Reworking the Nest

Our nest is empty again.

Early Friday morning I dropped Andy and Amy off at the Greyhound station; the first step in their adventure in moving Amy to Brooklyn for the summer.  I then began the first step in my new adventure; beginning the second wave of sorting and clearing, rearranging and cleaning – more refining of the nest since our move last July.

Settling into a house takes some time.  After a while some of the initial decisions of where things should go seem off kilter.  I’ve already rearranged the kitchen cabinets a couple of times and am planning another go around in the near future.  Like my garden, my cabinets and closets are in constant need of weeding, to let go of some of the stuff.

My first chore this week was to transform my office from a clutter dumping ground into a comfortable workspace that invites and inspires me to settle in and write.  I’m almost there but even now, as I drift off into my next thought, I can see the bookshelves need straightening and dusting.  The real question is, do I really feel the need to clean or am I just looking for a distraction?

Distraction won out.  I just spent the last hour clearing, moving, dusting and replacing everything from the two bookshelves.  I hung a small knickknack shelf Dave made in middle school and have filled it with some small things, formerly known as clutter.  Properly placed on the shelves they are now memorabilia.  The view from my desk is much more appealing.

I could easily write something if I could think of anything to say.  So, I guess for now I’ll have to wait for the inspiration to hit me.  When it does, the office will  be ready!

Once Upon a Mattress

Here it is Wednesday morning and I’m finally sitting down to unpack the holiday weekend’s events.  This past week it has been difficult to find quiet place to sit and think.  Andy’s girlfriend Amy is visiting so I now have two graduate students in residence.  Their “quiet” study pervades almost every area of the house.  A friend used the analogy of an inert gas – filling every possible space.  So true.  But, on the flip side, it’s nice to have them here.

Back to the weekend…. Saturday morning we were up and on the road to Richmond by 8:30 to pick up a full sized mattress and box spring from Maggie and Jan.  They just upgraded to a queen and we wanted to replace the twin bed in the little guest room.  My how times have changed that I simply accept the opportunity of free bedding while totally disregarding the fact that my daughter is purchasing bedding with a man who is not her husband.  Our life is not a perfect one, but nonetheless, it is a good one.

With the mattress and foundation securely bungeed to the top of the CRV, we headed home.  We decided to return on US 33 instead of the interstate to avoid the holiday traffic.  Dave said he’d have a less anxious ride if he didn’t have to concern himself with driving 70 mph with a load on the roof.  The idea sounded good to me since I love travelling the back roads.  Besides, we had the Garmin with us so even if we took a wrong turn (which was really not a risk since we were staying on US 33 the entire way).

Rural Virginia is beautiful.  This spring especially we’ve had plenty of rain so the fields are green and lush and the flowers plentiful.  Long stretches of the highway are lined with post and rail fences portioning off tidy farms with rolling hills dotted with horses and cattle.  Every once in a while we’d see an old charmer, an ancient salt box farm house, greyed and drooping in a field, a reminder of those who travelled the road before us.

Dave and I really enjoy these drives together.  Sometimes the solitude prompts deep conversation but other times, like this one, we simply enjoy the quiet together.  Since the CRV doesn’t have a satellite radio and the reception in Central Virginia is localized and sketchy at best, the only sounds in the car were road sounds and the occasional thump when the breeze caught under the box spring on the roof.  At each thump, we’d peek at the side mirrors, reassure each other that the load was secure and drive on.

We passed through several small towns, including Louisa, one of the towns hit hardest by last summer’s earthquake.  The signs of the towns trauma were evident; Thomas Jefferson Elementary School condemned and surrounded by a security fence and down the road an ante bellum brick manse with scaffolding securing both chimneys.  Despite these challenges, the main street was lined with flags and patriotic decorations in preparation for the towns’ Memorial Day celebration.  They too, overlooked the imperfections and celebrated what was good in their lives.

