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Posts Tagged ‘Family’

Love Hurts

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , on July 25, 2023| 2 Comments »

Good Morning! The rain has stopped and brought us clean air (really, much cleaner air), sunshine and low humidity. So far, the “heat dome” hasn’t hit Nashville, let’s knock on wood. Also my glamorous, big sister, Kay, has flown into town from New York City. I’ve figured out that as we age our bodies don’t regulate temperature quite so well; as the globe heats up, we ‘senior’ humans are cooling down. So Kay is perfectly happy sitting on our shady, front porch in 80+ weather waving at all the neighbors passing by – young couples with a baby stroller and a dog or two, our friends Kristi and Jay, and an older woman with a cane and an outrageously big sun hat.

Kay is an artist and a southerner-in-training. She attended the Art Students’ League in NYC and had a side hustle drawing meticulous medical illustrations for Mt Sinai Medical School. She is one of the reasons I never even tried painting. Even her clothes are artistically curated. She’s not exactly Iris Apfel, but at 88 she will still turn a head on the street. https://www.advanced.style/

So of course, we had to take a trip to the Frist Art Museum this past weekend. “Storied Strings: the Guitar in American Art” was the main exhibition and we borrowed a wheelchair to make everything easier. Don’t forget, Kay is only six months post-op on her second hip fracture. She uses a cane for mobility, and/or a rollator for stability when she’s outside. We enjoyed looking at each painting and reading the accompanying descriptions. Women historically were not taught to play the guitar, but artists always loved painting the female form; so lush paintings of women posing with the instrument were common.

If you were to walk into any room in our house, you’d encounter one of Kay’s drawings, paintings or needlepoint pillows: a beautiful watercolor of our Rumson home with two Corgis in the yard; a pen and ink portrait of the Flapper; a still life of flowers in a Delft pitcher. Almost every soft surface in our house is adorned with a gorgeous Kay needlepoint. I have fond memories of the Bride learning to look at life through an artist’s lens in Aunt Kay’s apartment. I remember roaming around the Metropolitan Museum of Art as a girl with my big sister; it was just a few blocks walk down Fifth Avenue.

After the “Storied Strings” exhibit, we strolled through an installation about Beatrix Potter at the Frist. Potter was born into a wealthy English family, but because she was a girl in Victorian England her future was limited. Writing stories came naturally and roaming around the Lake District, today we might say “forest bathing,” lead to her career of illustrating and writing children’s books. She called herself a “country mouse” living in the city. Eventually she became interested in fungi, drawing some of the most tiny, intricate mushrooms known at the time…

I feel like a country mouse living in this southern city with my city mouse sister. We walk across the street to swim in the mornings; we drive to Thistle Farms like ladies who lunch; we Zoom with my big and her little brother Dr Jim. Last night I made a salad from summer squash, whole wheat orzo, lemon and feta cheese with fresh herbs. Only the rabbits had eaten all my dill, so we had to improvise. https://www.washingtonpost.com/recipes/grilled-chicken-zucchini-orzo-salad/

We’ve also been enjoying Bad Sisters on Apple TV. So when we walked into Thistle Farms gift shop, a safe place for abused and trafficked women that sells tee shirts proclaiming “LOVE HEALS,” I was only slightly surprised when Kay asked if they had a shirt that said “LOVE HURTS.” They didn’t. I explained to the young salesgirl that my big sister was visiting from New York City.

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Knit One

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , on July 11, 2023| 2 Comments »

When was the last time you went to school? Granted, I embarked on a Masters degree in my 40s, but that was awhile ago. In order to flex my fingers, and make something beautiful at the same time, I decided to sign up for a knitting course at our local yarn shop.

I’ve picked up my knitting again after a long lapse of stringing pearls. Knitting is like riding a bike; you can almost always remember how, and today we have YouTube in case we’ve forgotten. Ten years ago I started to make a blanket in columns of patchwork patterns in the most delicious yellow and grey cashmere blend of wool. Today I’m beginning the process to block and finish!

