Desalinization

Desalinization is the process of removing salt after an hour of humid gardening. The more common name is “shower”.

A desalinizating shower probably should be followed by a watermelon fest. I would shield you from my selfie, substituting a photo of grandson David approaching his personal feast after work.

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Tireless Relatives

My brother Bob and wife Beth could make the Energizer Bunny look anemic. They exhibit an aura of youth and vibrancy that at times makes me feel breathless. Lack of breath was a reality when they joined us in our morning walk to the creek. I could almost keep up with them going downhill, but the steep grade of Qualla Road? No way! It has become a tradition for me to take a photo of those who walk with us all the way to Jonathan Creek. That is a bit unfair, since no one looks his best after a mile-long, brisk walk. Still, people are more relaxed at the creek than after hoofing it up the steep hill.

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I thought more about walking after being with the Energizers. There are various groups for sports, like heavy weight and light weight boxers. There are age groups for long foot races so that a 20-year-old isn’t competing against a 70-year-old. I need this kind of distinction! If nothing else, I want the peace of mind that I’m not a walking failure. I can’t compete against tall people like Beth and Bob whose strides must be two yards long. And grandson Nathaniel? At 6’4” he must go 1/8^th of a mile with each step. I’d put myself in the Short Stride group, one step above Baby Stride. Going up the scale, we could have Normal, Tall, Giant, and Ginormous Strides. I need a mathematician here to set my foot-icap.

Our group activity was going to the Smith-McDowell mansion in Asheville, which I think is the oldest brick mansion in the city. Our tour began in the basement where the winter kitchen was on display. Each room on the upper two floors showed a different time period for the house, and there was a hands-on table in every room. We could pick up a curling iron, look through a stereoscope, and try using a button hook. In the dining room people were invited to arrange a place setting on a table, a challenge to get the plates and cutlery in the proper position. A most knowledgeable and engaging guide enhanced this visit as she introduced us to the past inhabitants with photographs. We wandered about on our own, but she was there to answer all our questions. How I wish I had taken her picture as she showed me how to work a mountain toy made with two sticks! The one you held steady had notches on it with a whirling blade at the end, only I couldn’t make it move. The other was just a plain stick that you rubbed back and forth over the notches. The trick was to hook your finger over the stick to make the blade go one way and press your thumb against the other side to reverse the blade.

Nathaniel was our chef, cooking turkey burgers and brats while I assembled the rest of the meal.

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David volunteered to help Beth and Bob continue my battle with the juniper bed. By the time dinner was ready, they had trimmed about 95 percent of it back to the original stone boundaries. I had never seen those stones, since they were already overgrown when we moved here.

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Lively conversation was a part of every meal. I may not have written about Nathaniel’s prowess with words. He has a wonderful vocabulary and speaks with confidence on many subjects. However, you need to be alert. When he doesn’t know the correct word, he inserts one he has made up on the spot. It’s such a smooth part of the patter that you wonder if you heard it correctly. I let him finish his sentence, but I called him on “oblitherate.” All of us managed to use that word at least 10 times, including a laughing Nathaniel. What a good sport he is!

After our walk (breathless for me), we had a leisurely breakfast. Nathaniel challenged Beth to do more gardening. She, Bob, and I finished off the juniper jungle while our favorite teen dug up the iris bed. We had a few blooms the first spring and only one this year. The fellows retreated to the cool house as we went after the weeds and replanted the iris nearer the top of the dirt. Fair-skinned Bob came out to applaud our progress, hiding from the sun in the shade of the crepe myrtle for the viewing.

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I assumed our projects were finished when Bob mentioned the refrigerator. He and Nathaniel were on the floor looking at it, supervised by John and Beth. Bob vacuumed the grill, and they cleaned behind the appliance while John went for the part we needed.

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The toy camera insisted on a farewell picture to show our relatives when they weren’t working. Grandson David was missing from most of thesephotos because he was at work.