Our trip on the back roads took about half an hour longer than taking the interstate.  The extra thirty minutes spent was well worth the quiet time together.  I don’t know if we’ll go that way every time we head to Richmond, but if the weather is fine and we’ve got the time, that’ll be the way to go.

A Shuttering Experience

Following a storm a couple of months ago, we discovered that a shutter had been blown off the front of the house and into the front yard.  Several weeks later we picked up the shutter bolts and Lowe’s and after many subsequent Saturday mornings of my asking if we were going to hang the downed shutter, we finally got to it this past weekend.

It’s not that hanging a shutter is such a difficult task.  We’ve had to rehang a couple of them on the lower windows.  The challenge in this particular case was the fact that this shutter required getting onto the porch roof.  Although Dave is not afraid of heights per ce, he is not too keen on climbing a ladder and then transferring to the roof.  A while ago I suggested he climb out a bedroom window onto the roof.  That seemed so much easier than taking out the extension ladder and wrestling it into place so the task was moved up the queue.  We gathered our tools and headed upstairs to the guest room.

Our window are tilt-out thermopane but not exactly like those we’ve had before.  These windows apparently don’t come out of their frames like those we’re accustomed to and the screens seemingly wouldn’t come out unless the window did.  We jiggled and wiggled our window and screen for about twenty minutes before admitting defeat.  Down to the garage we went with the shutter and our tools to get out the extension ladder.

After wrestling the ladder into place, Dave cautiously climbed to the roof with his bag of tools in hand.  He tossed the bag onto the roof and surveyed his approach.

“I don’t think I can get there from here.” he said.

“Should we try to extend the ladder more?”  I asked.

“OK”

So we wrestled the ladder down again, extended it to its maximum height and propped it up against the house.  Again he climbed to the top.  Still not satisfied, he came back down and began to walk around to the front of the house in search of a better angle of approach.

Meanwhile, the fact we couldn’t get the screen out of the upstairs window out was still gnawing at me so I went back upstairs to revisit the problem.  Dave came to join me and finally, after a few anxious moments, we discovered that the screen could be easily removed from the top if the window was just tilted out a bit.  Hooray!

With the screen out, Dave could easily climb out and attach the shutter – except for the fact that the bag of tools was still sitting on the far end of the porch roof from his first trip up the ladder.  So, after climbing the ladder one last time, Dave retrieved the tool bag and returned to complete the task.  After a couple of minutes, the shutter was rehung, the screen replaced and our job complete except for having to return to the driveway and wrestle the extension ladder back to the ground and compact it for storage.

The total time of the job was about ninety minutes – most of which involved figuring out how to remove the screen and wrestling with the ladder.

Later that afternoon, we were chatting with our neighbors over the fence.

“We finally got that shutter up”.  I said.

“It was easy, just climbed out onto the roof from the window.”  Dave said.

“How did you get the screen off?” they asked, “We tried for a long time last week when I was power washing the house but never could figure it out.”

First Anniversary

Today marks the first anniversary of my blog.  To recap; since last May I have returned to the life of a domestic engineer, bought and sold a house, moved across the state, began working out with a personal trainer, welcomed my son home for an extended visit, provided respite to many weary travellers, was elected to the HOA board, and adopted a kitten.  It has been a full year that’s for certain.

You’d think that with so much change in my life I’d be struggling for an identity.  On the contrary, from the moment we arrived up here, I’ve felt at home. Perhaps it’s because the rural landscape is similar to the rolling hills of Western New York where I was born (although there were no mountains on the horizon) or just the slower pace of life but for whatever the reason, life here is good.

The struggle to discover who I am and what I should be is gone.  I know who I am and I am me.   That is enough.  I’ve just about completed the LifeKeys program and discovered that for the most part, I am using the gifts God gave me in a manner that is authentic to my values and personality.  In the end, my epiphany is exactly like Dorothy Gale’s when she returned from Oz; there is no place like home and nothing more important than family.  Be it blood or loci familia, it’s all about people, connecting and staying connected.

Hopefully Monica Chronicles has helped me stay closer to many folks I care deeply about.  Guaranteed there are more adventures in life to come.

