Monica – Page 23 – The Monica Chronicles

June 11, 2013

Journey To Jersey : I – Oh the Humanity!

Things are definitely not as I remember them at the Jersey shore.

This past weekend Dave and I drove to Boonton, NJ to spend the weekend with Maggie’s soon-to-be-in-laws, Arwed and Teresa. After a leisurely European style breakfast of hearty breads, cheese, meats, fruit and scrambled eggs, we decided to take a drive out to Sandy Hook to visit the beach and then have a late lunch at an authentic New Jersey pizzeria. Our mouths were watering just thinking about it!

Despite the torrential rain Dave and I drove through the day before, Saturday was the typical day-after-a-storm; all blue skies with a few puffy white clouds. Surprisingly traffic on the Parkway wasn’t even bad and soon we were entering the Sandy Hook National Park. Arwed drove us to the far end of the spit to the remains of Fort Hancock.

Fort Hancock was built a little more than a hundred years ago to defend New York Harbor from attack. Today it is maintained by the National Park Service and is pretty much a ghost town. But, despite its lack of care, the grandeur can still be seen in the identical officer quarters precisely spaced equidistant from each other as they look over the bay with the New York skyline in the background. On the ocean side, batteries and gun placements silently remain on watch, unmanned.

Built in 1764, the lighthouse at Sandy Hook is the oldest lighthouse in the US in continuous operation.

A little further south of Fort Hancock stands the Sandy Hook Lighthouse which actually predates the fort by almost one hundred and fifty years. Today it seems an odd location for a lighthouse since it sits so far away from the water’s edge but when built, the light sat only five hundred feet from the tip of the spit.

Tours to the top of the light were offered every half hour. Dave and Arwed couldn’t resist the climb so they signed up for the earliest available tour which allowed us an hour to explore more of the park. It seemed like the perfect time to check out the beach.

We got back in the car and drove to the first beach parking area we came to and began our hike to the shore.

It was a long walk; at least half a mile from the edge of the dunes to the shoreline. Part of the way we walked on a blue fiber walkway which protected the dunes and made the walk easier on our legs. As we stepped off the walkway we met an older gentleman who stopped and remarked rather dryly, that “the trouble with a nude beach is having to put on your trunks to go to the restrooms!” Oh you Jersey guys, I thought, always joking around…..

As were reached the lifeguard station, it became apparent that he wasn’t joking. There was a large sign that read; “Clothing Optional Beach on Right”.

All righty then.

Without seeming too obvious, I scanned to my right. It was definitely a clothing optional beach. I suppose I wasn’t as surprised that there were nude beaches, just that they were part of the National Park system. When they say there is something for everyone, they mean it!

My American prudishness caught me off guard. Even though I was fully dressed, I felt as though I were the naked person walking amid those in clothing. The naturists around me were not the least bit concerned about who would see them which put me a little more at ease but to say I was completely comfortable with the idea would be far from correct. Any preconceived notions I had about these places were blown away. This was not the playground of supermodels. In fact, most of the people I saw would have been unremarkable on any beach had they been dressed. They were totally ordinary, with ordinary bodies, much the same as my own. If I’d chosen to join them, what would have made me different would have been the paleness of my skin, not my unwanted lumps and bumps.

The distraction of the nude beach made us lose track of time and soon we were hustling our way back to the car so Dave and Arwed could take their lighthouse tour and then we could head off to the Jersey pizza we’d been so anxiously anticipating.

to be continued…..

June 4, 2013

“Peenees”

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This peony in my garden is very similar to those used in my wedding flowers

In the beginning – of my memory – there is a word, or better described as a sound; “peenees”.

It was a word I would hear my Grandma Farner use when speaking to my parents about her garden. I knew the “peenee” was a part of it, but I didn’t know what. Grandma’s garden was enormous and was full of so many flowers and vegetables in neat rows of green. Sometimes in the summer, we would take a ride over to Grandma and Grandpa’s after supper. Summer visits always included garden inspections. As a small child with no real knowledge of what was what in those lines, all I could determine was that peenees were something special and my Grandma liked to talk about them.

Later in my childhood, as I became more aware of the differences in garden plants, I began to see that the plants that once were a blur of green were actually different. One in particular that caught my eye looked like lollipops on a stick, tight balls of green with bright colors peaking through atop tall stems. It wasn’t so much their resemblance to candy that held my attention but the fact they were covered with large black ants. When I asked my mother about the ants, she said those were “peenee” buds and the ants helped them blossom. Her simple answer was enough for me and I continued to watch the ants but lost interest when the flowers opened and have no recollection of what they looked like.

