Whirlwind

Neighbor Shawn told us 5-year-old Logan asked to come over to our house every day. We said it was fine, and a few days later the doorbell rang. Enter one cute little whirlwind. As I talked to him, John slipped in the kitchen to remove the M&M’s. We normally keep nuts and candies on the counter, but Logan is not allowed sweets right now. Within ten seconds he was on tiptoe, trying to see what was in the dish. I poured out some cashews for him. If he were disappointed, he didn’t show it.

John commented on the horses running down the pasture, lifting Logan to look out the window. He streaked toward the back door, asking to go out. While I was outside with Logan, John finished putting boxes in the attic and pushed the ladder back up. We laughed later at all that might have happened if the boy had spied that ladder. Meanwhile, Logan and I talked to the horses. Without thinking, I turned to pick him up. It has probably been 15 years since I picked up a child. Logan isn’t heavy, but for a moment I didn’t think he’d make it up on my hip. How embarrassing to get old without noticing!

Back in the house, I wondered if Shawn knew Logan was with us. I texted her that we were enjoying him. The boy requested Curious George, which he had seen on our TV set once before. We knew we didn’t have a DVD of it, but we did find a channel with children’s programming. I took a quick photo of this man-in-the-making. Logan was wielding the remote like a pro. Are male children born knowing how to use a remote?

120915 Logan with remote.JPG

We don’t know if Logan decided to leave because he was tired or because he finished all the nuts. In any case, he announced he was leaving. I watched until I saw his front door open and close, knowing he was safely home. When I sat down to write about our whirlwind visit, it occurred to me that we might be living the cartoon strip Dennis the Menace. We are an old couple being visited by a young neighbor. I resemble George’s wife, and Logan would be Dennis without the irritating qualities. John doesn’t quite fit as George, because he loves talking and playing with children. Give us a few years. We might become crotchety in time.

Can You Break a Toe on an Exercise Bicycle?

If anyone could break a toe using an exercise bicycle, it’s yours truly. After all, I’m the one who fell off Lise’s stationery bike. No bones were broken, but I had massive bruises that decency forbade me to show off proudly.

The present tale began on Thanksgiving Day when my brother brought his exercise bicycle for me to use. I was thrilled to have it. We put it on the screened porch where I could use it on days that were not fit for walking outside. Recently I used it when Lise went out there to smoke. I thought I could chat with her, but the fan part was a little too noisy. There was a pro and a con. I could improve my health while she damaged hers – not exactly fair.

An aside: Lise told me what happened when she smoked at my dad’s house. He had quit smoking decades before, but he loved the smell of cigarette smoke. He actively encouraged her bad habit by saying, “Come on out and smoke. I’m not going to begin again, but I want to use your second-hand smoke.”

My over eagerness backfired. I had walked to the creek, but I decided I’d rev up my brain between bouts of backups on the computer. I’m rather paranoid about losing files and photos, so once a month everything is copied to flash drives and an external drive. It’s best to take a break so I don’t get confused. I was out there for the third time when my foot slipped off the pedal. Wham! It hit something quite solid, a bar that you might use to pick up the machine. A second later the right handlebar jumped off. Son $ came outside to smoke, finding me entwined in the bike, muttering about a broken toe and trying to see how to put the bike back together. He couldn’t fix it, either, so I came back inside to do something fun – write about my toe, which by then had quit hurting. A big toe jutting out at an odd angle would have made a much more exciting story.

120515 Broken bike on the floor.JPG

A week later on a warm afternoon I looked at the bicycle again. $ was on the right track. John came out and tightened a nut for me, and the bike was ready to ride. It still loosens itself, so I’ll have to tighten it every five minutes while pedaling.

Grieving with Friends

Grieving with friends who have lost a spouse is new to me. You want to let them know you are thinking of them and that you care about what they are going through. You don’t want to hit raw nerves to cause more pain.

071315 Margaret Aydelotte's memorial service.JPG — Church filled with friends celebrating Margaret’s life

We went out to lunch with James, whose wife Margaret died a few weeks ago. With ritual American manners, we asked, “How ARE you?”

James graciously told us he had a stock answer for that question. He says, “I’m adjusting, but I don’t like it.”

What a marvelous answer! Conversation bore it out when he talked of driving to see most of his relatives, saying, “I drove solo for 2,000 miles without my navigator.”

His characteristic wit and good humor came through. He spoke of downsizing because he is moving to a smaller place in February. He said, “On that long trip, I took things back to my children that they hadn’t necessarily requested.”

In recent years he and Margaret celebrated Thanksgiving with friends. Although he had perhaps 10 invitations this year, he opted to help feed others. The day before the holiday he carved turkeys, and he helped clean up after the meal on Thursday. They served 150 people that day.

