's parents and her brother Jason were coming, along with Alison, Ryan and Luca. We also invited Darci and Gary, Alison's parents. It would be a house full built around an expensive tenderloin, grilled to perfection by Korey and Kurt. I wasn't sure how I felt about this last party. Maybe it was knowing Baby Girl Vittoria, who brightened my week was going back home. Having her here was an unexpected surprise and treat brought about by the sadness in the death of Jen's grandma. Vittoria delighted all of us in every way and just seeing Korey with her and how good he was, made things in my jumbled world seem right. She was happy in a way that being secure and knowing she was loved by two good parents, makes a child. I looked forward to seeing her and Luca together and having doting grandparents all around, but knew it was saying goodbye again.
With my new Maundy Thursday resolution, I decided to just enjoy the party. I did and had a wonderful time. It was a relaxed affair with lots of beer and lots of laughter and good food. It was the kind of get together I remember from long ago, and it made me smile that we can still create good memories. I said good bye to Korey and his Jen, and their beautiful, funny Vittoria, who just made me smile and smile. I miss her but I am so grateful for having this unexpected time with her.
Saturday dawned sunny and it turned into almost the perfect spring day in April. We ran a few short errands that turned into a leisurely three hours of running into old friends every where we went and just catching up on each others lives. Its one of the perks of finally submitting to heading to the Golden years, life slows to a pace where its a walk not a sprint any longer. And somehow you're okay with it.
When we got back, we worked around the house. On such a day, it was just the right thing for us to do.
Sunrise service today. The familiar songs and the familiar message, but one that never grows old. "I know that my Redeemer lives", accompanied by a choir above us that reminded me of angels singing overhead. A joyous conclusion to a joyous service. Back home and dinner with our smaller family now, but no less special. And an afternoon of remembering how blessed we are. Much is wrong with us and much is wrong with us, as a Nation, but we are still blessed and sometimes we just need to be reminded of all we have.
For one weekend, I gave it up and chose to rely on my Faith and to let the worries go. It felt good. Tomorrow I will be back to everyday life, but I will be different, if only a bit. Different and a bit better.
A blessed Easter to you all.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Peanut Butter Cookies
I am in Nashville with nothing to do. What I mean is, I have no agenda and no plans. And that was the plan. To get away and just to enjoy Nashville and Annie and Pete's place. A respite from cold and chilly Michigan and all the problems that seem so hard sometimes. Unfortunately that is life and there is no escaping it. More and more I think it is what I choose to do with it that will determine how it is, but then I so often wish someone would just give me a map of directions for the rest of my life and say, "Have at it". Doesn't happen that way either.
But I am in Nashville and for two blessed days I have no one to worry about and nothing to do but enjoy it. I took Lily, the dog out to do her thing. I read a book I am sure I will recommend to every female over the age of 50 I know, especially those from Michigan. I walked the road by the Cumberland River and glimpsed what it could have been 200 years ago. I watched a kickball game last night. Yup, there is such a thing as a kickball league down here, played intensely and for fun by a variety of young people. Took me back to the days of my early marriage when I sat on May evenings watching men's fast pitch softball and freezing my ass off. I did that last night, also. I went to bed with a pounding headache from lack of caffeine in the form of my usual 4 cup a day coffees. I awoke after a good night's sleep and a big mug of Joe feeling like I had the best of everything. Too bad that feeling can't last, but its not the way it is, so deal with it and enjoy the short ride.
I had a hankering for peanut butter cookies. Don't ask me why. I love peanut butter but generally alongside it I like a large dollop, (or two), of chocolate. But for some reason it was peanut butter cookies that stuck with me. When Annie called me from work I told her I thought I would whip up a batch of cookies. She said she thought I had everything I would need, and to have at it. I probably lit on peanut butter cookies because they are so easy and as she said she had all the ingredients. After a quick search of cabinets I surmised she did indeed have the butter, sugar, brown sugar, eggs, flour, baking soda and salt I would need. She has a very nice Kitchen Aid mixer that I could handle until I went to plug it in. Three pronged plug and two pronged outlets. Peter had lent me a converter for my laptop, so I guessed I could just move that to the outlet and plug in the mixer. However, an incident with a converter in an old plug yesterday that blew the outlet cover off, sparked a blue flash and scared the bejeesus out of Annie, made me think twice about plugging another large appliance into such a deal. Checking where the microwave is plugged in I saw it was a 3 pronged outlet, and so I moved the microwave over to another counter and hooked up the mixer. I can rely on my own ingenuity when need be, especially if cookies are in the offering. I found the ingredients, measuring spoons, cups, and a rubber spatula. Making cookies I could do in my sleep, aside from the slight mishap when dumping the flour into the mixed sugars, butter and egg, the cup slipped and a goodly amount went down the side of the mixer and counter. Oh well, 5 second rule and I just scooped it up by hand and dumped it in the bowl.