Many years later, while working for Agway Gardens in Fayetteville, NY, I learned there was an old peony field ( with age comes wisdom, or at least knowledge) behind our store. One late May day at lunch time I walked back into the fields and was amazed to see acres of pink and white pompom blooms dancing in the afternoon breeze. So that’s what they looked like. I was surprised not only by their beauty but by the fact that this was the third spring I’d worked at this store and was just discovering this bounty of peonies!

Timing is everything. With my wedding just a few weeks away, the blooms held and I was able to pick at least a peck of peonies to fill in the arrangements my friend Beth created for us.

And so, peonies are big part of my spring garden watch. Everywhere we have lived, we have planted at least one peony. In early spring I watch for the first sprigs of green to peak from under the mulch and make almost daily garden inspections, taking note of the foliage, buds and naturally the ant assistance until late May when the blossoms finally open into their spectacular glory.

Every time I walk the beds I am aware that I am carrying on a family tradition, although on a much smaller scale. This time of year, when I see my peonies, I understand what all the fuss was about and why Grandma was so happy to have them in her garden. I am happy as well and thankful that looking at these flowers takes me back to my childhood and brings the echo of my Grandma’s voice alive in my memory.

June 3, 2013

More Living Greene and Loving It

This peony has nothing to do with my subject, but it was so pretty this year, I had to share it!

This weekend I was again reminded why I love living in this small Central Virginian community so much. Greene County is a community. It’s small, but that’s what makes it so easy to jump right in and become a part of it, that and the extreme warmth and hospitality of the people who live here. All three days, Friday, Saturday and Sunday were chock filled with events and experiences that made me both proud and fortunate to have found a life here.

Early Friday morning, I met up with my friend Moira Rodriguez at William Monroe High School to present scholarships to two deserving young women in this year’s graduating class. Moira is currently the president of the Woman’s Club of Greene County and I had served on the scholarship selection committee. The Woman’s Club works hard all year holding an annual yard sale in the spring and Holiday Craft Fair in the fall to raise the funds necessary to support our scholarships and Christmas Gift program for needy children.

Moira and I both arrived at the high school a little after eight o’clock and after checking-in with the reception committee, we were escorted to the teacher’s lounge to wait with the other scholarship presenters. The room was overly warm and crowded with people representing a broad spectrum of our community. Naturally, the usual service organizations were represented (Lions and Kiwanis), there was a woman from the local chapter of the DAR, folks from the Farm Bureau and the electric co-op. There was a young Marine, straight and tall in his dress blue uniform and a one rather elderly woman, her back bent with time. He represented his corps, she was simply a private citizen, awarding a scholarship because she wanted to. And, she wasn’t alone. In fact, there were several scholarships awarded in remembrance of loved ones lost to battles in service to their country or with medical challenges. Whatever the reason, there were enough scholarship awards and recipients to fill the better part of two sides of a legal sized piece of paper – not bad for a class with members numbering just about two hundred.

We were introduced en-mass and marched into the gym where the entire lower classes sat in the bleachers to the right and family and friends of the senior class sat on the left. After we were seated behind the podium, the senior class marched into the gym in their cap and gowns. Most of the gals had decorated the tops of their miter boards to indicated the school they would be attending in the fall. Some. of the guys did the same, but not with as much oomph as the girls. Even though I really didn’t know any of them, I felt pride for them and their families as I recalled the years my young ones graduated, more than a few years ago.

One by one we took our turn walking up to the podium to present our awards. It was a very long ceremony. It seemed shorter to me because I chose to wear my “pretty” watch which was still set on daylight savings time. It wasn’t until I glanced at the clock on my dashboard that I realized I’d been there for just about three hours! In the end, I was glad my watch wasn’t right, it allowed me the luxury of not feeling rushed and let me savor the experience.

Early Saturday morning, I was headed down the same road, about the same time to Standardsville to work at the Greene County Habitat for Humanity booth at this year’s Strawberry Festival hosted by the Stanardsville Methodist Church. Once our tent was up under the shade of an old cherry tree on the Courthouse lawn, I spent the day inviting folks to take refuge from the hot sun in the shade of my tent and then coyly suggesting they might want to join our steering committee. Sadly I wasn’t able to convince anyone to complete one of the beautiful volunteer applications I’d prepared for the day, but we did manage to sell seven t-shirts and a small cash donation to fund our building fund – not much, but every little bit counts.

The best part of the day was simply being there, talking to the people. I spotted several folks I’d seen at the award ceremony the day before and realized that I’m beginning to recognize more and more faces wherever I go in the county; it’s a really nice feeling. People around here are always ready to pick up on a conversation, whether they know you or not. That works for me since I roll that way myself!

