Most women notice when they find they have their mother's hands. I have my dad's. Ain't that a kick in the ass....
Its a random thought but one I noticed from a picture we had taken of our family taken at the Laurenz family reunion. It was only missing Annie and Pete, two big 'missings', but unavoidable. I just counted myself fortunate that Korey, Jen and Vittoria were home, rather unexpectedly and could stop by the reunion for a bit.
I loved the picture, the babies frozen in time for me, as they will be so different the next time I see them, even Luca who I see every week will be growing, getting another tooth, a haircut, or a bump or bruise from a tumble he'll be taking as he stretches the limits of his walking, no rushing into life. Vittoria is heading back to New York City this morning with her mom while Korey heads back to Milwaukee to finish his project for work. It was a brief reunion but oh so welcome and so appreciated.
Summer always seems the time for reunions. Family reunions, yearly festivals which are reunions of a sort and those events that mark a definite page in history. I had all of them this summer. Two weeks ago we marked the 150th celebration of Richland Township. Hemlock, as a city designation, was never incorporated so the anniversary's of age have always fallen on Richland Twp., even though I am sure in most people's minds, it is still Hemlock's anniversary. The planning for this started over two years ago. I must admit, though I attended the first planning meeting, I really became no further involved aside from what the Historical Society was doing. So many things were coming to a head in my life then that I didn't seem to have the energy to become involved. Something I now regret, but also a lesson learned. When opportunities are there, take them. If we wait for someone else to do it all, it will never be to our satisfaction, but we have no place to complain.
I was eight years old at the 100th, centennial celebration of our town. I remember the excitement and the pioneer dress my grandma made for me with a matching bonnet. I remember the parade that added to the feeling later, that my eighth year of life, was my best year on earth. But I remember little else from that celebration. I look back at pictures that my mom so clearly recalls and reminisces about, and its kind of a blank to me. It looked like great fun and great community participation.
During the 125th, or quasquicentennial, I had three young children. My sister and brother and their families were all in Michigan visiting and we were running hither, thither and yonder trying to catch everything going on. Mom and Dad were very involved and everything just stampeded along. Annie, who was about four that year, wore my pioneer dress, and I wore my grandma's. I added a white pinafore apron, I made, (my first and pretty much, only apron sewed by me. The way I bake, I should never be without one, but anyway....). The boys and Kurt wore bib overalls and matching neck scarves. It was a couple of days of just going from place to place in a dizzying and now, blurry rush. Ryan won the kid's pedal tractor pull and made the Saginaw News with the picture of him pedaling. The world was still our young oyster, and we rushed headlong without really knowing where we were going and why the rush. It was the last such celebration I would have with my grandparents or my dad though that didn't seem possible at the time.
Twenty five years went by in the blink of an eye this time. My kids are grown and gone. I have two baby grand children and those I dearly love who gave me my sense of community and continuity are gone. Mom retired from caring much about this 150 celebration, this sesquicentennial. The force to love her heritage died out with my dad and she prefers now to be an observer. It seems sad to me, but I am coming to find, it is her way. I can accept it and take from it the lessons it has to teach.
The finale to a yearlong celebration of Richland Township's sesquicentennial started with a community potluck dinner at the Richland Twp. Park. A very nice turnout and so much food you couldn't pile it all on a plate. Something that is enduring and comforting, the rural areas still know how to put on potlucks. I have never been to one where the "pot was unlucky". There was a period costume contest. At the last minute before we left I scrounged up a pair of bib overalls and an old, old scarf and tied my hair up in a babushka. I dug out an old pair of saddle shoes I still possessed and went as "Rosie the Riveter". They didn't say what period it had to be. I had great fun. The best costume went to a 125 year old authentic maternity dress, saved by Shirley Pankow and modeled by Carol Wardin. How special that people quietly have done such things. Viewing those things I look back on the things that someday I will likely have to choose to part with and what I will save.
I will save the quilt my Grandma Walter made for me from fabric scraps of old clothing my mother gave to her. I can still identify many of the scraps from dresses I once had. I will keep the walnut hope chest, Grandpa Laurenz gave to Grandma on her 19th birthday, six weeks before they married. Along with it I will keep the straw boater hat, Grandpa courted Grandma in. I have a small wood, hump back box, that came with Grandma Walter's family from Germany. Inside it is a small cedar box, left in my dad's home when we moved in. Inside it is the trinkets and things of a young girl's life. I will keep it. I will save some pieces of things my dad built for me and the kids. They are his legacy more than anything else. Of my mother, I hope to save her writings and her recipes, her artwork, as they are my small, farm wife of a mother. Her love of drawing and writing and gardening are things she has passed on to me that need no reminder. What my children may want to keep I have no ideas. The boys will likely want things such as their father's guns and decoys to remind them. Annie, I am not sure, but passing down some things is worth the hassle and the time.
The parade for the sesquicentennial seemed smaller this time and the crowd much less. It is the way of small town celebrations. Less young people to help carry the loads and those that are here now, often have no connection with the history of the town they now reside in. The exhibits and the work were appreciated. The township worship service on Sunday morning was wonderful.
Bits and pieces of what makes me, me. Yesterday we had the annual Laurenz reunion. Not a great turnout, but its a risk you take with it being summer and cousins with young children busy. Many of the cousins kids no longer live around here. I was fortunate I know to have had two sons and families there this year. Still, it seems its for us the cousins who can still come and the aunts and uncles who make the effort. My frail mom walks beside her younger brothers and they bend low now, to help her. They are all gray and fortunate to still be among us. We don't know how much longer the four children will still be here, so we take the time.
Reunions are a funny thing, but family is still, in all of these times of endless strife and depression, the tie that binds.....
Monday, July 16, 2012
Monday, July 9, 2012
Well Crap....
And I mean that literally. It was Sunday. We had gone to church with Mom for her birthday and then taken her out to breakfast. My brother and I spent an enjoyable few hours reliving the best of what we had been as brother and sister and ultimately as a family. We reminisced about Dad and the many things that had made him special. Mom got that faraway look on her face that I see often, as if she's seeing beyond us or looking forward to the time she will be smiling and on his arm again. I looked forward to a quiet afternoon after a hectic, heat stressed week. Quiet and mundane things like laundry and just hanging out.