But of course it’s not just the hands-on help you get at a knitting circle, it’s the camaraderie of a small group of women. There is the instructor, regal in bearing and bountiful in her knowledge. There is the know-it-all who knows everything and likes talking about her children. There is the sweet, old grannie with a face like Betty White. There is the younger woman who is determined to save us from climate change. And then there is the Republican, who has picked an incredibly complex project to knit with mohair.

When we introduced ourselves at the beginning, I said I am the slowest knitter alive! My Nana had taught me to knit and now I’m teaching my grandchildren to knit. I said I’m dyslexic when it comes to reading and comprehending knitting patterns, and I’m certainly NOT a Type A tight knitter. If I make a mistake, and who doesn’t, I try to fradreidel my way around it. I can point out the exact spot in my knitting when a certain Frenchie saw a rabbit!

I was knitting for awhile with only two fingers of my right hand sticking out of my splint. The play must gon on.

Yesterday I arrived early for class and met the mom of a 15 year old softball player who makes it her mission to explore yarn shops in every city where her daughter’s games are played. She told me her girl was a gymnast until she broke a few large bones and switched to softball. The mom likes to collect local skeins and I found out she has alpacas back home that her husband and son are caring for while she travels. I asked if she spins their wool, and she said she brings it to a business that will spin and dye it for her.

I thought about how much I wanted to keep alpacas in Virginia, and/or chickens. Bob wasn’t interested, plus it was a very expensive hobby. He was still working and had just taken on the task of ER Director again so I knew he wouldn’t be able to help very much. We were busy defining our new chapter – would we be gentlemen/women animal farmers, or would we be raised bed vegetable farmers? The raised beds won out except when the deer stepped in to clear us out.

But back to class. The conversation around the table is like a roller coaster, one minute everyone’s talking about how to keep critters out of chimneys, then we drift into the practical and ethical implications of making meat out of a chicken cell. And I mastered the mattress stitch after much hair pulling and thread ripping. And so soon, I will send this blanket on its way to become an heirloom. Like the blanker I have stored in my closet that my Nana made around the turn of the last century.

Or the lilac sweater the Flapper made for the Bride with pink bunny rabbits and big fluffy tails. It was an Easter sweater that made me think my Mother thought my Judaism was a passing phase. I cherished that sweater and sent it to my niece in California for her girls, with instructions to pass it down in the family.

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Camp Nana

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , on June 15, 2023| 2 Comments »

This is the week of Granny Grampie Campie!

The Grands are enjoying one full week of no scheduled activities – no school, no soccer, no day camp, nada. In other words, it’s the kind of summer we used to enjoy, that is before I was sent off to sleepaway camp at Camp St Joseph for Girls. Even the Virginia grandparents have arrived to join in the fun; so we celebrated by baking them a strawberry bundt. It tilted a bit to one side, but was delicious with whipped cream. https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1019441-fresh-strawberry-bundt-cake?searchResultPosition=1

Plump, delicious strawberries are in season at the Farmer’s Market, but you’ve got to get there early or they sell out. Same with flowers I’ve discovered. To create a kick off your shoes, care free, vacay-like vibe takes some planning – for example, our badminton set was in rough shape. The rackets had holes in them and the birdies were missing in action. I found the last set at Dick’s Sporting Goods, and now two of the three new birdies are resting comfortably on the roof of our garage.

And forget Pickleball, the Love Bug loves tennis. We happen to have tennis courts in the same park as the Farmer’s Market, just three blocks away; so a neighborhood crew of kids can just hop on their bikes and ride there like a Norman Rockwell print. Only these kids wear helmets. Luckily, we’ve been blessed with cool weather, and so far the only real bugs I’ve seen are the magical lightning bugs at dusk.

I know ninety plus degree-hot and humid days are right around the corner, so we’re enjoying the outdoors while we can. I’ve made a delightful “garden-gate-friend” who lives across the street, ie someone who freely walks through my gate to visit and vice versa. She has promised to teach me Mahjong and graciously invited us to her pool! Needless to say, the Grands loved swimming next door despite the cool temps.