Sunday evening, our parish held a dinner to celebrate our pastor, Father Larry Mullaney’s twenty-fifth anniversary of his ordination. By five-thirty, the Hall was so full of folks that two additional tables had to be set up to accommodate everyone and the buffet tables were groaning under the weight of the dozens of pot-luck style side dishes, salads and deviled eggs. Anyone who walked away hungry only had themselves to blame.

All in all, it was a great weekend of community. These are just the few I attended. Early Saturday, while I was working the Strawberry Festival, Dave was handing out water at the first water station at the Wounded Warrior 5K Walk/Run through the UVA Research Park where his office is located. Simultaneously, Spring Hill Baptist Church was sponsoring a 6o mile bike ride fundraiser for Habitat for Humanity called The Tour d’Greene and the Boy Scouts were hosting a pancake breakfast at the Ruckersville Fire Station. For such a small place, there was a lot going on. You really have to work hard at not being a part of our community, and that’s the way I like it.

FOOTNOTE:

Friday evening, Dave and I checked out a new Mexican Restaurant that opened up next to the Shell Station on US29. El Monarca II (as in Monarch butterfly) is a small, family run eatery featuring better than average Mexican cuisine. I had the chicken with chorizo sausage and cheese on top. The platter came with beans, rice and a generous serving of steamed veggies. Our waitress also brought me a small dish of pickled cactus for me to sample. It was very yummy and reminded me of my grandmothers hot garlic spears. It’s definitely worth a try if you’re in the area and have a hankering for Mexican food!

May 30, 2013

OK, So Now I Can See How They Could Bug You

Last week I wrote with nonchalance regarding our seventeen year cicada event. This week, while I am still far from being annoyed by these bugs, I am impressed by them. They are everywhere, in every stage of their life cycle; from the pencil sized holes they leave as the nymphs dig their way up from their subterranean nurseries. Empty exoskeletons still cling to the undersides of leaves. Finally, the adult cicadas buzz and zip around the garden, providing extra nutrition to the bird population and fun and games for Izzie, our calico.

One of the thousands of holes in our garden left by maturing cicadas. — One of the thousands of holes in our garden left by newly hatched cicadas.

The remains of mid-life clings to the underside of these pine needles

Continue reading “OK, So Now I Can See How They Could Bug You”

May 24, 2013

Cicadas Don’t Really Bug Me

The first time I noticed it, I was transplanting my tomatoes in the back yard. It was a warm morning and the distant whrrr of neighborhood heat pumps added a background of mechanical white noise to the symphony of bird songs and wind dance through the tree tops. As I listened to these routine morning sounds, I picked up a distant sound that wasn’t quite right. The mechanistic rhythm wasn’t so precise. Somebody’s going to have to have their HVAC system checked, I thought, and I hoped it wasn’t me.

A couple of days later, as I was walking through the gym parking lot, I heard the same sound, a distant roar, like far off rushing water or farm equipment. What was it?

Then it occurred to me – CICADAS.

Despite the media hype heralding the arrival of the 17 year cicadas, I assumed that since our neighborhood was so new that any batch of baby cicadas nested in our area seventeen years ago would have been scraped away with the topsoil when the land was developed. I figured we would escape the onslaught of the clicking hoards.

I was wrong.

I began to notice hundreds of tiny holes the paths through the wooded part of our yard the deserted exoskeletons clinging to the leaves on the trees above. It was undeniable; they’re here!

By day they crawl across the top of the lawn, drying their wings in the sun (which has been a challenge lately) by night they sacrifice themselves by crashing into our windows, flying full speed towards the light.

They are beautiful, they are plentiful, and they are loud but they are hardly the pestilence warranting the hype. They aren’t even an inconvenience, rather one of those things that make you go “hmmmm”.

In fact, in comparison to this spring’s devastation in Oklahoma, I feel almost frivolous taking note of a few thousand extra insects in the yard.

Nature is mighty. We may be able to control some aspects of our lives, or convince ourselves that we do, but nature will always be wild and free; both beautiful and powerful and particularly unconcerned with the lives affected by its actions.

As humans, the best we can do, and it is the best; what makes us human, is to carry on despite the challenges Mother Nature provides.

This morning, NBC’s TODAY show showcased the reopening of the Boardwalk at Seaside Heights, NJ. I was amazed to see the overhead shots of the string of shops and planked walks. It looks practically the same as it did the first time I was there, forty years ago for my high school senior “cut-day”.

Nature is strong, but human nature is stronger. We are challenged but we endure.