Its God's good humor that Sundays are not the only day of the week that can be special or a-special. A couple of loads of laundry finished up and hung out. A rainbow of colors on a clothesline. Until a couple of years ago I had reverted from my earlier love of clothes line dried clothes to the dryer, which was faster, and more efficient in my time stressed world. I kept the clothesline which remain in my yard for drying bed linens and blankets, quilts. Last summer I came back to hanging laundry out. There is something about summer dried clothes that just feels right. It takes time, but I have time, and in my rush to find things of late, I realize that time is a precious thing and simple doesn't mean backward.
I have only two rules for line drying. No socks on the line except in emergencies and Kurt's rule, none of his whitey tighties hanging for the world to see. Of course, now the world knows this, but my blog world is relatively small....
The clothes were out on the line. I was checking some furniture I had stored in the basement and came up the carpeted set that leads directly into the living room. Yes, I have two sets of stairs going to my basement, and this, more or less has to do with an extra basement room added over 30 years ago. Coming up the stairs I noticed a dark blob on the second step from the top. Suspecting it was something left from one of the dogs, either end, mind you, I turned on the light and discovered there were bits of fur making up much of the blob, with tiny bits of skeletal bone sticking through. Well swell, it was the carcass of a decomposed mouse. A few weeks ago I had smelled a dead mouse in the basement room, the stairs lead into. It was strong and I had looked all through the furniture and behind the chimney for the body. For some reason I didn't use those stairs or only used them to go down and didn't spot Mr. Deceased. I am amazed and somewhat humiliated that I never smelled the mouse from the top of the stairs in my living room. It is open to those stairs and the mouse body was only a couple of steps down. I pride myself, (and yes, Lord, I am humbled again), on my keen sense of smell, and I really missed the boat on this one. Even my ever loving of every dead thing she can find, dog, Tally, missed the mark on this one. I just hope that the myriad of people I've had in my house the last few weeks missed the wondrous odor and didn't think I had buried bodies in the basement. I'm also hoping that the dog odor I am accustomed to, and ever mindful of, covered up the deceased stink.
I gathered two dustpans and "swept" up the body and the childhood memory of an old chicken coop aroma wafted into my nostrils, full force. A whisk broom finished up the leftovers and then a good dose of carpet cleaning spray, white vinegar, and finally a steam cleaning, and I hoped fervently the dead mouse aroma would not haunt me every humid day, as I think there are a few of those in store yet this summer.
Job done, and I headed outside to take down the dried laundry. Danged if I carried the basket in and didn't notice a dog smell after I had walked around a bit. Well crap, dog poop on the bottom of my flip flop. I had really stepped in it. Flip flop off and hosed and scrubbed and left in the sun to dry, at least there was that. Floor mopped up. Back in the house and well double yuck, Tally had vomited on the living room carpet. She is well known for her sensitive stomach and her proclivity towards eating things she shouldn't. I swear she's part pig as she loves to root around in the compost box for what, I don't want to know. Dustpans put into action again and vomit disposed. Carpet spray and vinegar, but decided the whole area needed a large scale cleaning, which would wait until evening and everyone, meaning Kurt and everything, meaning the dogs were upstairs in bed. Midnight is such a fun time to do things, just let my natural menopause tendencies kick in.
Tennis shoes on, back outside to move watering hoses, and well CRAP, stepped in it again. Sometimes you just gotta laugh because its Sunday and you can't cuss. My friend's dog ate a bottle of hand cream the other night, at least Tally didn't do that....
Its God's good humor that Sundays are not the only day of the week that can be special or a-special. A couple of loads of laundry finished up and hung out. A rainbow of colors on a clothesline. Until a couple of years ago I had reverted from my earlier love of clothes line dried clothes to the dryer, which was faster, and more efficient in my time stressed world. I kept the clothesline which remain in my yard for drying bed linens and blankets, quilts. Last summer I came back to hanging laundry out. There is something about summer dried clothes that just feels right. It takes time, but I have time, and in my rush to find things of late, I realize that time is a precious thing and simple doesn't mean backward.
I have only two rules for line drying. No socks on the line except in emergencies and Kurt's rule, none of his whitey tighties hanging for the world to see. Of course, now the world knows this, but my blog world is relatively small....
The clothes were out on the line. I was checking some furniture I had stored in the basement and came up the carpeted set that leads directly into the living room. Yes, I have two sets of stairs going to my basement, and this, more or less has to do with an extra basement room added over 30 years ago. Coming up the stairs I noticed a dark blob on the second step from the top. Suspecting it was something left from one of the dogs, either end, mind you, I turned on the light and discovered there were bits of fur making up much of the blob, with tiny bits of skeletal bone sticking through. Well swell, it was the carcass of a decomposed mouse. A few weeks ago I had smelled a dead mouse in the basement room, the stairs lead into. It was strong and I had looked all through the furniture and behind the chimney for the body. For some reason I didn't use those stairs or only used them to go down and didn't spot Mr. Deceased. I am amazed and somewhat humiliated that I never smelled the mouse from the top of the stairs in my living room. It is open to those stairs and the mouse body was only a couple of steps down. I pride myself, (and yes, Lord, I am humbled again), on my keen sense of smell, and I really missed the boat on this one. Even my ever loving of every dead thing she can find, dog, Tally, missed the mark on this one. I just hope that the myriad of people I've had in my house the last few weeks missed the wondrous odor and didn't think I had buried bodies in the basement. I'm also hoping that the dog odor I am accustomed to, and ever mindful of, covered up the deceased stink.
I gathered two dustpans and "swept" up the body and the childhood memory of an old chicken coop aroma wafted into my nostrils, full force. A whisk broom finished up the leftovers and then a good dose of carpet cleaning spray, white vinegar, and finally a steam cleaning, and I hoped fervently the dead mouse aroma would not haunt me every humid day, as I think there are a few of those in store yet this summer.
