We were walking toward the creek when I saw a frozen puddle by the side of the road. Have you ever been overcome with a wild desire to act like a two-year-old? I HAD to tap it with my foot. My balance isn’t the best, and I didn’t want to go too deep and get my sneaker wet. Okay, that was a bit beyond the toddler mentality. I motioned with my hand for John to come nearer. He gallantly extended his arm to assist. Crack! Pop! Crackle! Yesssss! There is nothing like the hollow sound of shattering ice!
John said I must share a mountain-scape that spread itself before my eyes. The sun was coming up, just touching the top of the rising mist. With scenery like this outside the bedroom window, there is an urgency to get up so that you don’t miss a minute.
A bit of cheating: the farthest mountains are really clouds.
I was sitting at the computer when a woodpecker came to the feeder. Son John $ was in the kitchen, and I softly asked his dad to relay a message for him to come see it. He approached softly and quietly, getting a good look at the bird. I felt for my pockets, but pockets are in jeans, not my dress slacks. $ tiptoed away and returned with the toy camera. Gotcha, bird!
When I looked at the photos, the camera seemed to be dictating what the bird said.
“I don’t know why you humans call me Red-bellied Woodpecker. Surely you could have come up with a better name than that. I do have a tiny bit of red on my front, but I’m not going to show it to you.”
“It’s not easy hanging on this silly feeder. It’s humiliating to appear so hunched over. Couldn’t you find something better for me?”
“Hey! Did you get my profile? This is my best side.”
Son John $ came to pick up his birthday gift, an Omni-slope Sighting Clinometer that we ordered and had shipped here. $ neatly cut the tape with the knife he always wears. He opened the box and said, “Oh, no! They took all the fun out of it!”
I couldn’t see what he was looking at, but I assumed he was disappointed with the gifted gizmo. He could send it back if he didn’t like it. Turning toward me, he held out the bubble wrap.
“Look,” he said, “all the bubbles are connected, and you can’t pop them!’
Sure enough, I squeezed one large bubble, and the air expanded into the next compartment. I tried two hands, using two thumbs and four fingers. Even with twisting my face, there was no explosion. The nerve of those packers to ruin our fun!
Would you like to know what a sighting clinometer is used for? You look through it to find how steep the terrain is. I asked if he were planning to build a road. No, he will use it when he needs to know the steepness of a mountain trail. Before he takes customers on a hike, he needs to be able to describe what they will encounter on the trail. $ looked at the mountain in our backyard, and I presume he understood the reading. He was very pleased with the clinometer and put it back in its leather holder. The bubble wrap was left behind. I wonder if scissors would make them pop.
The phone showed the incoming call was from area code 646, which is Manhattan. My answer was a brusque hello, because this was someone I didn’t know. A young man’s voice fumbled a bit and asked for Grandpa. I knew it was not David or Nathaniel. Even under stress, that voice did not belong to either of my grandsons. Immediately I thought of an article I read in the past week about phone scams targeting older people. Playing for time, I said I’d get Grandpa. I took the phone to John and was able to tell him I didn’t think the call was legit. John listened as the person began to explain that his friend’s mother died, and he was at the funeral in Manhattan. He said, “I think you have the wrong number.” The phone went dead. Bingo! It was the beginning of a scam call.
I told John about the article, which said a call will come from a grandchild who is caught in some bad situation and begs you to wire money to him/her. Well, our call didn’t get that far. How I wish I could remember all the points I’d read. One is that you can ask a question of the caller that only your grandchild would know. A second is to hang up and call your relative, which is what we did. John phoned Nathaniel and chatted a bit about what he had done during the day. The answer was that he prepared Eggs Benedict in class, and he sent us a photo of it. [Nathaniel said they made the English muffins a day or so earlier and put together the dish today. His recipe for Hollandaise sauce called for twice as many egg yolks as mine, making it very thick.] I texted David and got a quick reply, so we knew he was fine. I will keep reading the old folks’ magazine to try to stay ahead of current con games.
Nathaniel’s Eggs Benedict
Breakfast was a fun and delicious meal. We were between appointments in neighboring towns and ate at the Paper Town Grill. I had seen it often, driving by this storefront restaurant that stated they served breakfast all day. Shortly after we sat down, the tables filled with older people who were regulars. One woman left her seat and picked up two jam packets near the kitchen door, because she knew where they were kept. The waitress apologized for her forgetfulness. I listened to the accents, all local. I hope to be able to define town mountain talk some day. The accent is lightly Southern, but there is a twist to it that people in the middle of the state don’t have. Rural mountain speech is different altogether, twangy and nasal, sprinkled with words you’ve never heard before.
John noticed two bulletin boards on the wall behind me. One was titled “In Memory of” and the other, “Guess Who?” The memory board had photos and obituaries. The guessing board held children’s photos that had to be of adult patrons. This was the real deal, a place where people’s lives were bound together in life and death. Nobody glared at us, so I presume we didn’t take anyone’s regular table.