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Snickers for Breakfast

When I brought the container to the table, I explained to grandsons David and Nathaniel that it was something new. A friend sent a recipe for summer oatmeal, and I wanted to try it before serving it to brother Bob and wife Beth. We were recently at their house where a new favorite breakfast was Greek yogurt and fruit. This recipe included both, along with oats and flavoring.

I went back in the kitchen for something, and when I came back, the lads had smirks on their faces. Nathaniel admitted he thought the concoction looked like tuna fish, at which David’s laugh escaped. Both dissolved into snickers. As you can guess, there were no candy bars in sight.

Nathaniel said, “Gran, you have to admit it does look like tuna salad.”

Grinning back, I said, “You are absolutely right.”

They rushed to assure me that they would give the dish a fair try. I suggested they take a teaspoonful to taste and get regular cereal if they didn’t like it. I added fresh blueberries to mine, and a few bites later, some banana slices.

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We got a bit silly after that. David demonstrated how thick the stuff was, turning his bowl upside down.

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Not to be outdone, Nathaniel did the same with the serving dish.

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They brought up some movie clip they had shared with me, one where the homemaker serves a slimy neon-blue dessert to her husband and son. It slithered off the table in the closing scene. More snickers. One of them, I’m not sure which, said we should put hot chocolate mix on it, to mimic what Bob adds to his breakfast yogurt. We had tried that at his house and liked it. I went to the cabinet to pull down a box that had not been opened. My surprise was finding there were K-cups inside. I stabbed one with a knife, and we all took some.

Beth and Bob are already on the road to come here. If you want to vote whether I should make breakfast oatmeal for them, cast your vote by 10 pm on August 4. Comments welcome any time.

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An Old Conversation

John was reading the newspaper when he put it down and asked, “Do you think we aught to go to this meeting about Alzheimer’s disease?”

“No, why should we?” I replied.

He said, “I just thought it might be a good idea to learn more about it.”

I wondered if he thought I was heading for it. If so, I wouldn’t be interested, would I? I’d be oblivious. Was he trying it on for himself? I’d be even more disinterested if he were hurrying me to be his caretaker. Let’s just keep our heads in the sand.

Nothing more was said, and we went on with the day. Not more than two hours later I was preparing one of our favorite Jello salads. Pouring it into the mold I always use, I wondered why the level was lower than usual. Golly Pete! I had forgotten to put in a key ingredient, crushed pineapple. That was easily remedied, but maybe I shouldn’t have terminated that “old” conversation so quickly.

Queen Anne’s Lace

I was quite young when my parents identified Queen Anne’s lace for me. Egocentric child that I was, I took pride in the bountiful display of this beautiful bloom that was connected to my name.. It never occurred to me that a flower in every ditch was not likely to be precious.

Fast forward 65 years. If anyone asked me to identify Queen Anne’s lace from the window of a moving car, I could have done it in an instant. You are welcome to laugh when I tell you I did not recognize it in our own garden. A plant that voluntarily came up two years in a row was accepted for what it was – something with wispy green foliage, spindly stems, and bedraggled white blooms hardly worth looking at. Neighbor Amy, in response to my openness to hear her garden secrets, identified it about a year ago. She gently let me know most folks would consider it a weed.

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I thought my opinion of the weed would remain low. It did until a gifted naturalist wrote about it in the Asheville newspaper at the end of the growing season. I looked for the article from last year but couldn’t find it. Daughter Lise found it, though, and she lives in Denmark. Maybe I was too close. The man included a folk tale of how it got its name, explained it was part of the carrot family, and published a painting of it done by his wife. He noted that many mature blooms have a dark spot in the middle which may attract insects. I looked at every bloom, trying to see that black spot and was unsuccessful. Click here to read the article.