Cookies mixed up, beater removed and oven preheated. Rats! All set to place the first tray of cookies in the oven and saw the rack was near the broiler top. Now where is there a hot pad in this place? Looked all over, nada. Finally grabbed the dish towel, newly cleaned and folded it to approximate a good hot pad and moved the rack. Cookies in. For lack of a clock in her kitchen or an appliance that has the correct time, I grabbed my cell phone and figured 10 minutes would do it. I started reading my book, then Lily decided she needed to go outside immediately. Lest she have an accident I didn't want to clean up, I grabbed her lead and attached it to her collar and out we went. I thought I still had time and I made sure Lily knew this was a business trip only. Back in under two minutes but I smelled cookies as soon as I walked in. Rats again! The cookies were way too brown when I pulled them out and after dislodging them from the pan, I saw most were burnt black on the bottom. Frugal German that I am there is seldom anything I hate more than having to throw out food, I neglected and allowed to burn. Especially cookies...
But nothing to do but to throw out half of the first dozen and watch the second more closely. When I had the second pan ready I took the precaution to move the rack back to where I found it, as that was probably part of the reason the cookies burned on the bottom. The second batch I watched more carefully and I am happy to report that they turned out perfectly. Unfortunately there was only dough for 3 more cookies. I am sure Annie won't worry about the cookies and there fore ingredients that had to be thrown out, but I hate the notion that a seasoned baker like me can still burn cookies. It points out my fatal flaw. The need to be in charge and knowledgeable. But I smile as I am still obviously a "Work" in progress and its kinda nice to know I can always learn...
Now should I tell Annie about the burned cookies?...
But I am in Nashville and for two blessed days I have no one to worry about and nothing to do but enjoy it. I took Lily, the dog out to do her thing. I read a book I am sure I will recommend to every female over the age of 50 I know, especially those from Michigan. I walked the road by the Cumberland River and glimpsed what it could have been 200 years ago. I watched a kickball game last night. Yup, there is such a thing as a kickball league down here, played intensely and for fun by a variety of young people. Took me back to the days of my early marriage when I sat on May evenings watching men's fast pitch softball and freezing my ass off. I did that last night, also. I went to bed with a pounding headache from lack of caffeine in the form of my usual 4 cup a day coffees. I awoke after a good night's sleep and a big mug of Joe feeling like I had the best of everything. Too bad that feeling can't last, but its not the way it is, so deal with it and enjoy the short ride.
I had a hankering for peanut butter cookies. Don't ask me why. I love peanut butter but generally alongside it I like a large dollop, (or two), of chocolate. But for some reason it was peanut butter cookies that stuck with me. When Annie called me from work I told her I thought I would whip up a batch of cookies. She said she thought I had everything I would need, and to have at it. I probably lit on peanut butter cookies because they are so easy and as she said she had all the ingredients. After a quick search of cabinets I surmised she did indeed have the butter, sugar, brown sugar, eggs, flour, baking soda and salt I would need. She has a very nice Kitchen Aid mixer that I could handle until I went to plug it in. Three pronged plug and two pronged outlets. Peter had lent me a converter for my laptop, so I guessed I could just move that to the outlet and plug in the mixer. However, an incident with a converter in an old plug yesterday that blew the outlet cover off, sparked a blue flash and scared the bejeesus out of Annie, made me think twice about plugging another large appliance into such a deal. Checking where the microwave is plugged in I saw it was a 3 pronged outlet, and so I moved the microwave over to another counter and hooked up the mixer. I can rely on my own ingenuity when need be, especially if cookies are in the offering. I found the ingredients, measuring spoons, cups, and a rubber spatula. Making cookies I could do in my sleep, aside from the slight mishap when dumping the flour into the mixed sugars, butter and egg, the cup slipped and a goodly amount went down the side of the mixer and counter. Oh well, 5 second rule and I just scooped it up by hand and dumped it in the bowl.