Now when I hear the increasing din of the cicadas in the distance, I am reminded that nature is in charge of what surrounds us, but we are in charge of what’s inside.

May 21, 2013

Two Thirds of the Way There!

Maggie and Jan looking surprisingly calm during the prep talk!

With September’s “Big Event” a little over three months away, we all gathered in Richmond this weekend to discuss details. And, since Maggie and Jan’s wedding will be held at the Lewis Ginter Botantical Gardens, it seemed only fitting that we get together at the Robins Tea House for some lunch to scope out the room where the reception will be held and then leisurely tour the gardens.

I’m don’t know why I stress so while packing, but I seem to carefully choose my outfits as if I’m selecting costuming for a play. Perhaps it’s the fault of my recurring dream of running for the school bus in my pajamas, but I feel a tremendous weight on wearing “the right thing”. This weekend called for things appropriate to my role as “mother-of-the-bride”; stylish and perky, yet at the same time, wise and thoughtful.

As luck would have it, Saturday morning dawned damp and dreary with forecasted downpours throughout much of the day. My white crops and strappy sandles were cast aside for long pants, Sketchers and a waterproof jacket with a hood. There would be no fashion statements for me other than, “I’m comfortable and dry!”

Despite my wardrobe change and the persistent threat of rain we’ve become accustomed to this spring, our lunch together was very productive. We are blessed by a mutual enjoyment of each other’s company and our times together are full of laughter and love. Given the choice between a sunny day and pleasant in-laws, I’d go for the pleasant in-laws any day. At lunch, we were able to get some perspective on the size of the room, the tables and general decor which will come in handy as we finalize our plans for floral arrangements, etc.

Who's gonna stand where? — Who’s gonna stand where?

After lunch we took a brisk walk under our umbrellas to the Flagler Perennial Gardens, where the ceremony will be held. Even in the rain it is a beautifully peaceful place. The beds were full of spring bloomers but most impressive were the many varieties of peonies bursting with color at every turn.

On the lawn, sixty white chairs with puddles on their seats sat in two neat rows. I felt a moment’s twinge of sympathy for that day’s bride and groom and made a mental note that we really need to set up a back up plan in case of rain!

The rain stopped for just a few moments as we explored the pavilion and nearby walks, Teresa and I imagining what it will be like as our children enter from opposite sides and then leave together as man and wife. Then, all to suddenly, our dreams were interrupted by another downpour.

September seemed so far away when Maggie and Jan announced their engagement in November. Now we are two-thirds the way there and so many of the details we put off for later are in need of attention because it is later.

Dreaming will have to wait for another day. Teresa and I have important decisions to make; most importantly, what we will wear! More costuming. We spent a couple of hours scanning the web looking for “the dress” with no luck. (Heavy sigh.) So, that hunt will continue.

On the bright side, we have chosen a menu, booked rooms for out-of-town guests and have some working ideas for flowers, favors and decorations. Martha Stewart is doing a superb job of keeping us on track. (www.MarthaStewartweddings.com) I would be lost without her help.

Maggie and Jan’s wedding will indeed be a special day. Even if the skies open up and we’re sitting under umbrellas with ziplock bags pulled over our shoes, the celebration of their committment to each other will shine enough for us and more importantly, them.

It would be nice if the sun does manage an appearance though.

May 14, 2013

Grace From a Fall

I love it when everyday life experiences provide surprise and insight to the big picture. Last week was chock full of those kinds of days.

BathroomCleanerWithColorPower

It all started last Monday when I decided I would organize my life by choosing one room a day and give it a thorough cleaning. Fully energized by my re-commitment to a clean home, I decided to tackle the master bathroom first. Although I do clean it regularly, I admit the shower stall and garden tub are often left for the “next time” since they don’t seem to pose as horrible a heath concern from going a couple extra weeks as the sink and toilet. Anyway, last Monday, after I got home from the gym, I pulled out the mat and tossed it into the washer with the throw rugs, sprayed the shower with Scrubbing Bubbles and climbed in (naked of course) with my cloth to finally tackle that soap scum.

My project was going well at first. I was happy to finally be cleaning the shower, because I do love it when it’s shiny, and I was proud of myself for making the adult choice to clean instead of plopping on the couch to knit and catch up on this week’s episode of Game of Thrones. Then, I felt my feet slip and with no mat to secure my footing or anything to grab on to, I went from vertical to horizontal in a nanosecond, landing out onto the tile floor, like a baby calf being delivered and dumped onto the ground, wet and naked. My head hit the floor pretty hard and my glasses were laying next to me, bent in an awkward contortion.