I shared with James something Amy laughed about. She went to a regular doctor’s appointment. She said, “You always fill out the same forms every time you go. Looks like they could keep it on file so you wouldn’t have to do that, but they don’t. I came to the line to check off married, single, or other. What am I now? Ron is dead. Does that make me OTHER? I’m not sure I want to be OTHER.”

Later that day I quoted James’ stock answer to Amy. She agreed it was good. She said, “When people ask me how I am, I tell them it depends on the day. I’m new at this, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”

I’ve come to the conclusion that death is something you never get used to. Those with a vibrant faith in God know they will someday be reunited in heaven. Today I’m thinking particularly of Peg, Sue, Marty, Carol, Linda, Tom, and Ruth whose spouses died in the last few years or a bit longer. I love you and will continue to pray for you.

091415 (32) Goodbye Howard.JPG

Commander Fails to Take a Command

Lise’s departure had been on the calendar for weeks. We knew we had to let her go. John parked in the cell phone waiting area at the airport while I went in the terminal to have a few more minutes with her. That was my reason. Her plan was to demonstrate how easy it would be for us to get on a plane to Denmark. As she walked toward security, I phoned John to circle around to pick me up. Back came a call from him – the Jeep Commander wouldn’t start. Thank heavens that parking lot was within walking distance of the terminal! John knew the problem was not the battery, because all the lights were working. He turned the key, and nothing happened. My mental threats to the vehicle had no effect, either. He called AAA to send a tow, and we settled down to wait. The car was warm enough while the sun was shining on it. Lise’s plane took off when the clouds in the west were pink and lavender. We began to get a little chilly, wearing only light jackets. Finally the tow truck (called a wrecker by the driver) arrived and loaded up the disabled Jeep. We climbed into the warm cab and set off.

The driver was not particularly talkative, but John wanted to butter him up before asking him to drop us off at home. Unfortunately, we’re getting good at being rescued. Half a year ago we were stuck at Bridal Veil Falls when the Jeep wouldn’t start. The tow truck dumped the vehicle at our local garage and took us home. John began chatting to the man. I questioned John later about the conversation, saying I had not understood half the man’s words.

“I didn’t, either!” declared John. He thought the man grew up in a small mountain town on the NC/SC border. He may have had a mountain accent, but it was nothing like the speech of locals in our area.

That big truck came all the way to our drive, and John tipped the driver as we got out. Instead of using our drive and backing into Jean’s, he backed all the way up the street. Amy said she noticed a lot of lights and wondered what was going on. I wouldn’t be surprised if Shawn and Bob heard all the backup beeps. We couldn’t have announced our homecoming in a more public fashion.

As we walked past the poor old heap the next morning, John tried to start it. No go. I walked to the creek while he went inside to arrange for the repairman to look at it. We spent much of the day in Asheville and checked back on the way home. The owner said he got in the Jeep an hour after John did, and it started immediately. Four times during the day it started as if nothing had ever been wrong with it. We drove it home, but Jeepers! who in their right mind would trust it now?

Homeless at Home

I suspect I evaded the cameras on Thanksgiving and the day after, so I don’t have proof that I looked homeless. I was presentable enough on the holiday, wearing a green top and black jeans. As usual, the following day I wore the same clothes to walk. People were up and waiting for us when we got home, so I went into high gear to get breakfast on the table. Of course, we visited at the table and drifted into the kitchen to chat. I planned to shower and change clothes when there was a natural break. Well, the natural break never came, not while I kept talking. On the spur of the moment, we went to the dish barn down the road, and after that, we ate leftovers for a late lunch. By then I had quit thinking of getting clean. After Beth and Bob left for home, I wanted to write before the young set came home. The clock chimed six times. Well, who showers for the day at 6? Might as well go to bed dirty. The next morning I didn’t have any already-worn clothes except the ones that were double dirty. I’d wear them only to walk to the creek with John and visitor Chris, or so I thought. We saw Amy on the way out and invited her to have breakfast with us. It’s marvelous having neighbors who can do things on the spur of the moment. We had some good laughs at the table, but I knew the next activity had to take place inside the shower. I was afraid that at any moment someone might tell me that I SMELLED homeless.

112815 $ JC Anne Chris Lise.JPG — Amy took this, showing me in dirty clothes

Our Thanksgiving Fun

I had the phone with me in the bathroom. Son $ rang, asking, “Where is everybody? I’m here in the kitchen.”

I replied, “Lise and Chris aren’t dressed yet, Dad is at church and I’m in the bathroom, stark naked.”

$ quickly said, “I’ll stay in the kitchen.”

I told him I’d be with him before he finished a cup of coffee, which I was. Later Lise and Chris saw the horses in the pasture next door and asked if I had apples. I had saved six cores from the pie and had other junk apples. They enjoyed giving the animals treats and petting them.