John ate an omelet which was light, fluffy, and cheesy. My sausage, eggs, and French toast were excellent. John said he’d be willing to go back there any time. I would like a repeat, too, to try Southern things like biscuits with gravy or a bowl of grits. You can tell a lot about a place by their grits.
I had not paid attention to the dust bunnies gathering in the bathroom. They evidently had time to plan a national convention there while I was enjoying company. After Karen left, I happened to flick my towel so that several of the bunnies hopped across the room. Impressive as that was, I got out the dust buster and did what I had to do.
The very next day I found thousands of small black balls of lint on the rug and marching around the waste basket. Where on earth did they come from? You’d think they had the walls of Jericho in sight. For those of you who love to read mysteries, what clues should I have noticed? Human hair (mine) was not part of the mix. The black balls did resemble sheddings from John’s sweats, somewhat like those scattered about the bedroom and his office. His dirty clothes were there in the closet waiting for me to add mine and walk them to the laundry room, but they weren’t throwing off lint. I’m thinking some gremlin turned his pockets inside out and enjoyed a black snowstorm. Housework is one thing, but doing the same weekly job two days in a row is beyond tedium. If I had been properly tuned, I would have turned tedium into Te Deum, we praise thee, O Lord.
Once in a while, not every Sunday, our pastor will throw out a question during the sermon. He usually gets responses, but this time after his question about baptism, he said, “I can’t hear you.”
A split second later the congregation burst out laughing when he said, “Quick answers. Shorter sermon.”
I can’t remember ever watching the presidential inauguration for any length of time. In past years I would have been chasing after children or working. This time I had the quiet house to myself. With the television on, I vacuumed one room, mopped another, cooked a good old American hamburger for lunch, and ate outside on the porch. I switched stations to get different views and hear different commentators. Since we are not TV watchers, I was shocked at how many notables I recognized on the screen. Didn’t they used to have labels to slap on famous people? It became a game for me to name the person on camera before an announcer said it. I recognized five of the eight supreme court justices, two of my former state’s senators, all the former presidents and their wives, and those who ran for president. Makes sense, doesn’t it? They are historical figures, and I’ve been around a long time.
It didn’t occur to me to close my eyes and bow my head for the prayers, because I was watching TV. You don’t watch television with your eyes closed. That’s why I was amused that several of the clerics read their prayers, looking up at the people as if making a speech. Were they preaching to God or the crowd? Heaven knows, whoever occupies the White House needs lots of fervent prayer.
Listening, even with only half an ear, brought lots of historical tidbits. They have to fill the air with something while nothing is going on. I did wonder about what happened when January 20 fell on a Sunday, and that was easily answered on line. As happened with Obama’s second swearing-in, the oath of office is administered in a private ceremony at noon on Sunday, followed by public ceremonies the following day.
Frankly, I was glad when the day was almost over. Feelings ran so high during the election, that I feared for the safety of all the main characters.
Our friend Karen was here for almost a week, and what a delightful visit it was! The comment I expected to post here was that we never stopped talking. That’s what you’d expect to hear about a BFF. This visit was beyond non-stop chat. I wouldn’t pause for a nap! I often take my shoes off and get in bed for half an hour in the afternoon, mostly to freshen my smile. Karen-time was too precious to waste, so I kept my shoes touching the floor.
The day after she arrived, we tried to drive to Cataloochie to see the elk grazing in the meadow. The road in the park was closed, so we took a picture of a different animal.
When we lived in New York, we began a tradition of having a repeat of our Christmas dinner with Karen and Al. The 25th was always spent with our respective families, so we got together a week or so later. They made appreciative noises over the chicken casserole, as well as the steamed Christmas pudding. For our first dinner of this visit, we had both. The casserole was freshly made, but the pudding was the remnant from Christmas. I pushed the bits together, heated it, poured rum on it, and was amused that fire came from every crevice. It wouldn’t go out, even when I blew on it. John smothered it so that we wouldn’t be eating charcoal. At least we didn’t have to get the fire extinguisher.
We walked to the creek where I took the obligatory picture.
The Vanderbilt mansion, Biltmore, was on the list of things to see. John and I had seen it with David all decorated for Christmas. We loved being there again, seeing staff dismantling the holiday glitter. The orangery was even more beautiful than before, with a simpler display. The picture for this should have been our tired feet. To traipse all about that mansion, upstairs and down, was a bit much after our 2.5-mile walk to the creek.
Knowing Karen likes to knit, I wondered if she would enjoy going to a knitting shop. That suggestion got an enthusiastic yes. She found two and gracefully agreed to pose before the first one after an initial groan. The little shop was crowded with colorful yarns, a group of chairs, customers, and knitting gadgets. We saw some very strange people in that area of downtown Asheville. It’s too bad the toy camera was not ready to record them. Thanks to Karen’s phone and my Garmin, we found a spacious, well-lit shop further out from the city center where there was free parking. I asked which place was better. I would have voted for the bigger, newer one, but what did I know? Not much, judging by her answer. The crowded little shop was her favorite. The selection of yarns was better. If there were fine points listed, I missed them.