I lay there for a few moments, taking in the whole scenario. I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid. Slowly I got back onto my feet, taking inventory of my aches and pains. My head was my main concern, my brow ridge bore the brunt of impact, but remarkably there were no cuts or even visible bruise. I leaned forward over the vanity to get a better look in the mirror, checking my pupils. I did receive an impressive bruise on my thigh where it landed on the shower door track but all in all, I escaped with minimal damage. Reassuring myself I wasn’t critically wounded I got dressed and decided that sitting on the couch was a good idea after all.

As I relived my mishap and routinely checked my pupils, still worried about a potential slow bleed in my brain (had to worry about something), I realized that I had received a powerful reminder from God; that life can change in the blink of an eye. I don’t think I’ll ever clean the shower naked again.

My next revelation came on Thursday when I went in for my annual physical. I am always just a tad nervous about these exams, similar to how I feel when I take my 2000 CRV in for its annual safety inspection. We are both “used” vehicles and despite how good care we are given, you never know what will be found when the hood is popped open! My blood work was excellent as was my muscle tone, etc. The one noteworthy change in my status was that my height was measured a full inch and a half TALLER than ever before in my life! How that happens, I couldn’t tell you, the doctor theorized that perhaps my time in the gym has paid off with improved posture. Maybe I stretched myself when I was flung out of the shower. It’s a mystery. But, for whatever reason, I am taller and feeling ever so lithe at my alleged five foot three!

My last day of revelations was Sunday, Mother’s Day. Dave and I had no plans for the day until we got to church and a friend mentioned that a local artist, Fred Nichols, was holding an open house in his studio in Barboursville that afternoon. It was a glorious day, sunny and bright, but still cool and spring-like and taking a short drive to look at art seemed like the perfect ticket.

The studio tour was fascinating. Mrs. Nichols took us on a tour of the silk-screening workshop and described all the steps in creating the beautiful prints hanging in the gallery. Some go through the printing process over forty times and can take as long as a year before they are complete. I would have liked to have taken one home with us, but the prices were out of our league. After the tour, she invited us to head up the street to their gallery to view works by other artists and enjoy a cup of coffee. So we did.

It was our first time to actually drive into Barboursville. You can’t really see it from the highway because they moved the highway a few hundred yards north sometime back to bypass the railroad crossing. It’s really a shame because what remains of the original town is charming. Located at the intersection of old US Routes 33 and 20, Barboursville lies between James Madison’s Montpelier and Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello. On the grounds of the nearby Barboursville Winery are the ruins of Governor James Barbour’s mansion, which burned on Christmas Day, 1884, seventy years after its construction. All three of these homes were designed by Thomas Jefferson. With the aroma of boxwoods heavy in the air, it just plain smells historic!

The gallery was in an old building that was originally a hotel. And, although the walls were hung with the works of very talented artists, which drew Dave’s attention, my eyes were drawn to the architecture of the building, checking the woodwork, moldings and floors for continuity and looking for changes in the plaster indicating a previous window or doorway. I checked the view from the windows, to get an idea what could have been seen from them a hundred years ago or more. Buildings like that seem to have their own stories to tell and no matter what you hang on the walls, the story will speak over them, to me at least.

This is all that remains of Governor James Barbour's beautiful home following the fire in 1884 — This is all that remains of Governor James Barbour’s beautiful home following the fire in 1884

After our gallery tour we took a quick drive over to the ruins. At first I wondered why someone would leave the walls of a burned out home left standing. It just seemed odd and hazardous. Then I saw them. Thomas Jefferson’s hand in the design was obvious from the octagonal front hall reminiscent of Monticello as were the two-story wings at either end allowing for a grand ceiling and staircase in that room. Even though it is only a skeleton of its past grandeur, the Barbour home still had its story to tell.

We walked the full circumference of the house and took advantage of the spectacular view across the vineyards and off to the mountains. It was all so quiet and peaceful.

Then, a bird song followed by a flash of color caught my attention. And there, atop an ancient Thuja, stood a Baltimore Oriole and from the racket he was creating, there must have been a nest nearby. What a treat! I can’t even begin to remember the last time I saw an oriole.

After our tour of the ruins, Dave took me on a proper Sunday drive through the country, taking the byways to see what else we could discover along the way. It was just another adventure in our lifelong journey together and it was (and is) marvelous.

Okay, so I’ve taken a long trip through last week and you’ve got to be wondering just what my great epiphany was from these three completely different experience. To be honest, I didn’t really know myself until a few moments ago, I just knew there had to be something.