112615 Chris Lise pet horses.JPG — Chris and Lise talking to the horses next door

$ opened the door to my brother Bob and Beth. John came back shortly after that, and we noshed on spinach dip until the turkey was done. $ had two other dinners to attend, so he left before we got down to the serious business of eating. We had standard fare – turkey, dressing, gravy, frozen cranberry salad, green bean casserole, and sweet potato casserole (made from fresh potatoes this year and well worth the minimal effort).

112615 Bob Beth JC L Chris Thanksgiving dinner.JPG — Bob, Beth, John, Lise, and Chris with the remains of Thanksgiving dinner

Bob asked Beth how her team was doing, cause for turning on the TV. Beth watched the game as the rest of us wondered about the blue shoes on the football players. I daresay our household was unusual in that only one woman was following the action. Her team won, so we were all happy.

John pointed out the huge newspaper for the day, mostly ads. All but Chris from England laughed at ourselves for having participated in at least one Black Friday spree in the past. We dove into the stack of ads to see what we would not go out to buy the next day. Chris and Lise said European merchants are catching on, and they are having Black Friday shopping days without the Thanksgiving Day prelude. In Denmark the words came straight from English and were not translated into Danish.

112615 Beth Bob Chris JC L Black Friday fliers.JPG — Beth, Bob, Chris, John, and Lise looking at Black Friday ads

Someone asked was it time for dessert, and that was hours after the turkey was put away. Instead of supper, we had cranberry mince pie and pumpkin cheesecake. Appreciation was high.

Our after dinner entertainment was listening to Bob play the French horn. He practices every day and is improving greatly. I think he had just started the last time he was here several months ago. He is proficient playing the trombone and is probably still good on the trumpet. He can also play the saxophone, clarinet, flute and musical saw. My shoe was untied as I walked toward the piano to accompany him. That sparked the next phase of entertainment as Bob demonstrated Beth’s knot. He first did it on my shoe and repeated it several times so that Lise and Chris would learn. By the last time, my head was almost on the keyboard as I struggled to keep my leg stretched out toward the sofa. Bob removed his own shoe and handed it to Chris to practice.

112615 Chris practices Beth's knot.JPG

At the end of the day, I refolded Chris’ jumper (sweater) to help it dry. He washed all the tops he had worn, and Lise discovered they couldn’t be put in the dryer. The tags said to dry flat. I offered to take one to put it on the heated towel rack. Who could have predicted to what lengths that jumper would go to get the sleeves dry?

112615 Chris' sweater drying.JPG

It Doesn’t Pay to Hurry

The day before Thanksgiving has always been a cooking/baking day for me. We were a little late getting back from our walk because of an 18-wheeler. The big rig, loaded with slabs of stone, came up the steep hill just after we turned into our road. The little state road begins hopefully enough, but it is barely two lanes wide before it degenerates into dirt and gravel. The semi stopped at the top of the hill, waited a bit, then began backing into a driveway. After several tries, the driver pulled further down the hill and stopped again. Every time he moved, we stopped to watch. The next attempt was halfway down, but that didn’t work, either. John sent him telepathic messages to try the farm. We could no longer see, so we walked on. I wondered if we’d see him stuck at the bottom of the hill, but I forgot to look when we got home.

Seeing the time, I went into high gear. Lise and Chris were going to visit family friends, and if I didn’t hustle, they would not have time to eat the pumpkin muffins I planned for breakfast. I aim for one pumpkin dish a day when Lise is here. Just in case anyone wants to know, I wouldn’t mind chocolate once a day if I stay at your house. I was hurrying, but I also had half my mind on the next cooking project, the cranberry mince pie that defines Thanksgiving for John. I stirred the dry ingredients, dumped the wet ones on top, blended as quickly as I could, and slung the batter into muffin cups. I know just the spoon to use, how much to load it with, and presto! The job was done. Into the oven! Oops! Before the pan got hot, I realized I hadn’t added the oil.

“John!” I yelled. “Can you come help me right now?”

Bless his heart, he came on the run. He scooped the batter back into the bowl while I greased the spare muffin tin. It took only seconds more to blend in the oil and fill the cups again. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. Lise likes limp bread, and I like crispy. I took the tin out of the oven as Lise and Chris came to the table, three minutes shy of the timer ding. The muffins were a little wobbly. Would the centers be gooey? Thank heavens they were acceptable. I felt like a spectator at a sports event, rooting on the team to beat the clock. They were quite late leaving, for which I’ll take responsibility for at least 15 minutes.

Unless I left out the sugar, the cranberry mince pie will be fine.

It was.

112515 Cranberry mince pie.JPG

A Toothsome Day

Daughter Lise had to spend a lot of time in the dentist’s chair, so John, Chris, and I tooled around on the Blue Ridge Parkway. We discovered a new waterfall that we’d never seen before. We hadn’t spotted it, maybe because we were going in a different direction or because leaves had fallen.