Cookies mixed up, beater removed and oven preheated. Rats! All set to place the first tray of cookies in the oven and saw the rack was near the broiler top. Now where is there a hot pad in this place? Looked all over, nada. Finally grabbed the dish towel, newly cleaned and folded it to approximate a good hot pad and moved the rack. Cookies in. For lack of a clock in her kitchen or an appliance that has the correct time, I grabbed my cell phone and figured 10 minutes would do it. I started reading my book, then Lily decided she needed to go outside immediately. Lest she have an accident I didn't want to clean up, I grabbed her lead and attached it to her collar and out we went. I thought I still had time and I made sure Lily knew this was a business trip only. Back in under two minutes but I smelled cookies as soon as I walked in. Rats again! The cookies were way too brown when I pulled them out and after dislodging them from the pan, I saw most were burnt black on the bottom. Frugal German that I am there is seldom anything I hate more than having to throw out food, I neglected and allowed to burn. Especially cookies...
But nothing to do but to throw out half of the first dozen and watch the second more closely. When I had the second pan ready I took the precaution to move the rack back to where I found it, as that was probably part of the reason the cookies burned on the bottom. The second batch I watched more carefully and I am happy to report that they turned out perfectly. Unfortunately there was only dough for 3 more cookies. I am sure Annie won't worry about the cookies and there fore ingredients that had to be thrown out, but I hate the notion that a seasoned baker like me can still burn cookies. It points out my fatal flaw. The need to be in charge and knowledgeable. But I smile as I am still obviously a "Work" in progress and its kinda nice to know I can always learn...
Now should I tell Annie about the burned cookies?...
Nashville
I tried to think of something clever to title this, but there is nothing clever about it. I flew down yesterday to visit my daughter, Annie in Nashville. I had come down to get away, but I left behind an early spring in Michigan, unheard of and never experienced in all of my memory. Sure we have the January thaw and temps that will melt the snow and give us glimpses of the end of winter way too soon. Those 40 degree days of sunshine will fool the best of us, but we hardened Michiganders know its a mirage and that snow storms and bitter winds are still with us into March and beyond. Last winter was the winter from hell and I know of no other words for it. Bitter cold and snowstorm after bitter snowstorm through February and March left all of us thinking spring let alone summer would ever get here. It did of course. I have never known a summer that wasn't. But this was very nearly the winter that wasn't. We had minimal snow, and when we did it was the wet, heavy variety that melted soon after it had fallen. February was unusually pleasant and March came in like a lamb and almost left the same way. Two blessed weeks in mid March of above 60 degree temps. The second week we sat in the 70's and even 80's and above for over a week. It didn't cool down at night and we had to pinch ourselves that this was March.
A friend went looking for ice cream at the Whippy Dip on the 20th of March, and was irate that it wasn't open. Its March for pete sake, I wanted to tell them. But we all fell under the spell of warm springlike temps. The crocus bloomed and faded quickly in the unusual heat. The Lenten Roses followed quickly by Hyacinths and Daffodils. The Gregii tulips are out and with another few days of warm the tulips would be in fool bloom, all before the last week of March. But all good things have to come to an end and the "heat wave" that brought us an early spring ended when a front passed through bringing warm showers but upon its departure much cooler temps.
I didn't really care though as I was winging my way to Nashville on the first day of cold in Michigan for over two weeks. Here the temps were a very wonderful mid-70's by noon and everything is in blossom, the last of the tulips just fading. I heard last night Michigan had 27 degrees and frost. While the practical side of me hopes that it didn't get the peach tree blossoms which covered the tree when I left, the rest of me loved the feeling of being without a care. I am truly on vacation here. I have no schedule, no calendar to follow and no one to take care of. The kids went to work this morning and I leisurely arose and read for a blessed two hours in the sunshine. I walked Annie's neighborhood, a favorite past time of mine, and met the wife of the family who bought the lovely new house being built last spring when we were here. An added bonus they are transplants from Michigan, so we had much to share.
I look forward to an evening of plant shopping and seafood for dinner. I know I can't live like this always and will be returning to chilly Michigan, but sometimes you get just what you need when you need it. That has seemed far apart this past year, and most times it was just put one foot in front of the other and rely on the Good Lord to somehow pull you along. It has been nice to be in the land of southern hospitality where everyone is outside and likely to say, "Hey". Sometimes you have to pull the trigger and go for it, and hope that the Lord is guiding you, no matter how selfish the dream seems. I just know that I am enjoying this respite and I am wise enough and grateful enough to enjoy it while it is upon me.