The way I see it, it all boils down to this. Life can change in the blink of an eye (or fall to the floor), and even if you don’t find yourself flat on your face, something else you discover about yourself, no matter how insignificant, can change how you see yourself. Lastly, it’s important to have a companion to share adventures with. Even if you don’t enjoy the same things, enjoying different things in the same place can be just as good.

It was a good week and I’m actually sort of happy to catch sight of my bruise now and then because it reminds me of just how good a week it was, despite its awkward beginning.

May 1, 2013

Adventures in Babysitting

I was raised in the belief that God will never give you more to handle than you are able with God’s help. There have been many instances in my life when I’ve leaned on that belief to get me through. Yesterday was one of those days.

It all started the night before. Dave and I were crashed on the couch catching up on last Sunday’s episode of the Mentalist. I was playing WordWelder on my I Pad and mentally looking forward to the next day. Tuesday is one of my “free” days; meaning I’m not committed to any one activity. My plans included a haircut and then a dash to Kroger to take advantage of “senior” citizen discounts. (Kroger deems you a senior at 55.) It was going to be a good day.

Then the doorbell rang.

Dave and I looked at each other. It was 9:30 and we weren’t expecting anyone. In the knowledge that nothing good can come of opening your door after dark, I think Dave was waiting for me to get up. I decided as a member the “weaker sex” I would sit back and let him suck it up and go to the door.

On the other side of the front door, in the dark was our neighbor from across the street. She’d had a family emergency come up that would require all the adult members of her household to be away for a couple of hours the following morning and was in need of someone to babysit for her two youngest sons. Since I had no other pressing business the next day other than my long-awaited hair appointment, I agreed to help her out.

It was the right thing to do, but it was also frightening. I didn’t know her children other than to wave to them, and the youngest two were 10 months and 2 years old; or should I say young!

It’s been a very long time since I’ve had charge to wee ones. It’s been almost thirty years since I brought me last baby home and even my grandchildren’s ages are in double digits! What was I going to do with two unknown very little boys?

I said some prayers and hit the deck running first thing in the morning. I picked up the assortment of cat toys strewn on the family room floor as well as any potential choking hazards or heaving things that could be pulled down on a baby. Then I grabbed some on my “Nana” toys I thought might interest the boys. As I was taking one last look around, I noticed the entourage of adults and children heading across the street so I ducked into the powder room for one last time. Moments later, the doorbell rang again.

In just a couple of minutes, my entryway held a pile of baby paraphernalia and I had one wee one by the hand and another tucked upon my hip. It was just like old times!

For the next four hours, my little charges and I got along just fine. As kids go, Chase and Ethan were fairly easy-going. The baby had a runny nose that required a lot of wiping and made it difficult for him to take his bottle. His appetite was good though and I enjoyed sitting him on my lap and feeding him his toddler dinner with my little baby spoon.

It all came back to me; cooking with a baby on my hip, the nose wiping, the formula mixing. I was able to figure out how to assemble the pac’n’play which turned out to be a life saver. Ethan was a fast mover and after chasing him for a couple of hours, I needed a break.

After lunch I there was a definite change in the atmosphere in the family room. I asked Chase if he’d pooped his pants. No, he said. I asked again, reassuring him that I wouldn’t yell at him if he had. He admitted that he had. Then I asked if he’d be more comfortable in clean pants. Yes, he agreed. So we went into the kitchen to clean him up. I thought he’d just lie on the rug, but he assumed a position very similar to a Yoga “downward dog”. It proved to be efficient, but nonetheless, a stinky, gag-filled experience, I am embarrassed to admit.

In many ways, spending the morning with Chase and Ethan was the perfect storm; a way to reconnect with my baby tending skills so I will be ready for my next wave of grandchildren in the next few years or so. By the time they were picked up, they were clean, happy and luckily ready to leave!

Sadly, I don’t have the stamina I had thirty years ago. I still made me trip to Kroger but felt like I was dragging the whole way through the store even though I stopped by the Starbucks counter first!

Once I was home and plopped in my chair for a rest, I was content. Spending the morning with little ones was an adventure, but it was also full of cuddles, giggles and warmth. I don’t know how I did it so many years ago when Dave was busy cruising with the Navy, the memories are so foggy. I do know that I wasn’t alone.

April 25, 2013

Riding the Current

For the most part of these past few weeks since I returned home from my Georgia trip with Barb, my life has been one where I’ve been swept away with the current. And, like any experienced ocean swimmer, I know the best way to get out of a rip current is to just swim along with it, parallel to the shore until it carries you back in to the beach. I suppose that’s where the expression, “to go with the flow” comes from.

There hasn’t been any one dramatic event directing my course, merely a series of events that have diverted my course as I had it planned resulting in an ever growing list of things I “need” to do. Let’s take yesterday for example.