Job done, and I headed outside to take down the dried laundry. Danged if I carried the basket in and didn't notice a dog smell after I had walked around a bit. Well crap, dog poop on the bottom of my flip flop. I had really stepped in it. Flip flop off and hosed and scrubbed and left in the sun to dry, at least there was that. Floor mopped up. Back in the house and well double yuck, Tally had vomited on the living room carpet. She is well known for her sensitive stomach and her proclivity towards eating things she shouldn't. I swear she's part pig as she loves to root around in the compost box for what, I don't want to know. Dustpans put into action again and vomit disposed. Carpet spray and vinegar, but decided the whole area needed a large scale cleaning, which would wait until evening and everyone, meaning Kurt and everything, meaning the dogs were upstairs in bed. Midnight is such a fun time to do things, just let my natural menopause tendencies kick in.
Tennis shoes on, back outside to move watering hoses, and well CRAP, stepped in it again. Sometimes you just gotta laugh because its Sunday and you can't cuss. My friend's dog ate a bottle of hand cream the other night, at least Tally didn't do that....
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Heat Wave
The sun is rising. Its Sunday morning. In a few hours we will be taking Mom to church. Its her birthday and she will be 79. She is mostly gray haired now, a fact debated by my brothers and sister, as to choice, and increasingly frail, her arms no more than sticks. She seems fragile to me for someone 79, as she moves very carefully, but still drives and still insists she can do what she wants.
We have survived, (at least for now), another heat wave. Two straight weeks of 90+ temps here in the Saginaw Valley have left everyone on edge and testy with each other. The eastern half of the Nation is suffering this heat wave, so Michigan is not alone, but temperatures topping 100 degrees and plus is not something we have known here in my lifetime. Annie in Nashville has seen temps of over 108 degrees and that is the case all through the South. The old song, We're Having a Heat Wave has new meaning now.
With the usual Walter flair for timing, (mostly bad), my sister and her family visited in the first week of the heat wave. They came from Colorado where while it is dry was much cooler. Normally they try to plan their every-other-year visits home to coincide with my other brother's trips home from Delaware, as that's the only time they will see each other. It didn't work out this year, so Kerri, Paul and Zac arrived in Michigan via their Dodge truck and 5th wheel RV, camping along the way and visiting the western side of the state before heading to the sunrise. It was still June when they arrived and of course, it was the first of our 90+ degree days in a row.
Wildfires were raging near their home city of Colorado Springs, so they were desperate for news and internet connections to view the devastation. They visited nephews on the way in, and were actually only at Mom's for a brief few days, something we are all aware at this point in her life. Our mom does not like change any longer and prefers to live quietly with really and truly, life's simple pleasures, her companions. It often seems very lonely to me, and more often seems devoid of joy, but I guess that is a relative term as joy is something perhaps for the young who have not the wisdom earned to realize lasting contentment. Some days I think I have it figured out and others, I don't have a clue.
Kerri and her family left on one of the "cool" days of the two week purge where the thermometer only went to 92 degrees. My brother, Chris and his family arrived from the other direction, two days later, in the next start of intense heat on Sunday night. Kurt and I had made a bet to see if we could keep the AC off in our house through the month of June. That seemed like a fairly easy thing to do at the time, as June is not usually a month where air conditioning is a must, except for this year. But we found surprisingly, that we could open windows wide at night and have the house cool off enough to then close the windows in the mornings and have the house stay comfortable all day. We are blessed with trees surrounding the house and a garage that stays cool on the west side of the house. But what seemed comfortable to us was stretched when we had a cookout over here for Kerri and her family before they left. With more people in the house and a day of heating, the house was warm to most who were here, and I was labeled stubborn in the mode of my mom by many of my family. But that was June and by July I had to contemplate at least, turning on the air conditioning.
Chris and family stopped by unexpectedly on a Monday when the temps were heading to record highs, though they hadn't gotten there quite yet. They complained as everyone had about the heat and how bad it was here. Of course, it was going to be that hot in Delaware, but we weren't going to argue the fact with them right then.
We spent the 4th of July at Ryan and Alison's lake house. The neighborhood on the lake does a pig roast that feeds friends, neighbors and relatives, but this year the thermometer heading to a record breaking 102 degrees, had us all eating and heading to air conditioning even in cottages that had never known the term. The 4th of July was the first really uncomfortable night we spent with fans running on every side of the bed and the air cooling outside to only 75 degrees during the night. We broke down on Thursday and cranked on the air. It didn't seem to help much. We cleaned beach next to the pond and actually got on the floats we hadn't used in two years and we were suspended in water that was as warm as a winter bath. Along with the hot temps had arrived the humidity and air that had no breath.
Friday saw the last really hot day of the heat cycle. It was a day much like the previous and won't stand out in memory, (I hope), for more than the cycle of the record setting heat wave. Saturday had us glad, for once we lived on the sunrise side of the state and could enjoy a cooling breeze from the northeast across Saginaw Bay. The southern part of Michigan still sweltered under the heat for another day of near 100 degrees. We topped out at 85 here.
This morning I got up to watch the sunrise, sitting on my front porch. I contemplated my mom turning 79, and inevitably her mortality and life in the coming year. I looked across the fields to a new large barn being built on Roosevelt Road and wondering if there would be horses at the place that had installed fencing last fall. I liked having the changes to landscape that needs a reason to change and stay current. I love the country and my neighborhood, but I now realize it can't remain stagnant. That's a good thing and one I want to really remember, when I feel time speeding by me.
My niece is a senior in high school. She's never heard of VISTA or what the Peace Corps once did. We need to do a better job as a Nation to teach this generation's children of what we once were and what we can become. We survived the heat wave, at least for now. This might be labeled the summer of the tropics and another way to test our Nation's mettle. I hope we pass...
We have survived, (at least for now), another heat wave. Two straight weeks of 90+ temps here in the Saginaw Valley have left everyone on edge and testy with each other. The eastern half of the Nation is suffering this heat wave, so Michigan is not alone, but temperatures topping 100 degrees and plus is not something we have known here in my lifetime. Annie in Nashville has seen temps of over 108 degrees and that is the case all through the South. The old song, We're Having a Heat Wave has new meaning now.
With the usual Walter flair for timing, (mostly bad), my sister and her family visited in the first week of the heat wave. They came from Colorado where while it is dry was much cooler. Normally they try to plan their every-other-year visits home to coincide with my other brother's trips home from Delaware, as that's the only time they will see each other. It didn't work out this year, so Kerri, Paul and Zac arrived in Michigan via their Dodge truck and 5th wheel RV, camping along the way and visiting the western side of the state before heading to the sunrise. It was still June when they arrived and of course, it was the first of our 90+ degree days in a row.