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This year I again looked for a tiny black area in the blooms we passed on our morning walk. Eureka! Many of the plants had them! I have no clue why I couldn’t see a single one last year. The tiny black area was usually raised above the white, which was quite distinctive close up. When we drive in and out of our area, I wear a smug smile. I know a secret now that was hidden from me for most of a generous lifetime.

A Garden to Die For

I am a most reluctant gardener which has been stated many times before. I am also a miser, and that must be the root of the problem. We inherited a nice little garden with this house. John said at the outset that he was not going to get caught up in it, so what choice did I have? I couldn’t let the previous owner’s investment of time and money go to waste, could I? Besides, I was surrounded by real gardeners – former neighbor Amy, across the street Shawn and Bob, and next door Joyce. They might have needed someone to look down on, and I was the perfect one. Instead, they were most helpful, willing to share advice whenever asked. I couldn’t let down the neighborhood.

I almost gardened myself silly this morning. All I went out for was to trim off the dead roses. Several times I had clipped around two areas with low-growing evergreens near the pergola. That’s where I started on the way to the roses.

073016 Evergreen trim only half done.JPG — First clippings are near the stone wall.

Somehow I missed the big bed just outside the porch screened door. The former owners had the area carefully ringed in stones, and I let those bushes get way past their boundary. Despite having already put in my quota of pruning time, I whacked about 5 feet of that line. The butchering was done with a dull pair of clippers, the action being more twisting than cutting.

073016 Stones now exposed.JPG — Stones were exposed, and the gravel walk was strewn with branches.

Miles of evergreen later, I almost couldn’t walk back in the house. I came in thankful the garden didn’t kill me today. I really don’t want a garden that I WILL DIE FOR!!!!

Minty Juleps

Grandson Nathaniel (16) found a video showing how to make a mint julep. He showed it to me, knowing we had a healthy bed of mint plants near the back porch. The video showed a man pulverizing the leaves with a little sugar using a cocktail muddler. Not being drinkers, we didn’t have a muddler, but we did have my grandfather’s mortar and pestle.

Granddaddy was born about 1875. He was one of seven or eight children from a family not blessed with worldly goods. I have no idea what jobs he may have had until the prelude to this story. He was a tinsmith working with his uncle. I think he was in his late 20’s, certainly not a mere youth. He sold his part of the business and presented himself at Vanderbilt in Nashville, telling the dean he wanted to become a dentist.

The dean quickly set him straight, that it was impossible. Granddaddy said, “Please let me explain. I’ve sold my business, and I can’t go back.”

That old defender of standards said he couldn’t become a student just because he wanted to. For a starter, he needed pre-med courses. Granddaddy’s highest academic achievement was his graduation from the 8^th grade. After much pleading on Granddaddy’s part, the dean told him, “I will let you enroll, but one wrong step and you are out.”

The only proof I have that he became a dentist is a scanned copy of the announcement of the partnership with my dad, probably from 1938, the year Dad graduated from dental school.

Announcement of Maclin dental partnership [This did not show in the preview, but clicking on it brought it up.]

Margaret, my dad’s dental assistant, saved the mortar and pestle for me after the practice was sold. As you can understand, this is very precious to me. I can imagine Granddaddy using it in the lab. Way back then dentists did most, if not all, of their lab work themselves. Nathaniel used it to crush mint leaves.

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I called the drink a Minty Julep because it had no alcohol in it. We enjoyed our handcrafted drinks on the porch, sipping them slowly on a hot summer day. Ummmm!

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Till the Cows Come Home

How many times have you made a statement about something that is not likely to happen? It had been a long time since I stated, “That won’t happen till the cows come home.”

I am now wondering what unlikely event has or will happen to us. I looked toward the mountains and saw two black calves suspiciously close to neighbor Dawn’s pergola. Which side of the fence were they on? The wrong side! I called John and wondered what we should do. Cows had come onto that property only once since we moved here. As I began to text Shawn, Bob, and former neighbor Amy, the animals moved toward us. Son $ and grandson David joined us, one of them saying, “till the cows come home.”