Oh What a Beautiful Morning!

The past couple of days have been what I consider perfect.  The air temperature is cool and dry, the sky is blue, the birds are singing in the trees!

Yesterday, fueled by a poached egg for breakfast, I became a dynamo of activity, accomplishing as many tasks as I generally get done in a week.  I did everything!  I mowed, I ironed, I baked, and finally transplanted the herbs I started in window boxes.

I told Lorenzo the other day that I had an epiphany last weekend when I was digging out the bed for my herbs.  I was hot and sweaty but kept going anyway.  My “ah ha” moment was the realization that before going into training, I used to think that when my heart started racing and I began to sweat, it was time to stop working.  Now I know it means I’m burning off the fat.

So, if my blogs seem fewer and lighter than they have been, I’m out back working up a sweat and hopefully, next time you see me, there will be less of me!

Have a great day!

Mothers Day Redux

Spring seems to be the perfect time to celebrate motherhood.

In the traditional sense of mothering, I have my roll as mother to my children  and grandchildren.  This roll is getting tricky at times, especially since Andy moved in.  For the most part, he is good company and I am fully enjoying the opportunity to spend this time with him.  Occassionally, I find myself asking him what I consider normal questions that he interprets  as something akin to maternal interrogation.  Honestly, I don’t think I have a hidden agenda, most times I’m only making conversation to connect with a person living in my home.  Uggh!

Then there are my four legged children, Izzie and Purrl.  I’m not really their mother, but I do sort of mother them.  They too at times suspect I have a hidden agenda, but they would be right.  I am truly guilty of subterfuge in my attempts to lure them onto my lap for cuddles.

My mothering is not limited to the confines of my home and family.  I have recently discovered a very young squirrel living under the hose reel in the back garden.  He too, has become an object of my concern.  He seems way too small and vulnerable to be out on his own.  I give him a daily ration of birdseed to give him a boost.  It’s probably not the wisest idea to feed rodents so close to the house, but babies have to eat, don’t they?

Transcending species, genus and kingdoms, I have a nursery of baby plants.  Up on the crest of the back yard, I have a small group of pots containing a dozen seedlings I received from the Arbor Society.  I tend them carefully, gently stroke their budding leaves and give them daily pep talks.  I have only one hold-out dogwood that I’m still pulling for, the rest seem to be off to a healthy start.   On the deck I have a flat of zinneas in jiffy pots almost ready to go in the ground.

Aside from my own mothering, this spring we have been treated to several families of house finches who visit our feeders.  The parents gather seed while the young ones sit on the top of the feeder or on a nearby branch flapping their wings with mouths open wide.  Soon the fledglings in the nests in my Boston Ferns will join them.  Andy checks on them daily for me since he is tall enough to see over the top of the fronds.

Mothering seems to come naturally to me, probably because I come from a long line of women who each in turn loved, nurtured and launched the next generation.  I know I am blessed in that respect.   I guess it’s in the genes; they’re the only kind of “Mom-Genes” I will proudly wear.

Happy Birthday Seth

Tomorrow my grandson Seth will turn eleven years old.  Like all parents and grandparents, I wonder where the time has gone and marvel how he can be this old when I haven’t aged a bit.  Each year when his birthday rolls around I think back on the night he was born and the long road leading to that miracle moment.  Seth, whose name means “appointed” was the catalyst in the creation of a new family in a very special way.

Seth’s arrival was heralded, not by angels in a dream, but by a late night phone call which was much more like a nightmare.  My teenage daughter, away for her freshman year of college called and blurted out in between sobs that she was pregnant.  She said she had decided to have the baby and offer it up for adoption.

It’s funny how when faced with a call like this, the call every mother fears, after the shock passed, all I cared about was the health and safety of my child.  Her sorrow tore at my gut.  Fighting my own fears, I told her everything would be alright and assured her that her dad and I would be there for her.