Wildfires were raging near their home city of Colorado Springs, so they were desperate for news and internet connections to view the devastation. They visited nephews on the way in, and were actually only at Mom's for a brief few days, something we are all aware at this point in her life. Our mom does not like change any longer and prefers to live quietly with really and truly, life's simple pleasures, her companions. It often seems very lonely to me, and more often seems devoid of joy, but I guess that is a relative term as joy is something perhaps for the young who have not the wisdom earned to realize lasting contentment. Some days I think I have it figured out and others, I don't have a clue.
Kerri and her family left on one of the "cool" days of the two week purge where the thermometer only went to 92 degrees. My brother, Chris and his family arrived from the other direction, two days later, in the next start of intense heat on Sunday night. Kurt and I had made a bet to see if we could keep the AC off in our house through the month of June. That seemed like a fairly easy thing to do at the time, as June is not usually a month where air conditioning is a must, except for this year. But we found surprisingly, that we could open windows wide at night and have the house cool off enough to then close the windows in the mornings and have the house stay comfortable all day. We are blessed with trees surrounding the house and a garage that stays cool on the west side of the house. But what seemed comfortable to us was stretched when we had a cookout over here for Kerri and her family before they left. With more people in the house and a day of heating, the house was warm to most who were here, and I was labeled stubborn in the mode of my mom by many of my family. But that was June and by July I had to contemplate at least, turning on the air conditioning.
Chris and family stopped by unexpectedly on a Monday when the temps were heading to record highs, though they hadn't gotten there quite yet. They complained as everyone had about the heat and how bad it was here. Of course, it was going to be that hot in Delaware, but we weren't going to argue the fact with them right then.
We spent the 4th of July at Ryan and Alison's lake house. The neighborhood on the lake does a pig roast that feeds friends, neighbors and relatives, but this year the thermometer heading to a record breaking 102 degrees, had us all eating and heading to air conditioning even in cottages that had never known the term. The 4th of July was the first really uncomfortable night we spent with fans running on every side of the bed and the air cooling outside to only 75 degrees during the night. We broke down on Thursday and cranked on the air. It didn't seem to help much. We cleaned beach next to the pond and actually got on the floats we hadn't used in two years and we were suspended in water that was as warm as a winter bath. Along with the hot temps had arrived the humidity and air that had no breath.
Friday saw the last really hot day of the heat cycle. It was a day much like the previous and won't stand out in memory, (I hope), for more than the cycle of the record setting heat wave. Saturday had us glad, for once we lived on the sunrise side of the state and could enjoy a cooling breeze from the northeast across Saginaw Bay. The southern part of Michigan still sweltered under the heat for another day of near 100 degrees. We topped out at 85 here.
This morning I got up to watch the sunrise, sitting on my front porch. I contemplated my mom turning 79, and inevitably her mortality and life in the coming year. I looked across the fields to a new large barn being built on Roosevelt Road and wondering if there would be horses at the place that had installed fencing last fall. I liked having the changes to landscape that needs a reason to change and stay current. I love the country and my neighborhood, but I now realize it can't remain stagnant. That's a good thing and one I want to really remember, when I feel time speeding by me.
My niece is a senior in high school. She's never heard of VISTA or what the Peace Corps once did. We need to do a better job as a Nation to teach this generation's children of what we once were and what we can become. We survived the heat wave, at least for now. This might be labeled the summer of the tropics and another way to test our Nation's mettle. I hope we pass...
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Back to Nature
I should be outside as we had some very early morning thunder storms which gave us rain; much, much needed rain. It is now cloudy and as soon as the sun breaks out the humidity and heat factor will surge. I should be outside cleaning out my weedy rock wall. The rock wall is so weedy, it is next to obliterating the rocks in the wall. I should be doing that, but I am here instead paying my respects to a little duckling.
Kurt came in yesterday excited that we had ducklings on our pond. He knew Momma Mallard had a nest somewhere in the tall grass off the pond as we saw them almost constantly of late. This was the first case of ducks nesting on the pond in its almost 10 year history. Cattails have overtaken 3/4's of the pond edging, and its on our list to clean out certain areas of them, but we realize they provide cover for nesting ducks.
Kurt saw the ducklings about a half to a full dozen of the little guys twice yesterday swimming close to Momma. He was delighted that he had those ducks and hoped that at least half would grow big enough to fly away. We know that ducklings have many natural enemies so half surviving was probably optimistic.
This morning I heard him yelling outside at our dog, Tally. I assumed she was chasing baby bunnies again which she does frequently when outside the fence. I feel like "Watership Down" these days as we are almost over run with "wasically wabbits". So far they haven't destroyed any major plant life, the unusually high bug population this year seems to have done more damage.
I had been feeling happy for lack of any better word this morning. The rain had helped and even though I knew we would return to heat shortly, things seemed to be going better. Then Kurt came in carrying a cardboard box, telling me Tally got one of the ducklings. When I asked if she killed it, he said no, but he had it in the box, as when he tried to put her back in the water, she flipped on her back. He wanted to see if she was just shaken so left her in the box for an hour or so while we land trained the dogs.
I was pulling weeds out of the sand beach by the pond after the dogs were done and put in the house. Kurt came out carrying the duckling and carried it to the far side of the pond in a clear area to put it back in the water. He now knows he should have released it in the cattail area or waited until he could find the mom and siblings swimming, but he was anxious to know if the little lady could swim. So he put her in the water and she took off swimming but he quickly realized he had made a grave mistake. The little swimmer was immediately assailed by one of our pond's small mouth bass. He started yelling as the bass would pull her under, but she would re-emerge still bravely swimming. He threw rocks behind her hoping to scare off the bass but he kept nipping at her as she swam across the pond towards me where I watched with a sickening feeling. When she got closer to me, I began throwing rocks and she turned to head to the safety of the cattails her only hope. But one last time she was pulled under and didn't resurface.
Kurt was frantic and my calm, hunting husband actually had tears in his eyes over the little duckling's fate. We knew the odds were against most of the duckling's surviving, and hoped against hope because we rescued her from certain death in the jaws of Tally, we believed she had been given a reprieve. He blamed himself for letting her go in open water, alone where he knew bass would eat her, (which is far more than I knew and now unhappily, I am informed). Her odds were never good, but we believed for a short time she had beat the odds.