Lucky us, there’s a public library in that same park filled with great children’s books and no limit on how many books you can check out. The Grands love nothing better than to curl up with a good book. Sometimes I find them both randomly reading on the couch, so without uttering a word I sit down and join them. I’ve just finished Ann Patchett’s “These Precious Days,” glorious essays she wrote about her early life and spending the pandemic lockdown with a new friend who just happened to be visiting.

I didn’t know Patchett had three fathers, or as she said her mother loved the idea of marriage. Of course, I started reminiscing as well, about the Flapper and my foster mother, about my three fathers – Robert, the pharmacist who was dead before I turned one, my foster father Jim, the railroad man at Picatinny who I loved with all my heart, and my stepfather Mr B, the judge who took me flying in his Cessna. Patchett has a picture at a wedding with all her fathers surrounding her that put a frog in my throat.

But I cannot live with regrets. They serve no purpose; wishing my father hadn’t died of a brain tumor would mean I wouldn’t have this life, this husband, these children and grandchildren. I choose gratitude instead, every day, despite a fractured finger. The sweater I’m knitting for the Pumpkin shows the very spot my hand was splinted. I have to embrace my imperfections, and keep moving, keep growing.

This week I’ll be bringing the Grands to a rehearsal for our Pride Festivities at the end of the month. The ban on public Drag Shows in Nashville has been (at least temporarily) lifted thankfully, and our hairstylist has enlisted lots of children to participate this year. I’m imagining they’ll all be munchkins in this fairy tale city!

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Do You DADU?

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , on May 22, 2023| Leave a Comment »

While reading the Washington Post this morning, I discovered that ADUs are all the rage in LA. What’s an ADU you might ask? I’ve always called them DADUs – Detached Accessory Dwelling Units – but I guess California thinks “detached” is a given. Due to the sky high prices of real estate in Southern California, and recent loosening of zoning requirements, more and more young people are adding two-story ADUs of around 800 sq ft to their property. For some single home owners, they move into their ADU and rent out the “big” house. Others are more community minded; charging an affordable rent for the ADU as a kind of public service.

I guess the phrase “Granny Cottage” isn’t sexy enough?

Our Altamont Street house in Cville was our retirement plan – a two bed/foursquare brick beauty just a block from the Historic Downtown Mall. It was a duplex, with a whole one bedroom apartment in the basement. Over the years we rented it out to medical and graduate students at a reduced rate and planned on moving in when we could no longer drive. If you’ve been following me for awhile, you know I don’t love being a landlord and our plans to grow roots in the Blue Ridge Mountains changed when the Bride and Groom decided to stay in Nashville.

So here I sit, looking differently at our detached garage. Our first inclination was to tear it down, but the building inspector told us it was structurally sound. Then I got it into my head that we needed to build a lap pool, while I was confined to aquatic physical therapy, and voila, the garage would become our cabana! Looking back at my glory days on the Jersey Shore, it seemed fitting to recreate our beachy-style in this land-locked state. But in light of a looming recession, my pretty pool dream has come to be just that, a dream.

“What about a home gym,” my post-pandemic brain reasoned. I’ve got my Snug, so there’s no way the garage was becoming a She Shed. It should serve both our purposes, right? We could demolish the insides of it in a weekend with some help from friends and family. Heck, Bob has become a handyman extraordinaire in his retirement. And there would be no need for a permit because we’re not adding on any square footage.

But IF we’re thinking long-term, the idea of a DADU makes sense – for out-of-towners, and you’d be surprised how many people like to visit Nashville. We could rent it out and also have it available for family and friends. Bonus points for having a ready-made caretaker’s cottage for help in the future. That would mean adding a small kitchen and a full bath which would also mean permits… I’m not so sure Nashville is as excited about tiny houses as LA. but it’s worth looking into.

As with any building project, you start with a purpose, and like most Google searches I found my way from construction goals to finding my purpose in life. Pretty heavy lifting for a Monday morning. Usually, I’m not one to worry about such things. I tend to just get on with a day unfolding as it will. I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason; I don’t believe that children are gunned down in our schools to serve some higher purpose. I guess this is where religion may help, but I’m OK being in the thin place between practical and spiritual.