We seldom get what we want, unless we are foolish enough to go after something because it is there. There is an old Stones song, "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometime, you just might get what you need". Nashville is what I needed and I am grateful. I would miss my life if it weren't there to go back to. I sometimes think we truly vacation to make us glad to return Home...
A friend went looking for ice cream at the Whippy Dip on the 20th of March, and was irate that it wasn't open. Its March for pete sake, I wanted to tell them. But we all fell under the spell of warm springlike temps. The crocus bloomed and faded quickly in the unusual heat. The Lenten Roses followed quickly by Hyacinths and Daffodils. The Gregii tulips are out and with another few days of warm the tulips would be in fool bloom, all before the last week of March. But all good things have to come to an end and the "heat wave" that brought us an early spring ended when a front passed through bringing warm showers but upon its departure much cooler temps.
I didn't really care though as I was winging my way to Nashville on the first day of cold in Michigan for over two weeks. Here the temps were a very wonderful mid-70's by noon and everything is in blossom, the last of the tulips just fading. I heard last night Michigan had 27 degrees and frost. While the practical side of me hopes that it didn't get the peach tree blossoms which covered the tree when I left, the rest of me loved the feeling of being without a care. I am truly on vacation here. I have no schedule, no calendar to follow and no one to take care of. The kids went to work this morning and I leisurely arose and read for a blessed two hours in the sunshine. I walked Annie's neighborhood, a favorite past time of mine, and met the wife of the family who bought the lovely new house being built last spring when we were here. An added bonus they are transplants from Michigan, so we had much to share.
I look forward to an evening of plant shopping and seafood for dinner. I know I can't live like this always and will be returning to chilly Michigan, but sometimes you get just what you need when you need it. That has seemed far apart this past year, and most times it was just put one foot in front of the other and rely on the Good Lord to somehow pull you along. It has been nice to be in the land of southern hospitality where everyone is outside and likely to say, "Hey". Sometimes you have to pull the trigger and go for it, and hope that the Lord is guiding you, no matter how selfish the dream seems. I just know that I am enjoying this respite and I am wise enough and grateful enough to enjoy it while it is upon me.
We seldom get what we want, unless we are foolish enough to go after something because it is there. There is an old Stones song, "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometime, you just might get what you need". Nashville is what I needed and I am grateful. I would miss my life if it weren't there to go back to. I sometimes think we truly vacation to make us glad to return Home...
Friday, March 16, 2012
The Hope Chest
My dog was a bad boy. For some reason, and I am sure it is due to incorrect training, he "marks" certain areas when he is left alone without he feels real cause. I work out every weekday morning and he is fine, but if I leave again for most reasons he will find something to lift his leg against, especially if its in our bedroom. On days like today, he about drives me to drink. I went for a short bike ride to enjoy the beautiful, unreal spring weather. I forgot to shut the bedroom door. After I returned I was cleaning the upstairs bathroom when I decided since I had the vacuum out to do the bedroom carpet. Just because it doesn't show black dog fur like my almond bathroom does, doesn't mean its not there. While hustling to get it done, I found the tell tale yellow spots on the carpet under my grandma's hope chest.
I quickly got out the mini carpet cleaner and got the carpet cleaned up. Upon further examination because with a male dog, "it" doesn't go straight down, I found some spots on the chest. I cleaned them off and then decided a good lemon oil rubbing was in line. After I had brought out the lovely woods used in this chest I opened it and drank in that wonderful cedar aroma that takes me back to the funniest of places....Souvenir shops by my grandparents cottage at Sand Lake. They always featured cedar plaques and gifts and the stores were redolent of the smell of cedar. I wanted every little gift-y souvenir I saw back then. And once when we went on a trip to Wisconsin, I bought a small cedar box emblazoned with Mackinaw City on its top. Oh the memories...as I gazed into that chest.
When my grandmother died rather unexpectedly, twenty days short of her 81st birthday, we were all in shock. Grandpa just tried to negotiate his way without her, but it was like a spring was broken inside of him. When he passed away four years later in 1999, it was immensely sad, but in a way very comforting as we knew he was in Heaven with Grandma and all he loved. My mom and her 3 siblings arranged to have a house auction quickly and then put their house up for sale. In cleaning the house and going through the items to be auctioned, they found a list Grandma had made. The list contained items she wanted each of her grandchildren to have. After the kids went through the list they realized Grandma hadn't quite been equal in what she wanted given to each grandchild. So the children decided to put the items all in the auction and if the grandchild wanted the designated item, they could bid on it. Many of the grandkids didn't care what had been wished for them, but I was curious. I am the eldest grandchild, and always thought my grandma and grandpa were about perfect. When I asked my mom what Grandma had wanted me to have, she said a walnut chest. For the life of me, I couldn't remember this chest even when my mom told me where it had set in Grandma's house. So, I had to go over and take a look at it. As soon as I saw it, I remembered it, but would not have thought much of it. The finish had darkened over the years and it looked more like ugly mahogany than walnut. But Mom told me it was cedar inside and they believed it was a hope chest. That made a difference, but I still thought the chest looked ugly on the outside.