An ordinary day made a little less bright for the loss of a little duckling that had we not come to her rescue would never have known her fate. She might have been hunting fodder for her very rescuer in a couple of years, but my big, strong husband was grieving over the little fuzzy baby, only a couple of days old, he didn't save and probably allowed certain death when he put her back in the pond. This was the reason I married him, his gentleness at unexpected times and his grief over the "least of these". Its why we are still married after 35 years.
It is survival of the fittest in nature and when we say we like living among the wild creatures, it is one of the lessons we have to be taught and retaught. Time to go tackle that rock wall, wiser and sadder, but realizing the rest of the ducklings are still swimming in our pond....
Kurt came in yesterday excited that we had ducklings on our pond. He knew Momma Mallard had a nest somewhere in the tall grass off the pond as we saw them almost constantly of late. This was the first case of ducks nesting on the pond in its almost 10 year history. Cattails have overtaken 3/4's of the pond edging, and its on our list to clean out certain areas of them, but we realize they provide cover for nesting ducks.
Kurt saw the ducklings about a half to a full dozen of the little guys twice yesterday swimming close to Momma. He was delighted that he had those ducks and hoped that at least half would grow big enough to fly away. We know that ducklings have many natural enemies so half surviving was probably optimistic.
This morning I heard him yelling outside at our dog, Tally. I assumed she was chasing baby bunnies again which she does frequently when outside the fence. I feel like "Watership Down" these days as we are almost over run with "wasically wabbits". So far they haven't destroyed any major plant life, the unusually high bug population this year seems to have done more damage.
I had been feeling happy for lack of any better word this morning. The rain had helped and even though I knew we would return to heat shortly, things seemed to be going better. Then Kurt came in carrying a cardboard box, telling me Tally got one of the ducklings. When I asked if she killed it, he said no, but he had it in the box, as when he tried to put her back in the water, she flipped on her back. He wanted to see if she was just shaken so left her in the box for an hour or so while we land trained the dogs.
I was pulling weeds out of the sand beach by the pond after the dogs were done and put in the house. Kurt came out carrying the duckling and carried it to the far side of the pond in a clear area to put it back in the water. He now knows he should have released it in the cattail area or waited until he could find the mom and siblings swimming, but he was anxious to know if the little lady could swim. So he put her in the water and she took off swimming but he quickly realized he had made a grave mistake. The little swimmer was immediately assailed by one of our pond's small mouth bass. He started yelling as the bass would pull her under, but she would re-emerge still bravely swimming. He threw rocks behind her hoping to scare off the bass but he kept nipping at her as she swam across the pond towards me where I watched with a sickening feeling. When she got closer to me, I began throwing rocks and she turned to head to the safety of the cattails her only hope. But one last time she was pulled under and didn't resurface.
Kurt was frantic and my calm, hunting husband actually had tears in his eyes over the little duckling's fate. We knew the odds were against most of the duckling's surviving, and hoped against hope because we rescued her from certain death in the jaws of Tally, we believed she had been given a reprieve. He blamed himself for letting her go in open water, alone where he knew bass would eat her, (which is far more than I knew and now unhappily, I am informed). Her odds were never good, but we believed for a short time she had beat the odds.
An ordinary day made a little less bright for the loss of a little duckling that had we not come to her rescue would never have known her fate. She might have been hunting fodder for her very rescuer in a couple of years, but my big, strong husband was grieving over the little fuzzy baby, only a couple of days old, he didn't save and probably allowed certain death when he put her back in the pond. This was the reason I married him, his gentleness at unexpected times and his grief over the "least of these". Its why we are still married after 35 years.
It is survival of the fittest in nature and when we say we like living among the wild creatures, it is one of the lessons we have to be taught and retaught. Time to go tackle that rock wall, wiser and sadder, but realizing the rest of the ducklings are still swimming in our pond....
Friday, June 29, 2012
God Speed
My sister, Kerri, her husband Paul and son, Zac were in Michigan visiting and left this morning pointed towards their home in Colorado. Along the way back they will be camping at Paul's family reunion in Iowa. It is an annual reunion and one they look forward to, but their hearts are worried right now for the wildfires that rage just outside their city of Colorado Springs.
Kerri and Paul own a well used and well traveled 5th wheeler. When they plan a trip back to Michigan, (usually every other year), they try to do a good amount of sight seeing along the way and camp in places that will give them the most vacation bang for the buck. This year's trip was a bit more "spur of the moment" due to scheduling conflicts later in the summer when they planned to come. While in Michigan, they managed to hook up with both of my brother's kids and families in the more southern part of the state and get in some Lake Michigan camp time. Hitting both Jeremy's place in Caledonia and Shawn's place in Charlotte is no mean feat and then heading back to the west side so as not to interrupt Mom at the farm for too long a time. We are all very conscious of giving Mom her space on the farm, something she will adamantly tell you if you overstep.
They got here on late Tuesday afternoon. I missed seeing her that first night as we were training dogs at Omega Farms. The next morning was hectic for me as well with a hair appointment, and unless there is a death I do not give up my monthly hair time. Then I took a friend out to a long overdue lunch, and the afternoon was gone, that fast. It was my night to open the Historical Museum and then a meeting afterward, so long story, short, it was after 8 on Wednesday night before I saw my sister.
Kerri and I are five years apart in age. Until I went off to college we shared a bedroom, but because of my brother being between us and closer to me in age, and my best friends down the road, we were never particularly close as some sisters I knew, namely my best friends down the road. But we were leaning more that way after I married and while she was in college. Then she decided to move to Colorado, about a year before she would have had her college degree. She and her friend packed up and moved to Colorado and only really knew one person there and he was a school friend of my younger, (her older), brother, Kim. She had contacted Greg and he said she could come out and stay with him until both found jobs or whatever it was they were looking for. So off they went. They settled in with Greg, found jobs, moved out, moved back, found love, un-found love, and ultimately the two friends went their separate ways, Kerri stayed on with Greg, and then met Paul and moved north to marry him and live in Colorado Springs.
