As accidents go, this one was far overdue. I am more likely to make a mess in the kitchen than anywhere else, and I haven’t had a spectacular disaster in a long time. I was carrying a loaded coffee filter toward the brewer. How it jumped out of my hand, I’ll never know. Dry coffee exploded over the floor, with deep brown particles skittering everywhere. The dust buster cleaned it up within minutes. Now when I turn on the little machine for a quick pickup, residue of Dutch chocolate coffee perfumes the air around it. It was almost, ALMOST, enough to make me want to clean.
Category: Uncategorized
A Strange Valentine
My intention was to bake something a day ahead for Valentine’s Day. Not wanting to start something I couldn’t finish, I waited for John to unload the china cabinet from the car so that I could go shopping. While I was waiting, I began to clean. I vacuumed our bedroom, swapped computer desks, organized some papers, and deflated the balance ball that slammed me ignominiously to the floor a few months ago. He was still sitting in his chair. I emptied the vacuum and vigorously used it on the two other bedroom carpets. The background information is that I loathe cleaning. It’s like erasing a blackboard. You get it clean, and there will be only a few moments before you or someone else messes it up. John hadn’t moved in his desk chair. I refilled the humidifiers and the fountain. If he had moved, I couldn’t tell. He didn’t seem to be dead. By this time, it was time to start lunch. After our meal together, I checked my email and took a half-hour nap. When I woke up, John was gone, having left a note that he would be back by 5:45. I saw that the cabinet had been moved into the living room. While I was snoozing, neighbor Bob helped John carry it into the house.
John, bless his heart, came back with a lovely plant and a helium balloon. He knew I preferred plants to cut flowers. If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, the way to my heart is with a balloon. Yes, John is a keeper.
It turned out that I misunderstood what he said. He didn’t want that delicate piece of furniture to ride up to New York and back for his lightning trip at the end of the week, not that we shouldn’t use the car until he had unloaded it.
After his explanation, I said, “You know I don’t like to clean the house, but that’s what I was doing while waiting for you. When you have a moment, you might tour the north wing to appreciate the clean carpets that are my Valentine to you. I’m fairly sure this would be more pleasing than a fancy card.”
By the look on his face, he might have quibbled with that. He enjoys commercial cards, whereas I generally have no use for them. I might need to rethink this card thing.
I started a coffeecake for John before noon, and it was finally ready at 6. I suspect the aroma lasted longer than the bread will.
Quick Visit East of the Mountains
We drove about three hours to visit brother Bob, wife Beth, and daughter Julie. We made a quick visit to Costco, that being the closest one in North Carolina to us. We didn’t have a list, so we were going to walk through the huge store and pick up whatever we saw that we needed. You wouldn’t believe how quickly they marched through that place. They all have longer legs and bigger strides than I do, so I didn’t have time to begin to want anything before they jumped in the checkout line! I was too out of breath to complain. If I didn’t know better, I’d think John planned it to save money.
Because of Julie’s work schedule, Beth cooked dinner for us so we that could relax and eat together. For someone who doesn’t particularly like to cook, Beth puts a marvelous meal on the table. We enjoyed that and each other until bedtime. I didn’t think of getting a family photo at that time.
The next day Bob and I had a chance to play together, he on the French horn and I on the piano. He plays trombone with three groups in town, but he has been learning the horn for a year or so. John and I were amazed at how good he sounds now. I was most impressed that he picked out hymns to play and transposed them in his head. I couldn’t transpose up or down one step on the piano.
John and Bob loaded an heirloom china cabinet into the van, and we ate at a local barbecue place that they think is the best in their area. We don’t know what the others are like, but this one was superb. Julie wasn’t able to join us, so I missed catching her with the toy camera.
You might see from the photo that this restaurant was very casual, as are all authentic barbecue places. The food was served in a plastic basket lined with paper. We were given cutlery wrapped in a paper napkin, but that wouldn’t be enough for the messy meals they serve. A paper towel holder was installed at every table with a holder above for the sauces. Bob and I needed the towels, but I think John and Beth were cleaner eaters.
Up for Adoption
Logan came bouncing in the front door, eager to give John a big red paper heart and a Valentine card he’d made himself. John found out he wanted to play on the computer first, and after that they read a book. It wasn’t until after he left that John and I realized he had included a “thank you” with every single request. That might not have been true a week or so ago. Shawn and Bob have worked on his manners, and suddenly they seemed automatic.
Several weeks ago John told me of a very interesting radio interview. He didn’t hear the beginning or the ending, so he doesn’t know who was talking. The subject of that segment was why you call your children by the wrong name. It seems people file names in folders in the brain. There are folders for coworkers, friends, family, etc. When you are calling your child by name, you go to the family folder, but you might come up with a sibling’s name. Once in a while you get your folders mixed, and that’s why you might say the dog’s name instead of your child. However, you never call a child by the cat’s name. It doesn’t seem politically correct, but that’s what the person said.
I was glad John shared that interview with me. I was really taken by surprise when I heard John stumble and call Logan by grandson Nathaniel’s name. What do you make of that? Could there be a grandchild folder? If so, Logan may have slipped in there. Just for the record, we are available for adoption. If anyone wants to adopt us as grandparents, you know where to find us.