That’s why I march and vote and donate for gun reform and I don’t pray. But if you DO pray, all the better. Let’s throw all we can at the problem until it’s fixed. I guess I was just born lucky, or maybe unlucky, to two mothers and a dying father. Knowing my purpose in life was as elemental as breathing air – to write and love with a capital L, to grow loving, creative children into adulthood and later to make sure that all our children are wanted and get to live long, happy lives. The “Dorothy Strategy” from the Wizard of OZ feels about right to me:

“If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard; because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with.”

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The Art of Healing

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , on February 27, 2023| 2 Comments »

This morning, as usual, I opened the door to let Ms Bean out. This is usually a perfunctory task, like making a cup of coffee, done without much forethought. Like sleepwalking, since that first cup of coffee hasn’t touched my lips yet. The unusual part of this morning was the wind, warm and coming from the south. Bean paused on the porch, lifting her nose to the new day. She stood there for many minutes, surveying the neighborhood, smelling the wind. And I didn’t rush her as I might have in the past – go on girl, go do your business. No, I stood vigil with her, watching, listening, feeling the wind on my face.

With coffee cup in hand, I opened my laptop to this essay in the New York Times about finding joy in everyday things:

“Instead of thinking about what you find enchanting, which may feel too difficult to answer, Ms. May suggests asking yourself a different question: What soothes you? It might be going on a walk. Or visiting an art museum. Maybe you enjoy watching the shifting clouds.”

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/02/27/well/mind/katherine-may-enchantment.html

Katherine May, the author of Wintering, said that every morning she likes to go outside and smell the air, “like a dog.” Her new book, Enchantment, is on my bedside table. I looked twice at the title article on my screen, “How to Feel Alive Again,” and felt compelled to click on it. It seems like every day I wake up and go through my mental to do list, only to finish the day without accomplishing one single thing! But what if I’ve been stuck in this holding pattern for a reason. What if my checklist is all wrong?

For seven months now, my sole responsibility has been to walk again, without pain. Can I do bridges again, how about Pilates? I look at the step stool in our pantry with dread, and decide never to use it again, not even the first step. Look what happened to my sister Kay. My purpose in life has become never to fall again; not from a bunk bed step, or a slippery or wonky sidewalk. Avoiding pain at all costs is the fulcrum to days spent wanting in my mind to organize a closet or lock my self in the Snug and work on my book.

And at night I’m thankful to be still standing; I’m grateful for Bob since he finished insulating the attic so I don’t have to look at the pull-down attic stairs next to my desk. In trying to avoid falling, I’ve been ignoring what May calls “soothing” or enchanting everyday things. I’m sure this list would be different for all of us, but it’s about time in my healing process to just get on with it:

To listen to Mozart; to write in my Snug without interruption; to make asparagus soup; to walk Ms Bean; to visit the Frist Museum; to knit my grandson a sweater… to name just a few. Would organizing my new closet be enchanting? No, but it could be satisfying. The closet was finally finished when I was in a wheelchair and couldn’t pass through its door. Now I can see patterns and color, now I can edit (or should I use the overused “curate”) my style, such as it is. Eileen Fisher devotee, coastal nana stuck in a landlocked red state. Post Pandemic. We are post pandemic right?

The motto on my Thistle Farms coffee cup says “Love Heals.” In other words, it doesn’t or shouldn’t hurt like the Everly Brothers song. So as we bid hello to March winds, I’m determined to walk slowly and appreciate the small, ever-present grace of each new day. Like teaching the Love Bug how to make soup.

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Love is in the Air

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , , on February 14, 2023| 2 Comments »

… along with more balloons.

And we were too, flying into Manhattan for a sisterly visit. The City was pretty in a late winter way. It seems there are less people walking about, maybe it’s because we were on the West side? The wind was crisp and bitingly cold, the sun peeked through now and then. I walked into a small market to buy black and white cookies for Kay, and a young woman looked straight at me – which is never done in NYC if you can help it – and said.