As the day for the auction approached I looked at the chest a few more times. It kind of grew on me, but what I really wanted from the auction was a straw boater hat, Grandpa had worn courting Grandma. Grandma had shown it to me once and I fell in love with the hat and the story. The day of the auction, Mom whispered to me to bid on the chest because she was sure it was walnut and could be refinished and on the inside was a birthday card from 1932. Grandpa had given Grandma the hope chest for her 19th birthday in March. They were married a little over a month later. The birthday card with the chest had been saved by Grandma all those years. Mom said they took the card out but if I bought the chest she would give me the card. It wasn't easy as the hat I wanted was prized by another relative, and I paid dearly for it, and the chest was bid up by my mom's sister. But I bought both. I wasn't too sure how smart I was, but back then tradition and "family" pieces meant a great deal to me.
I set about refinishing the chest that summer. My mom was right. It refinished beautifully and after the dark finish was removed there was the gorgeous walnut my mom spoke of. There was also inlaid maple decorative motifs on it. And when you opened the chest came that tantalizing smell of childhood, the lake and cottage, and summer. The smell of cedar. I put the chest in our bedroom and despite our matched bedroom set being oak, it fit as quality old pieces quite often do. Over the years I added things to it. A child's derby hat found in the walls of our house when we tore down some plaster in remodeling. Two German Bibles that were my grandparents confirmation Bibles, though neither of them spoke German to my remembering. Some letters of my grandpa my mom had found and made copies of, along with some pictures of she and her brothers at a young age. I added my own children's things as they grew. A baby plate bought for one of the children. School pictures and newspaper clippings from their sports adventures. The striped socks I had on when Ryan was born. I was cold in the delivery room and the nurse said I could leave my socks on. They were red and blue striped and every time I saw them thereafter I smiled, until I put them in the chest. I have no notion of why, but because I could.
Lastly was a journal of sorts I had kept at another bad time in my life. A dozen years ago and it was one of the darkest winter's I remember, and funny thing there was no real cause for it now. In retrospect it seems silly as compared to some of what went on these past two winters. But what I read didn't seem all that silly and took me back to what I was feeling and why writing was an outlet for me. I hope that a dozen years from now if the Good Lord sees fit to keep me around, that what I am experiencing today will seem just as silly, but the writing just as insightful.
So my dog was a bad dog, but if I had not to clean up a mess, I wouldn't have stopped to open my hope chest. I wouldn't have smelled the enticing smell of cedar, have remembered all the good times, and imagined all the hope my grandma put into that chest as she prepared for a marriage that would last over 65 years. Hope seemed to be in short supply of late. It seemed more to be a time of endurance, and just trying to stay afloat. There were times of endurance in my grandparent's lives and in my parent's. I was reminded that I am part of my larger family who's roots run deep in this area. I have tradition and things of my family I still care about, even though I have learned I am not tied to this place with roots so deep, I can't be transplanted. I am more than the sum parts of what is visible now, and still have ways to grow beyond this day. I am so grateful for those who went before me, loved me and gave me wisdom. I hope my grandchildren will feel the same some day. Its funny how a hope chest and a bad dog, equaled a bad day, then a very good day; a day of hope....and that's a tremendous thing.
I quickly got out the mini carpet cleaner and got the carpet cleaned up. Upon further examination because with a male dog, "it" doesn't go straight down, I found some spots on the chest. I cleaned them off and then decided a good lemon oil rubbing was in line. After I had brought out the lovely woods used in this chest I opened it and drank in that wonderful cedar aroma that takes me back to the funniest of places....Souvenir shops by my grandparents cottage at Sand Lake. They always featured cedar plaques and gifts and the stores were redolent of the smell of cedar. I wanted every little gift-y souvenir I saw back then. And once when we went on a trip to Wisconsin, I bought a small cedar box emblazoned with Mackinaw City on its top. Oh the memories...as I gazed into that chest.