After we hung up, I crawled into bed and it was my turn to sob.  Dave rolled over and asked my why I was crying.  “What will we do?”  I cried.  He simply said, “Everything will be fine.”  “How do you know?” I asked.  “I just do.”  And with God’s help, it was fine… more than fine.

From the first it was evident that God was working the details for us.  My parents were visiting when we received “the call”.  I was not sure how or if I would share the news with them but I did.  What a gift it was to be able to feel my own mother’s arms around me that day.  If ever there was a day I needed a hug from my Mom, it was that one.

holy spirit dove

The next day, Dave brought Maggie home from school weekend so we could gather her close while we discussed the future.  The first morning she was home, we noticed a large white bird sitting on our back fence.  We are avid bird watchers and familiar with most of our local species of birds.  This was not one of them.  Someone grabbed the Peterson’s Field Guide.  No big white birds in there that weren’t gulls or egrets.  Our last resort was the World Book (pre-web Google).  We found our bird. It was a fan tailed dove; the same bird God sent down over Jesus when he was Baptized in the Jordan.   They are a domestic breed of show pigeons, not generally found sitting on a fences in Virginia Beach.  The amazing thing about this particular bird was that it sat on our fence for two whole days while we redefined what it meant to be a family; to love unconditionally and stand beside each other in times fo uncertainty; and God was with us.

A few months later, through an unlikely source, we were introduced to Jim and Bonnie Berryman.  They had been trying to start a family for several years and were interested in adoption.  Maggie met with them at their home to get to know them and get a feel for what kind of parents they would be.  When she came home she said, “The have two geriatric dogs, so they must be good at care-taking.”  She chose them to become the parents of her child.

Our relationship with Jim and Bonnie began gently and respectfully. At the time, none of us could have foreseen what God had in store for us.  Open adoption was then and probably still is a rare occurrence. At best these type of adoptions only involve the sharing of names and the occasional photo.  What we share is so much more.  Through the years we have knitted ourselves into family, with lines of where one family begins and the other ends blurred.  Our family bonded initially over the love of a child and has been forged by the years of caring and sharing with each other.  I can’t imagine what our lives would be like without Jim, Bonnie, Seth and Caleb in it.  With intense gratitude to God, I don’t have to.

So Happy Birthday Seth.  I thank God everyday that you were appointed to begin our new family.  Poppa and I love you very much.  You could slow down on the aging thing – why not just stay eleven for two years?

 

Catching Up

Yes, I’m still alive.

It was just an over-nighter at the house but we managed to get in a quick afternoon trip to Shenandoah National Park .

 

Papa makes his move in the high stakes game of real estate dominance.

Back at the house, we spent the evening playing games and watching old episodes of “Ren and Stimpy” and “Mystery Science Theater 3000”.    Seth got Dave and Andy caught up in a high stakes game of Monopoly while Caleb introduced me to the nuances of Pass the Pig.