“Is that a Rachel Comey?” And so we struck up a small conversation.

“Yes,” I said referring to the designer of my colorful long puffy coat, “and I bought it at Target last year for $50!”

She proceeded to tell me exactly what Comey clothes she scored at Target. These short, pleasant conversations with strangers are some of the moments I’ve missed the past few years. I suppose wearing a mask makes small talk unlikely. Still, I’ve grown accustomed to random women shouting compliments at me, “I love your coat!” almost every time I wear it. It’s a hard coat to miss, its wild/pink/magenta/navy/persimmon abstract design shouts LOOK AT ME. And this young woman made my day.

She had no idea my sister fell off a footstool and broke her hip, or why I was standing in that market, or that Bob and I were In the middle of an emotional week visiting Morningside’s acute care rehab. For a split second, I almost felt “hip!”

We took most of the NY family out to dinner one night – Lynn, her daughter and a great cousin or is it nephew Kris and niece Annie, who is married to Bart, a Physical Medicine and Rehab Pain doctor. Bart is also French and he and Annie have been instrumental in cheering Kay on her road to recovery. It was a delicious night with the two doctors comparing notes, and finding out that Annie is pursuing her private pilot license! Bob won’t be the only pilot in the family.

Did you happen to see Rihanna floating above the Super Bowl Sunday night? A friend said she thought the halftime show was ageist because you had to be under 40 to appreciate it. I wasn’t that fond of all the white-clad dancers, they reminded me of the Groom’s spacesuit stint in Covid PPE. Riri’s red pleather outfit was an unusual way to announce her pregnancy, and I’ve got to give her credit, her performance was spectacular. Not sure I’d allow myself to be hoisted singing and dancing above the crowds while with child. Wait, I’m sure the answer would be no. Thanks.

Heck I wouldn’t go up in a hot air balloon when the Bride was a newborn!

I did go floating above the Shenandoah Valley with Bob in a hot air balloon after moving to VA. I figured the kids were grown and could take care of themselves. It was exhilarating watching the cows try to hide from our huge, noisy, menacing presence in the sky; until I realized we were at the mercy of the wind. The balloon pilot could take us up and down, but we had to be on the lookout for a big green field or meadow in order to land.

And I had to be OK with that, with not knowing. In a sense, this aging business puts us all at the mercy of the wind. I can only hope it will stay at Kay’s back, pushing her recovery forward, until we both land on our feet.

Have a very Happy Valentine’s Day if you celebrate!? This is the only pic I could find of the coat, please excuse the close-up.

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Balloon a Palooza

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , on February 7, 2023| 3 Comments »

Sometimes I feel like somebody’s watching me, for real.

They’re counting how many times I click on cute pictures of Welsh Corgis. Right now, Pinterest thinks I’m a wallpaper obsessed, coastal grandma who loves dogs, and they wouldn’t be wrong. The other day I was watching TV and some actor said “Alexa” and whaddyaknow – my phone’s little hologram lit up and started swirling, and we’ve never invited Alexa into our house!

We have invited three guys into our house today to do some air sealing. Since our new/old house’s HVAC unit can’t keep up with the extreme heat and cold, Bob is determined to find all the leaks and stop them in their tracks. We’re not so much worried about our gas range, which I love btw, as we are simply being comfortable inside when the weather outside is 8 below. Today is a perfectly sunny day to create a wind tunnel at our front door.

By tonight we should be comfy cozy, sipping hot chocolate while watching President Biden deliver his State of the Union Address.

And boy do we Tennesseans need some good news. Our very own Governor gave quite the speech at his State of the State Address:

“Brushing aside calls to tweak one of the strictest abortion bans in the United States, Tennessee Gov. Bill Lee on Monday unveiled plans to funnel tens of millions of taxpayer dollars to anti-abortion centers as he declared the state had a “moral obligation” to support families. Lee, a Republican, said he wants to create a $100 million grant program for nonprofits commonly known as “crisis pregnancy centers.” If approved, Tennessee would become one of the top spending states on such organizations known for dissuading people from getting an abortion.”

https://apnews.com/article/abortion-politics-bill-lee-tennessee-7509c03331225cc884ac2878ae71ef0c

And he also refused millions of federal dollars to help fund HIV education. Here we are, in the 21st Century with a leader who wants to whitewash history and force women to give birth. I honestly never thought I’d see this day. Maybe we are banning books, but at least Lee isn’t asking to monitor female athletes’ menstrual cycles. Not yet. No, he smiled and called TN “prosperous” and “unrivaled.”