When my grandmother died rather unexpectedly, twenty days short of her 81st birthday, we were all in shock. Grandpa just tried to negotiate his way without her, but it was like a spring was broken inside of him. When he passed away four years later in 1999, it was immensely sad, but in a way very comforting as we knew he was in Heaven with Grandma and all he loved. My mom and her 3 siblings arranged to have a house auction quickly and then put their house up for sale. In cleaning the house and going through the items to be auctioned, they found a list Grandma had made. The list contained items she wanted each of her grandchildren to have. After the kids went through the list they realized Grandma hadn't quite been equal in what she wanted given to each grandchild. So the children decided to put the items all in the auction and if the grandchild wanted the designated item, they could bid on it. Many of the grandkids didn't care what had been wished for them, but I was curious. I am the eldest grandchild, and always thought my grandma and grandpa were about perfect. When I asked my mom what Grandma had wanted me to have, she said a walnut chest. For the life of me, I couldn't remember this chest even when my mom told me where it had set in Grandma's house. So, I had to go over and take a look at it. As soon as I saw it, I remembered it, but would not have thought much of it. The finish had darkened over the years and it looked more like ugly mahogany than walnut. But Mom told me it was cedar inside and they believed it was a hope chest. That made a difference, but I still thought the chest looked ugly on the outside.
As the day for the auction approached I looked at the chest a few more times. It kind of grew on me, but what I really wanted from the auction was a straw boater hat, Grandpa had worn courting Grandma. Grandma had shown it to me once and I fell in love with the hat and the story. The day of the auction, Mom whispered to me to bid on the chest because she was sure it was walnut and could be refinished and on the inside was a birthday card from 1932. Grandpa had given Grandma the hope chest for her 19th birthday in March. They were married a little over a month later. The birthday card with the chest had been saved by Grandma all those years. Mom said they took the card out but if I bought the chest she would give me the card. It wasn't easy as the hat I wanted was prized by another relative, and I paid dearly for it, and the chest was bid up by my mom's sister. But I bought both. I wasn't too sure how smart I was, but back then tradition and "family" pieces meant a great deal to me.
I set about refinishing the chest that summer. My mom was right. It refinished beautifully and after the dark finish was removed there was the gorgeous walnut my mom spoke of. There was also inlaid maple decorative motifs on it. And when you opened the chest came that tantalizing smell of childhood, the lake and cottage, and summer. The smell of cedar. I put the chest in our bedroom and despite our matched bedroom set being oak, it fit as quality old pieces quite often do. Over the years I added things to it. A child's derby hat found in the walls of our house when we tore down some plaster in remodeling. Two German Bibles that were my grandparents confirmation Bibles, though neither of them spoke German to my remembering. Some letters of my grandpa my mom had found and made copies of, along with some pictures of she and her brothers at a young age. I added my own children's things as they grew. A baby plate bought for one of the children. School pictures and newspaper clippings from their sports adventures. The striped socks I had on when Ryan was born. I was cold in the delivery room and the nurse said I could leave my socks on. They were red and blue striped and every time I saw them thereafter I smiled, until I put them in the chest. I have no notion of why, but because I could.
Lastly was a journal of sorts I had kept at another bad time in my life. A dozen years ago and it was one of the darkest winter's I remember, and funny thing there was no real cause for it now. In retrospect it seems silly as compared to some of what went on these past two winters. But what I read didn't seem all that silly and took me back to what I was feeling and why writing was an outlet for me. I hope that a dozen years from now if the Good Lord sees fit to keep me around, that what I am experiencing today will seem just as silly, but the writing just as insightful.
So my dog was a bad dog, but if I had not to clean up a mess, I wouldn't have stopped to open my hope chest. I wouldn't have smelled the enticing smell of cedar, have remembered all the good times, and imagined all the hope my grandma put into that chest as she prepared for a marriage that would last over 65 years. Hope seemed to be in short supply of late. It seemed more to be a time of endurance, and just trying to stay afloat. There were times of endurance in my grandparent's lives and in my parent's. I was reminded that I am part of my larger family who's roots run deep in this area. I have tradition and things of my family I still care about, even though I have learned I am not tied to this place with roots so deep, I can't be transplanted. I am more than the sum parts of what is visible now, and still have ways to grow beyond this day. I am so grateful for those who went before me, loved me and gave me wisdom. I hope my grandchildren will feel the same some day. Its funny how a hope chest and a bad dog, equaled a bad day, then a very good day; a day of hope....and that's a tremendous thing.
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