It was hard to stay close with the distance thing, and when she first left, our lives were drastically different. But in the last couple of decades she has married and experienced child birth and what being a parent is. She has asked advice and I have seen her go ahead of me to rediscover her Lord and Savior, while I hung back, somewhat content to be the "Always Has Been Christian". I am now getting there, but Little Sis led the way. We have reconnected over kids, our parents, burying a parent, husbands, and menopause. We schedule bike rides together so we can have that "sister time" and we never get talked out.
We now share Faith, worry about our Mom, and remember our childhoods and what will become of the Farm. She has a wonderful husband in Paul and a great son in Zac, who is just testing the teenage waters, (and I wouldn't do that now for all the electronics in China). We had a cookout here last night, and she was the best at making light of the bet Kurt and I made not to turn on the AC in June. It was 97 degrees yesterday, but we all had a good time.
Last night when my sister left, (who's voice I now realize is my voice), we hugged and I told them, "God Speed". May He speed them back to Colorado in good time as their hearts right now are with the people of Colorado Springs worrying about the wildfires. May He help those fighting the fires to continue until they are no more, and may He give the people the will to rebuild and reach out....
God Speed, Sis.
Kerri and Paul own a well used and well traveled 5th wheeler. When they plan a trip back to Michigan, (usually every other year), they try to do a good amount of sight seeing along the way and camp in places that will give them the most vacation bang for the buck. This year's trip was a bit more "spur of the moment" due to scheduling conflicts later in the summer when they planned to come. While in Michigan, they managed to hook up with both of my brother's kids and families in the more southern part of the state and get in some Lake Michigan camp time. Hitting both Jeremy's place in Caledonia and Shawn's place in Charlotte is no mean feat and then heading back to the west side so as not to interrupt Mom at the farm for too long a time. We are all very conscious of giving Mom her space on the farm, something she will adamantly tell you if you overstep.
They got here on late Tuesday afternoon. I missed seeing her that first night as we were training dogs at Omega Farms. The next morning was hectic for me as well with a hair appointment, and unless there is a death I do not give up my monthly hair time. Then I took a friend out to a long overdue lunch, and the afternoon was gone, that fast. It was my night to open the Historical Museum and then a meeting afterward, so long story, short, it was after 8 on Wednesday night before I saw my sister.
Kerri and I are five years apart in age. Until I went off to college we shared a bedroom, but because of my brother being between us and closer to me in age, and my best friends down the road, we were never particularly close as some sisters I knew, namely my best friends down the road. But we were leaning more that way after I married and while she was in college. Then she decided to move to Colorado, about a year before she would have had her college degree. She and her friend packed up and moved to Colorado and only really knew one person there and he was a school friend of my younger, (her older), brother, Kim. She had contacted Greg and he said she could come out and stay with him until both found jobs or whatever it was they were looking for. So off they went. They settled in with Greg, found jobs, moved out, moved back, found love, un-found love, and ultimately the two friends went their separate ways, Kerri stayed on with Greg, and then met Paul and moved north to marry him and live in Colorado Springs.
It was hard to stay close with the distance thing, and when she first left, our lives were drastically different. But in the last couple of decades she has married and experienced child birth and what being a parent is. She has asked advice and I have seen her go ahead of me to rediscover her Lord and Savior, while I hung back, somewhat content to be the "Always Has Been Christian". I am now getting there, but Little Sis led the way. We have reconnected over kids, our parents, burying a parent, husbands, and menopause. We schedule bike rides together so we can have that "sister time" and we never get talked out.
We now share Faith, worry about our Mom, and remember our childhoods and what will become of the Farm. She has a wonderful husband in Paul and a great son in Zac, who is just testing the teenage waters, (and I wouldn't do that now for all the electronics in China). We had a cookout here last night, and she was the best at making light of the bet Kurt and I made not to turn on the AC in June. It was 97 degrees yesterday, but we all had a good time.
Last night when my sister left, (who's voice I now realize is my voice), we hugged and I told them, "God Speed". May He speed them back to Colorado in good time as their hearts right now are with the people of Colorado Springs worrying about the wildfires. May He help those fighting the fires to continue until they are no more, and may He give the people the will to rebuild and reach out....
God Speed, Sis.
What Goes Up, Comes Down, Unfortunately....
I thought I was getting the hang of this retirement thing, at least the easing into retirement for Kurt. But like anything it is a work in progress. He left a short time ago, and were it not for my worrying about Gauge performing and in this continuing heat wave, I couldn't have shoved Kurt out the door fast enough. I am just so looking forward to a couple of days all to myself. Time to not explain why I am not turning on the AC, and just relaxing in front of a fan in the hottest part of the afternoon. I can do this because I don't have to worry about making someone a meal, who will eat a salad if I make him the salad. A salad takes less than 5 minutes to prepare and there was leftover teryaki chicken to put in it, but a salad wasn't appealing if he had to make it. Better leftover nacho meat which he just had to dump cheese on and heat. ...ARGGGH! And that is why I am happy for this time alone.
This would be a minor matter if we could just work on the business of retiring, but there just is all this stuff from the business still going on. It kind of puts a crimp in my enjoyment of the weekend as if its a bit off kilter from the start. Kurt is taking Gauge to a master hunt test. It is a two day trial, but if Gauge fails the first day, he is done. You have to pass both days to get the pass, but on my scale of importance I would rather if he must fail, it be the second day. Of course I have the utmost faith in Gauge, its handler error that worries me. But then it doesn't take much to worry me these days. I talked to a friend a couple of weeks ago, and she said, "I am just so tired of worrying all the time about everything". I get it. I really do. This was a woman who had taken a deserved retirement from a major telephone company. Her kids were grown and she delighted in watching her grandkids. And still she worried. And I get it. Sometimes its enough to make me not want to turn on the tv except to watch old reruns of the "Andy Griffith" show. There is no worrying in Mayberry where every problem is solved in a half hour and life just seems slow and easy. Its enough to make give up reading the newspapers....Well, I kind of did that a year ago, when I canceled my local paper. Aside from the obits, which seem to be more relevant day by day,I don't miss it much. Its enough to make me want to shut off every electronic device capable of giving me the bad news and sad state of our world, but then I couldn't complain on this blog, now could I?