The next morning Seth wanted to go for a walk down to the pond.  In the past I would have insisted that someone else go with him but since he’ll turn 11 next week, I made the faith leap to just let him go by himself.  Letting go seems more difficult this time.  I’d have let Andy go that far when he was younger than that and I know my range of exploration at age 11 was considerably larger than the 500 yard distance to the pond.  For some reason, each generation just seems a little younger and more vulnerable than the last. My next big event in my “quiet” time was that I finally painted my bedroom!  Dave was gone on a three day Cursillo retreat so I seized the opportunity to get ‘er done.  My plan was to paint half the room each day but once I got going, with Andy’s brawn to move the heavy furnishings, I finished in just one day.  My hours in the gym with Lorenzo prodding me along are paying off; my stamina has increased and I had few aches the next day. When Dave came home Sunday evening he began to sneeze – a lot.  There has been so much pollen in the air, it was difficult to determine cold or allergy at first.  It was a cold and I got it too.  So, I spent the next couple of days hunkered down on the couch watching Netflix and dozing.  By the weekend I was feeling better.  Monday morning,. when it was time to go meet Lorenzo again, I was worried.  I felt crappy and began to worry that I wasn’t up for the new intense cardio sessions we’d started.  It was too late to cancel, so I decided to drag myself in and see how at least a warm-up would make me feel. I started slowly.  My legs felt very heavy.  After ten minutes on the elliptical, I grabbed a mat and elastic band to stretch.  When Lorenzo came in, I told him I would try my best to get through the session, but had no guarantees.  He took me to the treadmill and we got started.  With my hands gripped onto the bar for dear life, I walked, trotted and began to jog as Lorenzo worked the controls.  He never said how long I would be running but after six minutes, he said, “I think we’ll shoot for ten minutes.” Last week he’d had me running in circles for ten minutes over  various obstacle courses of gym steps and ladder ropes so the duration was a length of time I was mentally prepared for.  In comparison, jogging on the treadmill was a piece of cake. After the treadmill, Lorenzo led me through the rest of my workout.  With a good sweat going, I felt so much better than when I arrived.  When I’d completed my workout, he smiled and told me I’d done a good job.  It’s amazing what that man can get me to do just to see his smile and hear those words! When I got home I was a dynamo!  I cleaned up, went off to meet with a friend, came home, baked a pie, cleaned the kitchen floor and began supper.  I never even really sat down to relax until after the dishes were done.  Incredible. Yesterday I met with my new doctor for my annual physical.  She was over the top with the blood work I’d had done last week.  Except for slightly elevated triglycerides and a minor Vitamin D deficiency, I am the poster Nana of good health. So, that is some of what I’ve been up to.  Thanks for worrying about me….. 

 

Does the Bear Poop In The Woods?

Last week a small band of hearty Virginians, in the spirit and tradition of other great explorers like Lewis and Clark, piled into a Honda Odyssey minivan in search of adventure.  After taking on provisions at McDonald’s, the group headed west on US 33 bound for the Skyline Drive.

The day was clear but cool in the Piedmont and the road dry.  An air of uneasiness filled the back seats as the minivan climbed the curving mountainside and ears began to pop.  “How high are we going?” one anxious explorer asked, “I’m afraid of heights.”

Upon reaching the park entrance, a friendly ranger greeted them and provided some suggestions and good hiking trails.  Thanking him for his kindness, the van headed north in search of clear trails and a bolder or two to climb on.

Impressed by the expansive vistas, the explorers remarked to each other about the beauty of it all.  One of the boys, the youngest of the group, was still fearful of the elevation until his trusted older companion explained he was looking down, he was looking across.  After mulling on that for a moment he exclaimed, “I’ve overcome my fears!” to which the older members of the expedition quietly chuckled.

As they drove up the trail, one of the leaders of the group noticed that the temperature was dropping.  “It’s 35!” she exclaimed.  They knew it would be cooler on the the mountaintop and had brought along extra sweatshirts and jackets but this was a bit colder than expected.  “Is that snow?”  asked the driver.

“It’s not snow.” declared a veteran explorer from the back seat. “It’s probably just pollen.”

“It looks like snow.” the driver asserted, not giving an inch.

Seth Skyline Drive 4 2012 comp

Soon, a camping area appeared on the right.  The boys were antsy from riding and in need of stretching their legs so they pulled over for a short while to look around. It was a quaint camping area dotted with rustic duplex cabins.  It was very cold; much colder than they had expected.  The extra sweatshirts provided little protection from the strong wind and blowing snow.  The decision was made to cut this walk short so they all piled back into the warm van to see what other adventures were in store for them. As they drove further north, there was no denying that the white bits floating into the windshield were indeed snowflakes and not pollen.  The temperature began to drop below freezing and fearing for icy roads and poor visibility, the decision was made to turn around and head south. The road into the icy north..

Heading south of the park entrance at Swifts Run Gap, the weather improved.  The sun shined warmly on the road and the temperature shot into the high 40’s.  Finding a promising spot to pull over, the group again piled out of the van and this time headed into the back country in search of adventure.