We are most certainly unrivaled with: the most infant and maternal mortality rates: the least per pupil spending in public schools; and we’re number 3 in the country in the most violent crime category. Thinking of Memphis, I wonder if police shootings are counted?

Bob and his air quality crew have just disrupted my chain of thought. There is thermal imaging and caulking happening all over the house but especially in my Snug where the attic stairs pull down from the ceiling. And poor Ms Bean is walking aimlessly about trying to corral all these strange men.

I wonder what that Chinese surveillance balloon was spying on? Did it fly over TN? Did it catch the L’il Pumpkin rollerblading? Did it take a picture of Bob walking Bean? Did it see Bob using his metal detector to try and find the property markers? I wasn’t very worried about the balloon, it immediately went into the “things that cannot be changed” category in my brain. After all, doesn’t TikToc get all our information anyway? I’m assuming either Alexa or Siri are constantly monitoring our every sound, while some satellite is taking Google earth pictures of our homes. We like to delude ourselves into thinking privacy is our constitutional right.

And as much as we’d like to create an air-tight house, I’d much prefer to live in a state that values women and education no matter what the weather.

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Morning Mantra

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , on January 25, 2023| 5 Comments »

Every morning I languish a little in bed. I listen to the birds who are calling for Spring. I listen to Bob making coffee in the kitchen. I try to remember yesterday’s Wordle. Then I stretch, just a little, like Ms Bean would do after getting up from her comfy bed. I take note of my pain – my neck is blessedly quiet, how is the right hip, how far can I bend the knees? I expected that my bones would ache in the morning with age, and improve as I moved through the day. Instead, it’s the opposite. My body is at its best when I awake, and as the day wears on, the osteoarthritis kicks in.

Lately though, my first thought is about my sister.

My sister Kay is the oldest one of us still living. The glamorous, Lipstick Feminist Stewardess of the 50s and early 60s. My sister, who at 15 carried me to my foster parents after our Year of Living Dangerously, and left me in Victory Gardens, never to forget me. The working, single mom on the Upper East Side of New York who was a template for Holly Golightly. Audrey Hepburn’s character and Kay both survived a traumatic childhood, and navigated rocky romantic relationships. I always looked up to her; I envied her ability to draw and paint like a Dutch Master. She had a way of being in the world that was easy and full of confidence. Kay is an artist and charismatic still, and only slightly directive like a big sister.

Last week Kay took it upon herself to clean the top of the refrigerator. You may ask why would an 88 year old decide to climb a step stool? I know I did. I’m also pretty sure I’ve never cleaned the top of my refrigerator. .. ever. That being said, she fell and broke her other hip. The good hip. Her surgery was just four days ago and her daughter, with help from local family members, is helping to manage her transition to acute care rehab. Living alone, for most us, will prove too hard eventually. We Boomers need to plan for continuing care long before we need it, before a medical crisis. I guess it’s just too hard to look our mortality in the face.

About three years ago, Kay told us that her hospital was starting a new Geriatric program for its medical students. Maybe it was a response to the pandemic, but my sister was asked if she’d like to participate. My brother Dr Jim and I encouraged her, and since she had already mastered Zoom for our Sunday sibling sessions, we thought she’d enjoy chatting with a young person. And of course, she loved it! So much so, that Kay has now met the young medical student, Esha’s, friends and gone out to dinner with her a number of times. And although this is the season for exploring residency programs all over the country, thankfully Esha has been at her bedside and helping us connect with her orthopedic team.