Purl’s Knitting Shop
For future visitors – be careful with your comments, because I clobber people with kindness. Karen told us she loves barbecue, and I asked if she would want it every other day. She laughed and agreed. She and John had it at Due South in Virginia and at Bonfire not far from our church. Haywood Smokehouse was her favorite after Due South. When I printed a coupon for Dicky’s, we sensed she was not quite as enthusiastic as before. She didn’t roll her eyes, and she didn’t complain, but I think she was relieved when I said I’d cook after church. Karen ordered a brisket sandwich at the Smokehouse and pronounced it delicious.
I wanted a good photo of her the day she left. An added bonus was that it showed a sweater she had made herself. Isn’t it gorgeous? I am not envious, because I tried knitting about 47 years ago and knew better than to repeat the experiment.
After we took Karen to the airport, I came home and took my shoes off. That nap was just the restorative I needed. She landed when I was writing about the knitting shops.
The week seemed to evaporate from the time we took grandson Nathaniel to the airport until the day John drove David to New York. A lot of laughs and a few photographs later, the house was totally quiet except for the dripping of faucets. We saw zero on the thermometer and thought keeping water moving through the pipes was a good idea. We did the same thing once before, so we don’t really know if the pipes would freeze or not. They are wrapped but hang down below the house where there is no heat whatsoever.
Sunrise –The sun rose every day, but I took a picture only one time. John and I saw the mountain looking north as the sun hit it. At the same time, the house we were approaching seemed to glow. Only when we turned to look behind us did we see the glory of the sky.
Hush puppy — We discovered a new barbecue place near church the day before Nathaniel went home. He was so full he couldn’t finish his hush puppies, so he brought one home. As we drove toward the airport, he remembered he’d left it sitting on the counter. I assured him we’d take care of it. David had the idea of putting his hand in the picture as a measure of its size. He and I split it for a snack.
Barbecue — John’s cousin Pete and wife Debbi from Illinois came for a few days before going to a gathering of dulcimer players at Lake Junaluska. One of our meals was at Dickey’s, the closest barbecue place that is one of my favorites. I’m not sure how much my rating is influenced by the free soft ice cream to which you help yourself at the end of a meal.
Pete, Debbi, David, and John at Dickey’s Barbecue
Christmas Pudding — It doesn’t matter how I strive to make a tiny Christmas pudding, we always have leftovers. I begrudge it refrigerator space in January. Thankfully, Debbi and Pete were game for the ritual of flaming it and eating it with brandy hard sauce. Be forewarned: the next guests will probably be subjected to a repeat until the remaining little ones are gone. I know what I should do. I should make signs and put them on the two pudding containers that John loves them and will gladly give them a warm home.
Debbi, John, and Pete watch the flame on the pudding
Packing Box Labeled Miscellaneous — In making more room in the closet for David, John opened a box that purported to hold miscellaneous items. I wondered what was in the bottom when he brought out a tray of serving items – little spreading knives, silver sugar cube tongs, Norwegian knives, and various spoons. I had gone to bed when David brought a small stack of books to show me. Yes!!!! My long-lost cookbooks were there! I had mourned them for over two years, and there they were in all their faded glory. I knew I had packed them myself, because John wouldn’t have been near them. David snickered when I said, “I’d get up and hug them if I could make myself sit up.”
Two of the books could have been replaced, but they wouldn’t have been the same. I had notes and comments scattered throughout, as well as a check mark in the index by each recipe I had tried. I considered four of them to be irreplaceable. Of historical significance, there was the sturdy ledger with recipes written in my grandmother’s spidery hand. (She was born in 1880.) There aren’t many entries, making me wonder if she had another book that we never found.
Snow We had about six to eight inches of snow, along with everyone else in the eastern US. I took one photo while the snow was still coming down.
Another picture was taken after the skies had cleared.
I went outside with David, because no child, even a 21-year-old, should have to sled alone. There was no way I would have used a sled, but I could stand in the back yard with him and the old oak tree.
About that time Shawn texted back that Logan (6) would come over. Things really got off the ground when I invited neighbor Joyce to join us. “Really?“ She wanted to know. I wrote, “Look out your back window.” She came, dragging a blue plastic sled. It was one of five that had been left under her house when she bought it. Logan said his run was better, so we trudged across the street where I caught a picture of three of the four generations in attendance. The temperature was in the single digits, so we didn’t last long and soon retreated to our kitchen for hot cocoa.
Neighbor Joyce, David, and Logan
There is one last photo with train cars on the porch. I figured the snow that had blown in was about in scale with the cars.
My name is Suki, my human is a writer, and this is about my world. The world according to Suki The Cat. My humans smell funny, look weird, and I can't understand a thing they say, but they feed me, so hey, what are you gonna do?
Mehrling Muse 