Unfortunately, not long after hitting the trail, one of the boys tripped and fell hitting his knee on a large rock.  After taking a moment to assess the extent of his injury, he took a deep breath and let out a blood curdling scream that was sure to protect the group from any and all wildlife that may have been lurking in the woods.  Once he was steady on his feet, the explorers decided to return to the van and drive on to a less rocky .

Resting on the trail
Resting on the trail

The second back country path was a steep climb up a mountainside.  Having survived the snow of the north and the dangers of the rocky path, the seasoned hikers climber higher and higher up the twisting trail all the while noting the signs of the wildlife along the way.  There were several piles of skat* (poop) and trees that looked as though they’d been used as scratching posts with tufts of black fur nearby.  The leaders of the group grew worried that they were wondering into dangerous bear  territory and called a halt to the hike just before reaching a pile of boulders.  Again, the hearty troop headed back to the minivan.

 

Remembering the day in the woods.
Remembering the day in the woods.

*Although previously thought to be bear skat, further research on the Internet revealed that it was coyote skat which, according to the experts, is often found on trails marking territory.  So while indeed bears do poop in the woods, it was not bear poop observed on this trip. 

 

Frequent Flyer

Last night, about an hour and a half past our regular bedtime, we picked Andy up at the Charlottesville Airport – CHO.  He was returning from a job interview at the University of Southern Mississippi, an opportunity to become an assistant professor – a tenured position.  He looked tired but happy to be home as he walked through the gate in his tan silk sports coat, his tie loosened.  We were happy to see him (although we all hope he will be hired and move out in the near future.)

Planes and schools seem to be a recurring theme in Andy’s life.  When he was just a couple of months old, I flew with both he and Maggie to spend the Christmas holidays in Syracuse with my folks while Dave was deployed.  They both flew for free if they sat on a lap so I flew my Mom down to fly back with us.  The flight up was uneventful but coming back we were challenged by both bad weather delays and the slipperiness of the kids’ nylon snowsuits that seemed to slide down our bodies when we tried to plop them on a hip.

Our next flight together was when we flew as a family out to Hawaii – twenty years ago this summer.   That flight was loooonnnnggggg.   While stationed on Oahu, we took at least one family vacation to a neighboring island each year.  They were short hops on prop planes that took us to tiny airports.  The smallest of these was on Moloka’i, where a tractor towed our luggage from the plane on a cart and our bags were set on a wooden table for pick-up in an open aired pole barn.  When our three years were over, we flew back to the mainland – a much longer flight than the first because we were leaving a place we loved deeply.

Andy’s next flight was to Duke for an interview for the University Scholars program.  He left was some anxiety but I’ll never forget his triumphant return; smiling from ear to ear with a Blue Devils ballcap atop his head.  “I’m going!” He declared – and he did.

The summer following his junior year at Duke, Andy grabbed at the opportunity to study in London.  Instead of departing from the Norfolk Airport, we had to take him up to Dulles.  Even though he was twenty, it was still difficult for me to drop him off at such an enourmous airport and just drive off in those early days of post 911.  He was so excited, I was the anxious one.

Since then he has taken many flights.  As part of his graduate progarm at UC San Diego, he has travelled all over the country, presenting papers and attending conferences.  So much so that as I was fussing with him as he prepared for this trip to Mississippi, he finally reminded me that he has had much more experience in air travel than I have and I should “stop mothering” him.  Point taken, I backed off, but as all mothers know, there is just no going back on the mothering bit, we can only throttle it back a bit.

So now he’s back.  He thought the trip went well and seems to be contented to just wait.  While he was away he also learned that UCSD has a teaching job for him in the fall semester so if nothing else comes up, he’ll at least be employed again.

Andy's first school photo.

Where ever he ends up, he will always be the baby in my arms on the plane , the young boy I kept entertained on long trans Pacific flights and the young man I’ve sent off into the world.  In my mind’s eye, he’ll always be my Andy, with his name pinned on his shirt, as I sent him off for his first day of kindergarten, my son.