I remember my stylish sister: having cherries jubilee set ablaze at the Rainbow Room; walking to the Metropolitan Museum and the Whitney and the Guggenheim; my niece’s wedding at the Convent of the Sacred Heart; going to the Big Apple Circus in Lincoln Center; walking to the Madison Deli for our favorite sandwiches; meeting Dr Jim at an outdoor cafe when he returned from Vietnam. I was drinking Grand Marnier and the smell of oranges always brings me back to that moment, waiting with my sister.

Bob has started up the elliptical. And Ms Bean is roaming around the house wondering if it’s time for a walk. Our senior pup is deaf and mostly blind, but she can still smell like a trooper and insists on her daily walks around the neighborhood. Wouldn’t you if you had 100 million sense receptors in your nose? I’ve heard her slow sniffing is like reading the gossip column every day. Still, in January, I find myself wishing that Bean would get on with it. After all, walking is a big part of my recovery.

The Bride has loaned me a book by Katherine May, “Wintering: the Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times.”

“By winter, she means not just the cold season, but “a fallow period in life when you’re cut off from the world, feeling rejected, sidelined, blocked from progress, or cast into the role of an outsider.” In Wintering, May writes beautifully of her own recent bout with a personal winter, a period when she felt low and overwhelmed, out of sorts and “out of sync with everyday life.” 

https://www.npr.org/2020/11/10/933008027/in-wintering-katherine-may-encourages-the-active-acceptance-of-sadness

I guess my winter started early last year, in the midst of summer actually. I was told by multiple doctors to, “shut it down.” No traipsing off to Italy. No more walking! I had to rely on Bob for everything and he was my rock. And now that the pelvis has healed, I must be “careful” for the next few months and build back my strength. I’ve graduated from water PT to land PT.

Yesterday I asked Bob to deliver some of my homemade soup to a neighbor who is experiencing her own winter, caring for her husband. We are, all of us, buffeted by seasons of joy and sorrow. My sister is strong, and smart and willing to walk again. I’m beginning to see the signs of Spring.

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Home Improvement

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , , on January 17, 2023| Leave a Comment »

While I was sitting in my Snug the other day, I could hear an HVAC guy maneuvering his weight through our crawl space beneath me, while Bob was setting up a squirrel trap above me in the attic. Not to worry, no squirrels were found or harmed in the Havahart trap since we fixed their entrance hole under an eave. And by that I mean the proverbial “we” because Bob is always my handy/fix/it/go/to guy. He also managed to perfume the attic with certain squirrel repellant smells like peppermint oil. But to the point – while squirrels scampered across our roof wondering where their winter home had gone, writing time in my Snug has been scarce lately.

I do however have my Physical Therapy marching orders. There is a list of upper body and lower body things I MUST DO every other day if I want to continue ambulating without a walker. In our family room, I push the small table back into the couch and roll out my yoga mat. I assemble the various props – foam roller, bands and weights. And then about 45 minutes later, I put everything away and ice what hurts. Bob also has his PT routines, but along with his exercises he has decided to show our new/old house some love.

He had a floor guy give us an estimate on fixing and refinishing our original, red oak floors. My handy husband ordered the lumber for rebuilding a set of outside stairs to the family room. And he is currently researching the whole air quality, HVAC systems for residential housing. We are enamored with a new PBS show called “Home Diagnosis.” It’s very informative and a well done synthesis of science and building with shows like “Healing Your Home Chemistry,” and “Keeping the Cold at Bay.” In fact, Bob has scheduled a Zoom consultation with one of the show’s hosts! https://www.pbs.org/show/home-diagnosis/

“Keep an eye out for the Home Depot truck,” he just called out to me as he was heading out the door with Ms Bean for her daily constitutional.

It seems we’re expecting a delivery of insulation for the attic! What if we pad up our insulation, replace the old windows and repair and clean the ducts? You know, those ducts in the crawl space that have hosted a few possum parties over the years. Maybe we wouldn’t need a whole new HVAC system! And why does every single local TN technician absolutely hate heat pumps?? We had one in VA; it’s a greener way to condition your air. We may even get a rebate if we go that route.