What it really makes me want to do is go back to my childhood, to that simpler time when I didn't have much to worry about except eating my vegetables. It probably wasn't worry free for my parents who had to think about supporting a young family on a dairy farmer's income, but it just seems as the world has grown, as we are linked instaneously with everywhere by the stroke of a send key on a computer, we have more to worry about We can be told about everywhere around the world. We now agonize over bad news along with millions and billions of others. We are told we aren't pretty enough, good enough, young enough, or smart enough and that we must plan ahead to avert disaster. Usually I feel like that ship has long since sailed, and the big shoe that is about to fall on my head is just around the next corner. If the shoe went up, its gonna come down....
But the thing about worrying is, it doesn't add one day to your life, a Biblical quote that is a truism in a Book of Truth. Worrying won't make me prettier, smater, faster, richer, and most importantly at this stage of my game.....YOUNGER. I can't turn back the clock and get a "do over". I can't wish that I had thought to do things earlier. I can't regret that I let early worries, sap some of the pleasure out of times before. I can pray for Patience to wait on what's in store for me and release the fears to the place they belong....at God's feet.
Yup, I haven't figured out this retirement thing at all, and the lump of worry still resides in my chest at 3 a.m., but the good thing is, it doesn't seem to knock me down and drag me into the pit. It takes a good whack at me, but I am resilent....I think.
For now, I'm just going to put my feet up and read a good book with that fan blowing gently on me and relax....and leave my worrying behind for awhile anyway.
This would be a minor matter if we could just work on the business of retiring, but there just is all this stuff from the business still going on. It kind of puts a crimp in my enjoyment of the weekend as if its a bit off kilter from the start. Kurt is taking Gauge to a master hunt test. It is a two day trial, but if Gauge fails the first day, he is done. You have to pass both days to get the pass, but on my scale of importance I would rather if he must fail, it be the second day. Of course I have the utmost faith in Gauge, its handler error that worries me. But then it doesn't take much to worry me these days. I talked to a friend a couple of weeks ago, and she said, "I am just so tired of worrying all the time about everything". I get it. I really do. This was a woman who had taken a deserved retirement from a major telephone company. Her kids were grown and she delighted in watching her grandkids. And still she worried. And I get it. Sometimes its enough to make me not want to turn on the tv except to watch old reruns of the "Andy Griffith" show. There is no worrying in Mayberry where every problem is solved in a half hour and life just seems slow and easy. Its enough to make give up reading the newspapers....Well, I kind of did that a year ago, when I canceled my local paper. Aside from the obits, which seem to be more relevant day by day,I don't miss it much. Its enough to make me want to shut off every electronic device capable of giving me the bad news and sad state of our world, but then I couldn't complain on this blog, now could I?
What it really makes me want to do is go back to my childhood, to that simpler time when I didn't have much to worry about except eating my vegetables. It probably wasn't worry free for my parents who had to think about supporting a young family on a dairy farmer's income, but it just seems as the world has grown, as we are linked instaneously with everywhere by the stroke of a send key on a computer, we have more to worry about We can be told about everywhere around the world. We now agonize over bad news along with millions and billions of others. We are told we aren't pretty enough, good enough, young enough, or smart enough and that we must plan ahead to avert disaster. Usually I feel like that ship has long since sailed, and the big shoe that is about to fall on my head is just around the next corner. If the shoe went up, its gonna come down....
But the thing about worrying is, it doesn't add one day to your life, a Biblical quote that is a truism in a Book of Truth. Worrying won't make me prettier, smater, faster, richer, and most importantly at this stage of my game.....YOUNGER. I can't turn back the clock and get a "do over". I can't wish that I had thought to do things earlier. I can't regret that I let early worries, sap some of the pleasure out of times before. I can pray for Patience to wait on what's in store for me and release the fears to the place they belong....at God's feet.
Yup, I haven't figured out this retirement thing at all, and the lump of worry still resides in my chest at 3 a.m., but the good thing is, it doesn't seem to knock me down and drag me into the pit. It takes a good whack at me, but I am resilent....I think.
For now, I'm just going to put my feet up and read a good book with that fan blowing gently on me and relax....and leave my worrying behind for awhile anyway.
Friday, June 22, 2012
The Auction
Day 30 of retirement and I am still here and smiling. I am smiling because Kurt's not here...
I can honestly say we have been busier since he retired than before. I don't know if its just coincidence, that events are coming up to keep us on the move or if we now have the time to attend those things we would have brushed off, rushing to work or the more important events. Funny how being retired allows us to slow down and yet do more with less. If that makes sense, you must be retired.
Anyway, yesterday we attended the living estate auction of a good friend of Kurt's. Its only the second living estate auction I have been to, but I have a feeling you will see more and more of these as people no longer want to just sit in their homes and finish out their lives and let the kids take care of the "stuff" of their lives. Many are selling their homes and many just don't want all the things they have accumulated over the years. This isn't usually garage sale stuff but collections that people amass as a hobby, that are actually worth something, but things their children do not want.
In Kurt's friend's case, he is a bachelor who has suffered recent severe medical and emotional problems. Throughout his adult life he worked, fished and duck hunted. He might have been considered a "hoarder" as his collections numbered in the thousands of everything. His small house was jammed with all the paraphernalia of fishing and hunting.
I come upon my love of auction sales, quite honestly. When I was a young kid, my parents fell in love with antiquing. Growing up in the upswing of the Great Depression, their parents considered anything new so much better than the hand-me-downs they had lived their entire lives with. My dad told of dry wells loaded with old oak furniture, discarded for new, as an easy alternative to ridding themselves of the cumbersome pieces. My parents were influenced by our neighbor and good friend, Joyce, who always dreamed of someday opening her own shop. They began browsing antique shops and would plan trips around the antique places they could visit. Country auction sales were kind of a natural extension to the antique shop experience. By the time I graduated high school I was a seasoned auction attendee. I had already learned how to strip furniture and look for sturdy pieces, but envision what old broken pieces could become.
When I married Kurt, he was a novice at the auction thing, but I indoctrinated him quickly, along with help from my brother and his wife. We would pack the kids up and spend many a Saturday at tree shaded country auctions, the kids playing in whatever box of "stuff" we bought off the jewelry wagon. For a buck or two, I could watch the rest of the auction and keep the kids busy. A winner in my book. Most of my antiques came into being through auction sales. Before people really knew what many antiques and collectibles were worth, boxes of treasures were sold on jewelry wagons and wonderful small items were almost always in those boxes. It was like our own personal treasure hunt, every time.