My plan for the day was to head out to the gym first thing, meet with Lorenzo and then, fully energized, I would come home and tackle my household chores and maybe even surprise Dave with a batch of home-baked snickerdoodles. I would also take a look at the paperwork for the Virginia DCR Dam Grant and begin to put together an application for our HOA. Also topping my list is to contact a couple of the hotels in the Richmond area to check on possible group rates for Maggie’s wedding in September. It’s a pretty hefty chunk of work, but with enough energy and organization, completing it wouldn’t be that difficult.

The first sign that the day wouldn’t be as I’d hoped happened when Dave let Izzie, our calico, in the backdoor not long after she’d demanded to be let out. Dave asked her what she’d been up to and then called me to come take a look at her. Although it wasn’t raining, Izzie’s back was wet and mussed and along with a noticeable limp, she also had tufts of some other cat’s fur on her. Having been through this drill before, we were certain Izzie had been in a fight and if we found a wound, would have to go to the vet. Since she stopped for a bite at her bowl, I deemed the situation not an emergency and headed off to the gym.

My workout on Monday had been great but for some reason yesterday morning I felt really sluggish. Lorenzo pushed me hard, which is what I pay him for, but for the first time in a very long time I was physically unable to complete the workout he’d planned for me. That, along with a gain of almost two pounds had me leaving the gym significantly less peppy than I’d arrived. I hate it when that happens!

Once home I checked on Izzie. I found a bite on her back leg and made the call. A couple of hours later we were in the vet’s office where Izzie received a steroid shot and antibiotics and I received the bill. Dr. Godine and I had a nice chat about therapeutic laser treatments on soft tissue injuries. I learned that he was the Board Director of the North American Association of Laser Therapists. What an amazing little town I live in!

Anyway, back at the ranch, Dave was home when I arrived back with Izzie. He’d had is annual physical and was delighted that his cholesterol was below the medication necessary level but he was also in pain because he’d had to have a gnarly hemorrhoid excised for the second time this week. He announced he was under doctor’s orders to not sit or stand for prolonged periods of time and was to soak in the tub at least three times a day. Great. Also, the doctor had called a couple of prescriptions into the pharmacy at Walmart that I would need to pick up. So much for a clean house and wedding plans; at that point, I surrendered and began swimming parallel to the shore.

Today I have modified my plans. Dave is working from home nursing his “condition” and I am sort of working around him. While he was having a morning soak, I stripped the bed and vacuumed our bedroom. Clean sheets and carpet go a long way to make life more bearable, no matter how much clutter lurks downstairs.

Next I began to glance over the damn Dam Grant Application and was about to sit down with it until I looked outside and saw what a beautiful morning it is. Izzie was asking to be let out, so I grabbed my jacket and coffee and went with her. She likes to walk beside me as I review the progress of each new sprout and bud in the garden. She also likes to lead me up to the wooded area in the back where she hunts moles. That is how I ended up at my chat area. It was so inviting with the new gray table I added to the group of red chairs last week so I sat. The sun felt so good that I trotted back to the house for my laptop and IPad and decided to write for a while. For me, it has been the mental equivalent of floating on my back over the waves with my face upturned to the sun.

I know I won’t get my pile of stuff done before more gets piled on top, the grass keeps growing and the dust keeps falling. I also know that it’ll all get done; just not all in the same day.

So, in the meantime, I’m going to do my best to remember to stop and smell the flowers, watch and listen to the birds and feel the warmth of the sun on my face whenever I can. It may not remove the dust from my table tops, but it certainly removes it from my brain and that is most important!

April 23, 2013

A Tale of Two Sisters (and a Garmin)

It was the best of rides, it was the worst of rides…

A couple of weeks ago my sister Barb and I took a road trip to visit our parents in Hiawassee, Georgia. It might not seem like a big deal, two middle aged women driving almost 400 miles together, but the experience two sisters and a Garmin sharing that much time and road is very different than the same trip taken with a spouse for instance. Neither one of us are accustomed to driving for more than a couple of hours, especially on unfamiliar roads.

Barb and I on a previous adventure, hunting at Plow and Hearth.

Barb and I, for the most part are very much alike. So, having two of us in any one place is like the same personality in two bodies as opposed to persons with multiple personalities, where more than one personality inhabits one body. In these cases, the personalities exist to protect each other and rarely converse with each other. Barb and I exist to engage each other, each one egging the other on. When together, we share very few quiet moments. Instead, we tease, chat, giggle and eventually begin to laugh so hard we are in danger of tears “running down our legs”. It is a well known family disorder inherited from our maternal Grandmother, one that has been both a plague and a blessing. When you combine these facts with placing faith in a Garmin to get us to our destination, nothing but hilarity can ensue.