If we don’t plunge into a real recession, our plan for the Spring is to move the big elliptical machine and our various PT/Pilates-like things into a newly refurbished garage. A Mitsubishi mini-split would nicely meet the heating and cooling needs in our free standing home gym. I might even pitch the idea of a fireplace!

Of course the more projects Bob has taken on, the more tools seem to be accumulating in the garage. Since it also happens to double as a fun place for the Pumpkin to do some building and repair work with his grandfather, I’d be happy to see a small workshop in the garage as well. Storage area, maybe? And let’s not forget the possibility of a pool in the backyard! The garage may one day have to turn into a cabana… It will become a serious multipurpose, year round space.

For my part, I’ve been perusing wallpaper. I’d like to paper one wall in the guest bath, myself. This is called sticking your toe gently into the DIY universe. Granted I’ve never tried wallpapering, but they are now peel and stick so how hard could it be? And don’t worry, I’ll let Bob climb the ladder. I’ve got my colors down, a mix of French blue and the current Kitten Whiskers paint color which is a dusty lilac. The hard part is picking something out – floral or animals, small prints or large? We have an abundance of rabbits in our yard, so I’m leaning toward a rabbit and fox motif, but I don’t want it to look like a nursery. Then again a jungle full of parrots might be uplifting.

The Grands dropped by a few times over the weekend. They love to traipse after Bob and help him with his projects. Here they are taking a much needed checkers break. When I was informed that the Bride gave them the “NO Screens” edict, I replied, “Your Mother is not my dictator!”

“She kinda is ours,” the Pumpkin said decisively.

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OK Folks

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , on December 5, 2022| 4 Comments »

Here’s what happened. As you already know, I fell off the lowest rung of a bunk bed ladder in July. All my doctor buddies said, “Phew, you didn’t break a hip!” As it turns out I broke one side of my pelvis, and then the other side broke due to osteoporosis. Now I am walking on my own again; no need for a wheelchair or scooter, and the pink flowered walker is behind me. As Bob likes to say, “Your bones are healed.” The problem is my psyche isn’t.

I stopped writing on this platform because I didn’t want MountainMornings to become a litany of my pain.

In retrospect I’m sorry I left everyone hanging. I’ve treated this blog as if it were my own newspaper column for years, never missing a deadline. I really loved synthesizing political news with personal updates. But today, I am much less of a news junkie; I start my day with coffee and Pinterest plus a little helping of a Master Class or two. My walk-in closet is finished, so the new/old/catawampus house is coming along. And I’m back in the kitchen, trying out new recipes.

Also, we’ve just returned from a trip to the French West Indies. Every day I’d jump step in the pool and do my physical therapy exercises – point tendu, jumping jacks, squats. And as a result, I’m so much stronger. I can tell because I don’t need to sit down on the shower seat during a shower. So that’s the good news.

The bad news is some of us got Covid.

But as the Rocker told his Dad, “Play the cards you’re dealt.” And we managed to eat at our favorite outdoor restaurants, to have delicious French food delivered to our door on the precipice of a cliff, and take a gorgeous new catamaran out in the ocean – twice. Because this small island in the Caribbean has been a family sanctuary since the Bride was the same age as her daughter. I loved seeing our Grands jump in the waves and frolic in the pool with pure joy.

One day at the supermarche, I bought Aunt Kiki the French edition of Architectural Digest. The very next day, the news broke that the latest American edition would feature a living room on the Top 100 2023 List COVER that Kiki and her team at Studio Shamshiri designed! We were all over the moon with happiness. Champagne was popped and even the Bride and Groom read the Architectural Digest story, on the beach, on her phone, since their electronics were locked in a safe. Yes, no screens on vacation for them.

https://www.architecturaldigest.com/story/ad100-2023

We’re back in rainy Nashville. Bob is suffering from Covid-related Paxlovid rebound, and I’m feeling the need to write again, which is a good sign, don’t you think? Be gentle with yourselves around this holiday season. I’ve come to believe that moving slower, thinking longer, and worrying less about what might/could be is better for my psyche. My soul is catching up with my bones.

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