112415 Woodfin Cascades

Obviously other people had seen it, because the overlook sign named it Woodfin Cascades. We wondered about the words cascade and waterfall. According to Wikipedia, a waterfall is water flowing over the edge of a cliff, while a cascade is a series of waterfalls. If that’s true, I have been misspeaking all my life. I should have been exclaiming over cascades, the kind of falling water I see most often.

Chris near upper area of cascades

Icicles beside road

When Lise was free, we went in two breweries in Sylva. I had no idea these places existed. We voted the second one the best because their space was more inviting, and the people were eager to please. We also liked the name – Sneak E Squirrel. Lise couldn’t eat because her mouth was numb, but we were hungry. Expecting to have an early dinner, we asked for a club sandwich to be split three ways. Those accommodating people did it! Lise had her reward in due course – a pumpkin cheesecake milkshake. I always thought she came at Thanksgiving to see us, but now I think the lure is pumpkin.

112415 L Chris JC in Sneak E Squirrel.JPG — Lise, Chris, John at Sneak E Squirrel

We shopped at Michael’s and Walmart, which took hours instead of minutes. With all that walking, we were hungry and gobbled down food at my favorite Mexican restaurant in Asheville. Chris was interested in authentic Mexican fare, since he can’t get it in Manchester. I was more than willing to go along with him.

Jasper Daniels

We toured the Jack Daniels’ distillery in Lynchburg, TN. What a tour! It’s the first time I’ve ever seen tourists carded before being allowed to take a tour. We took a photo of Chris and Lise with a white statue of Jack in the visitor’s center. We were in and out of a tour bus, walking outside, and climbing stairs to peer in the vats of Tennessee whiskey in the making. Everyone was invited to pose with a different statue of Jack in the grounds. They said it was deceptive, because the statue was several inches taller than the man actually was.

Lise and Chris with Jack Daniels in the visitor's center — Lise and Chris with Jack Daniels in the visitor’s center

Our personable guide started the story of Jasper who later had the nickname Jack. He disliked his stepmother and, when he was seven years old, told his dad he wanted to leave home. He did, with the father’s agreement. The Lutheran pastor and his young wife were just moving into the parsonage. When they heard his story they invited him to live with them. The pastor turned out to be the best whiskey maker in the county. Later the parishioners disliked having their pastor preaching about one spirit on Sundays and making another on weekdays. He agreed to quit making whiskey and sold the business to Jack when the lad was 16 years old.

We took a photo or so outside, because we were not allowed to take any inside the production area. The great distinction of Jack Daniels is that they use charcoal to filter the liquor, otherwise it would simply be a bourbon. We were allowed to snap the packing room where people were inspecting the bottles, cleaning off the seals, and preparing them for shipping. The tour ended in the tasting room where we had sips of four products.

I didn’t expect to get looped. I’m always careful with wine, though, because I can get woozy on half a glass. Having one mixed drink has never yet done me in. I reassured myself that we’d had a big Cracker Barrel breakfast, which should have mitigated the effect of the whiskey. Finishing the tasting, I went into the ladies’ room. I was facing a wood paneled wall painted dark green. I looked at a hook and perhaps swayed a bit. Good grief! I couldn’t focus on that hook. The grooves in the wood went one way, and the hook moved the other. This lasted several long, long seconds. Surely I wasn’t going to fall out right there in a bathroom stall! I blinked several times and moved my head. Ah! That was better. I was looking through two different levels of my trifocals. Whew! What a relief!

An Accent on Travel

We are having a marvelous time with Lise and her friend Chris. They flew into Asheville, giving us an opportunity to see the little airport for the first time.

Chris is a train fan, which of course delighted John. We rode behind a steam engine at the Tennessee Railroad Valley Museum in Chattanooga. There were photo ops galore.

Chris, Lise, John

John, Lise, Chris in train car

We stayed at the Chattanooga ChooChoo hotel, a place still full of railroad memorabilia. There used to be a nice restaurant in the old railroad station, but no more. Now that space is used only for a $10 breakfast. Sitting in the lobby, Lise and I checked our cell phones and found a local barbecue joint that looked authentic. Tasting barbecue was high on Lise’s list for Chris. Photos couldn’t capture the fun we had. Our young waitress noticed John’s accent and had him pegged as a New Yorker. I was listening to her and found she was a local. The young lady checked on us often, and finally asked where we came from.

John answered, “Denmark, England, West Tennessee, and New York.”

She was intrigued and stood there chatting. I think she was hoping for a brief bio from each of us so she could listen to our accents. The owner sauntered over, and I wanted to keep him talking so that Chris could soak in his Tennessee mountain version of English. It was unique. I didn’t ask Chris if he understood him. I’m almost positive the man would not have been able to decipher Chris’ Manchester accent. When we left, we all agreed we had experienced authentic tastes and sounds of the area.