Our trip out from Ruckersville started well. We had decided in advance to take US 29 to Greensboro and heading west on I40 instead of taking I81 as the Garmin recommended, preferring to stay on flatter terrain and to avoid the many trucks on 81. So, we were fated to endure several minutes of “recalculating” from the Garmin’s British voice as she repeatedly attempted to reroute us back onto her intended course. (I opted for a British woman’s voice thinking she sounds a bit more polite.) It was a crisp, sunny morning and since the schools were all on Spring Break, there was almost no morning traffic but the further south we headed down 29, the cloudier it became and by the time we reached Greensboro, it had begun to rain and we were ready to pull over to eat and switch drivers.

One thing I have noticed about I40 is that the services are not conveniently located right off the exits as they are on say, I81. Even though the sign may say there is a gas station at the next exit, as you proceed down the ramp you soon discover that station is at least a mile down the road and getting back on the interstate isn’t always as simple as retracing your route, especially if you listen to your Garmin.

In our case, after topping off the tank, the Garmin sent us on an alternative route to an on-ramp that was currently closed off with detour signs sending us further down the road. As I studied the tiny screen showing our location I heard Barb say, “I’m sorry, Monica” as she slammed on the brakes and we slid ever so slightly to a stop just inches in front of a ROAD CLOSED sign between us and on-coming traffic! No harm done, but a little shaken, Barb backed us up and headed in a logical direction, with my Garmin “recalculating” in its British female voice. Back on course, we continued to our destination through increasingly worsening weather which eventually turned from rain into sleet.

This combination of events might cause some travelers to become quiet and reserved but not Barb and I. As members of a large and colorful family rich with warm and comical stories, our close encounter with a potential tragedy just became something else to laugh about. Within minutes the story had been rewritten into a Saturday Night Live sketch with the two of us laughing about our near miss. I suppose our retelling of the story of the Garmin sending us into on coming traffic and the laughter helped neutralize the fear factor, keeping us at ease about the rest of the trip which, as it turned out was a good thing because during our last leg of the trip through the Nantahala National Forest was pretty foggy.

Again Barb was at the wheel. We decided to pull over for one last time in Ashville to “balance our fluids” – piddle and get some coffee. The McDonalds we stopped at was pretty much in the center of town and it was rush hour. Long story short, we got turned around and ended up taking a long back route back to the highway along railroad tracks. It was raining again and in the distance I could hear a low rumbling sound, like a train. I listened quietly and kept a watch out for wind, cautiously looking for anything that looked like a tornado. Then, as we drove further down the road, I saw the source of the sound; a brick roundhouse! I don’t think I’d ever seen one before but thanks to Thomas the Tank Engine and The Little Engine That Could, I knew what they were. It was round, it was huge and it was loud! Once I was sure we weren’t driving into a tornado, I shared my concern about the possibility of impending doom with Barb and we got a good laugh about it.

Finally, after eight or so hours on the road, we reached our destination. Over the course of the next several days, Barb and I had lots more to laugh about. Together with our parents and brother Scott and his wife, Debbie, we shared the adventures of our trip, and the joy of being together. The only thing that would have made it complete would have been if our other two brothers and sister could have been there as well.

For our trip home, we decided to take the Garmin’s advice and take I81. For the most part, it was a great drive, again it was sunny but this time very warm. We were treated by beautiful mountain vistas, with pear trees and redbuds blooming to announce the arrival of spring. Except for the Garmin loosing satellite connections through the mountains, it was an uneventful trip until we reached Blacksburg, VA where for some reason the Garmin kept insisting we turn left and then make a “U” turn on the interstate. She’d become like the “gal crying wolf” at this point and the absurdity of her requests made her the object of ridicule.

Eventually we made it back to Ruckersville. It was good to be back in familiar territory where I no longer had to listen to the polite British voice tell me which way to go. In fairness, she usually guides me to where I need to go pretty well. Maybe it was just the combination of my sister and I in the car that affected her navigational skills, or just flukes in traffic flow due to road maintenance, but for whatever reason, my Garmin certainly kept us amused and on our toes during our trip, which has now just been added to the pile of family stories.

I do want to give a shout out to Peggy at the Hiawassee Feed ‘n Seed who made me feel so special when my brother, Scott introduced me to her. (She reads my Chronicles.) It was the first time I’ve met anyone I didn’t already know who reads my blog. It was a pleasure meeting you and I hope you do give me a call when you head up here to tour Monticello!