Celebrating Snow
We don’t get much snow in North Carolina, so we celebrate it when we do. Even though there was snow in the forecast, pessimistic me didn’t think it would materialize. I was excited to find the ground white when I woke up, so we took our walk to the creek. Perhaps it wouldn’t even be considered a flurry, but snow meandered down that full hour. It was doing its best, despite blue skies nudging it. The photo shows our view as we headed up the street. We wondered if Logan would have school, and his family car driving by told us he was.
The ones not going to classes were grandsons David and Nathaniel in New York. David is north of the city, and Nathaniel is on Long Island. Both responded to my tentative texts. I didn’t want to wake them and figured they could sleep through a text notification. Both knew when they went to sleep last night (OK, maybe in the wee hours of this morning) that school was canceled for the blizzard today.
I laughed at the messages between David and me. It’s much quicker to dictate a text than tap it out, but our phones don’t always understand us.
I spoke, and the phone wrote, “We walked to the creek and head in Maryland for breakfast.”
What? I was telling him we ate Egg MacMehrling. That’s a takeoff of a McDonald meal, putting an egg, cheese, and bacon on an English muffin.
My phone recorded, “I slept off the deck…”
Was I asleep when hanging off the deck?? No, I swept it.
I wrote that I loved him, and David’s phone said, “I love you kits too.”
That would have been appropriate for some of my family and friends who have cats. Kits should have been lots.
I haven’t heard back from daughter Kate in New Jersey. We hope none of our northern friends lose power in the storm.
The photo below was taken exactly four years ago, showing John shoveling after Nate’s blizzard. That was the year we had about 31 inches of snow on Nathaniel’s birthday. The boy admitted to praying for snow, so John accused him ever after of praying for an inch, but doing it 31 times. We had fun being snowbound with our grandson. As it turned out, he might have been better off at his home. His dad lost power for an hour or so, but nothing like the eight days we were marooned in a cold house. Our memories are warm, even if the event was cold.
The Slow Cane Rests Again
Neighbor Shawn recovered from both her total knee replacements quickly and returned the cane I had loaned her. It had been my dress-up cane in 2012, the one I bought when I thought I’d never walk normally again. I never gave it a strenuous workout. Shawn probably didn’t either, since she had a fast recovery. As I was leaving her house, she searched behind some coats and handed it to me with pretty words of thanks. With such a send-off, the cane seemed to come to life and wanted to be useful. Why not? It was a short walk across the street. I had to decide which hand to use. For those who have never used a cane, you need to know that a cane should be opposite the leg that needs support. In my case, the right leg is not as strong as the left, so I put the cane in my left hand.
Their wide, shallow steps were user friendly last week – with the cane, not so much. To avoid falling, I held it up on the last two steps. On level ground, or as level as you have in the mountains, I strode off down the stone-paved walkway. The cane seemed to lag behind. Once on the street and my driveway, it must have put on the brakes. What a stubborn little cuss it was! For some reason it deigned to help me up the stairs into the house, but I quickly propped it against a table and turned the camera on it. After that I stowed it in the umbrella stand before it could reach out and do damage. Maybe in a week I’ll pet it to show it a little love and kindness.
Here in the mountains, it’s good to be alert at sunrise and sunset. The sky can change in an instant, and you don’t have much time to record it before it is gone again. I stood and watched the one below for a minute or so before the sun moved on. I moved, too, walking to the creek in 58 degree weather. The wind would have done March proud. It was both gusty and gutsy.
Memory
I recently had a wellness visit with my primary care physician, something promoted and paid for by Medicare. I filled out standard forms, and so did the PA and doctor.
PA Kayla said, “I’m going to give you a list of three items to remember, and I’m going to ask you to draw a clock face on this paper to show 7:10. The words are table, pen, and apple.”
Before I could panic, I asked Kayla to spell pen. Growing up in West Tennessee, I cannot hear the different between pin and pen. I can understand and pronounce disk and desk, but not the other two. I’m disabled when it comes to tin and ten, too.
How hard could it be to remember three items? If they gave me only three, it must be fairly difficult. I put a table in my memory and placed the pen and apple on it. After drawing the clock, I successfully listed the three items. Now, a week later almost to the hour, those three items are still cluttering up my memory. It’s almost as bad as having an ear worm (a song that keeps repeating in your head).
I told John about the memory test and pointed out that my memory is still good. We laughed about the grocery list. During the week before the doctor’s visit, I picked up the grocery list on the way out the door. After doing a couple of errands, we drove to the supermarket. The list was missing, later found stuck to newspapers I’d thrown in the recycle bin. He handed me a piece of scrap paper from his pocket, and I wrote down the ten items I could remember. After recovering the original list, we found we had bought everything on it. Now that’s what I call a victorious Senior Moment!
I walked alone to the creek, having a nice chat with Marla on the way and a short one with neighbor Dawn on the way back. John was attending a funeral on Long Island. Attached is a photo taken on the steep part of Qualla Road. It’s quite deceptive, looking like an ordinary country lane meandering through the trees. I was panting when I came back and wouldn’t have thought to turn around to look at the view, thinking it enough that I made it to the top without falling out. Anyway, the sun was shining on Purchase Knob with the mountains behind me casting a shadow on the scene. This is a winter view, one that you wouldn’t see when the leaves are on the trees.
Note to khof and Dritter: you should have gotten an email notice about this post. Of course, if you didn’t, you won’t see this note.
Chivalry Lives On
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.
It’s not Easy Being Red-bellied
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.”
The Nerve!
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.
Mehrling Muse 