Kurt usually stood in the background and let me do the bidding and picking out of what to buy. But he was taking notes and years later after other pursuits and life had disrupted our auction attending for well over a decade, he was the one who came back to it with renewed zeal.
This was our third auction of the year, something unheard of for us just a couple of short years ago. We really didn't need any more stuff, the country's recession had hit us and the auction market, and stuff is no longer bought to adorn a house or add a little something extras. Most of us want to strip down that "junky" country look we once loved and just have a few select things. For us now, less is more and we have learned to "edit" as the buzzword goes.
But this was an auction for a friend, and while I am not personally into 800 or more kinds of fishing lures, I went to accompany Kurt and to talk to family, who I knew personally were going through an ordeal with selling all of these things. To some it may have been astounding and funny to see the myriad of fishing paraphernalia one man had collected, much still in the packaging, but to us it was bittersweet and sad in knowing buying this stuff was his comfort and his obsession and in the end was a large part of the problem.
Through all of the past year I have learned to be grateful and I mean, deeply grateful for the many blessings I have. Its the small every day miracles I now take quiet joy. I enjoyed the auction through the sadness. The family talked to me and unburdened and they needed that. There were many others who were just amazed at the great deals to be had and even some young people who I knew would be hooked for life on hobbies and perhaps auctions never before surmised. I watched as some teenagers bought a large tackle box full of ....tackle. They spent 15 minutes looking through all that they had bought, delighted as toddlers over Christmas.
My son, daughter in law and grandson showed up for the end of the auction, and Luca delighted us all with his first real steps. My daughter in law caught it on video and I smile as a young friend counts Luca's steps and cheers him on. Kurt's hands are seen waiting for Luca as he toddles forward, a smile of pure delight on his face. I had forgotten how magical those first steps are, and now I remember.
Its these common moments woven together that are the fabric of life. And an auction sale gave me all of these lessons....at least for today.
I can honestly say we have been busier since he retired than before. I don't know if its just coincidence, that events are coming up to keep us on the move or if we now have the time to attend those things we would have brushed off, rushing to work or the more important events. Funny how being retired allows us to slow down and yet do more with less. If that makes sense, you must be retired.
Anyway, yesterday we attended the living estate auction of a good friend of Kurt's. Its only the second living estate auction I have been to, but I have a feeling you will see more and more of these as people no longer want to just sit in their homes and finish out their lives and let the kids take care of the "stuff" of their lives. Many are selling their homes and many just don't want all the things they have accumulated over the years. This isn't usually garage sale stuff but collections that people amass as a hobby, that are actually worth something, but things their children do not want.
In Kurt's friend's case, he is a bachelor who has suffered recent severe medical and emotional problems. Throughout his adult life he worked, fished and duck hunted. He might have been considered a "hoarder" as his collections numbered in the thousands of everything. His small house was jammed with all the paraphernalia of fishing and hunting.
I come upon my love of auction sales, quite honestly. When I was a young kid, my parents fell in love with antiquing. Growing up in the upswing of the Great Depression, their parents considered anything new so much better than the hand-me-downs they had lived their entire lives with. My dad told of dry wells loaded with old oak furniture, discarded for new, as an easy alternative to ridding themselves of the cumbersome pieces. My parents were influenced by our neighbor and good friend, Joyce, who always dreamed of someday opening her own shop. They began browsing antique shops and would plan trips around the antique places they could visit. Country auction sales were kind of a natural extension to the antique shop experience. By the time I graduated high school I was a seasoned auction attendee. I had already learned how to strip furniture and look for sturdy pieces, but envision what old broken pieces could become.
When I married Kurt, he was a novice at the auction thing, but I indoctrinated him quickly, along with help from my brother and his wife. We would pack the kids up and spend many a Saturday at tree shaded country auctions, the kids playing in whatever box of "stuff" we bought off the jewelry wagon. For a buck or two, I could watch the rest of the auction and keep the kids busy. A winner in my book. Most of my antiques came into being through auction sales. Before people really knew what many antiques and collectibles were worth, boxes of treasures were sold on jewelry wagons and wonderful small items were almost always in those boxes. It was like our own personal treasure hunt, every time.
Kurt usually stood in the background and let me do the bidding and picking out of what to buy. But he was taking notes and years later after other pursuits and life had disrupted our auction attending for well over a decade, he was the one who came back to it with renewed zeal.
This was our third auction of the year, something unheard of for us just a couple of short years ago. We really didn't need any more stuff, the country's recession had hit us and the auction market, and stuff is no longer bought to adorn a house or add a little something extras. Most of us want to strip down that "junky" country look we once loved and just have a few select things. For us now, less is more and we have learned to "edit" as the buzzword goes.
But this was an auction for a friend, and while I am not personally into 800 or more kinds of fishing lures, I went to accompany Kurt and to talk to family, who I knew personally were going through an ordeal with selling all of these things. To some it may have been astounding and funny to see the myriad of fishing paraphernalia one man had collected, much still in the packaging, but to us it was bittersweet and sad in knowing buying this stuff was his comfort and his obsession and in the end was a large part of the problem.
Through all of the past year I have learned to be grateful and I mean, deeply grateful for the many blessings I have. Its the small every day miracles I now take quiet joy. I enjoyed the auction through the sadness. The family talked to me and unburdened and they needed that. There were many others who were just amazed at the great deals to be had and even some young people who I knew would be hooked for life on hobbies and perhaps auctions never before surmised. I watched as some teenagers bought a large tackle box full of ....tackle. They spent 15 minutes looking through all that they had bought, delighted as toddlers over Christmas.
My son, daughter in law and grandson showed up for the end of the auction, and Luca delighted us all with his first real steps. My daughter in law caught it on video and I smile as a young friend counts Luca's steps and cheers him on. Kurt's hands are seen waiting for Luca as he toddles forward, a smile of pure delight on his face. I had forgotten how magical those first steps are, and now I remember.
Its these common moments woven together that are the fabric of life. And an auction sale gave me all of these lessons....at least for today.
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