The calves wandered into our yard, checking out the grass which does indeed seem greener on our side of the fence. They nosed about our burn pit, grazed up the hill, and seemed to be enjoying their vacation.

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Shawn and Bob were in Vermont on a mission trip, but I texted them, anyway. It would have been in their interest to get the animals back in the pasture. There was no immediate response, so I sent a text message to Amy, now living in Charlotte. As soon as they responded with the owner’s name, I went on line to look it up. Rats! I had forgotten that it is almost impossible to find a private person’s number. About that time, David told me the calves had snuck back into their pasture. He saw them rejoining the herd on the right side of the fence.

We had our delayed dinner, grilled by grandson Nathaniel. That was followed by roasting marshmallows, something I hadn’t done in a Colonialist’s lifetime. I’m sure I last had a molten ‘mallow more than 30 years ago. What a divine treat! I’m not going to wait another 30 years, especially after Nathaniel read the label and said I’d eaten only 100 calories of sweets.

The other really unusual thing that happened that evening was a lightning storm. It began while we were playing with fire (and marshmallows). David found the best viewing was on the bedroom deck. He watched the silent show while I finished reading email for the day. I joined him outside to see streak after streak of lightning flash about the sky. Oddly, there was no thunder that we could hear. The show was still going on when I gave up and went to bed after 11 p.m. It had been a very satisfying day, the day the cows went home.

Hoedown to Low Down

I did a little gardening before we left on our weekend trip. I put the hoe down, and we headed off the mountain to Lowcountry. What a contrast! Instead of four, there were seven of us, and we TALKED. Not only did we talk, but we did sightseeing around Charleston. John’s sister Chris and husband Steve moved there about a year ago. Each time we visit them, they have suggestions of things to see and do. Our grandsons, David and Nathaniel, had not seen their house before. They loved the home tour which ended in the tree house at dusk.

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We met lots of new people at church and worshiped with a couple of old friends from our former church on Long Island. Chris and Steve go to the same service they do. More on this later.

I was excused from the Sunday excursion because of the heat and humidity, but Chris went with John and the boys to tour the Yorktown aircraft carrier and the Vietnam War memorial.

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I have no pictures of my pleasant afternoon. I chatted with Steve and their daughter Barbara, and Barbara took me on a tour of Summerville. My impression is that the town is now huge, but the old center of town is tiny. It has some vintage buildings with lots of character, but we didn’t brave the heat to explore. We did get out for the library. Barbara remembered that I’m a huge fan of libraries, and I enjoyed seeing theirs. People check in their own books at the door and check out others near the main desk, both streamlined operations. I was also impressed with the do-it-yourself reservation system. Books that had been put on hold were shelved near the front door, organized by the name on the reservee’s library card. I wondered if the system would block any other person from taking an item. That makes me seem underhanded! I wouldn’t STEAL anyone’s book!

Now, back to Nancy and Ken. They joined us for dinner, so we had lots of time to visit. I’ll post some photos, realizing that if you know them, you’ll want to see them. If you don’t know them, look anyway, because they are dear to us.

Chris pointed out the cut glass bowl in the center of the table. I was so glad David and Nathaniel were there to hear about it. The boys’ great-great grandfather used it for home baptisms. He was a Lutheran pastor and would use it if a baptism or christening were not held in the church.

The next day Chris took us on a harbor cruise in Charleston. The last time Chris and Barbara did that trip, there were scads of people crowding the boat. Being early, we could choose our seats before any of the other 13 people chose theirs. Fort Sumter would have been much closer if the tide had not been low. It was still impressive.

We went right under Chris’ favorite bridge, the Ravenel. The name has three syllables, not that you would pronounce it the way I was tempted.

I have no photos, but I particularly enjoyed watching many pelicans and laughing gulls swoop about the boat. Pelicans were new to me, but I had seen a few laughing gulls on Long Island.

Charleston was not overcrowded with tourists before noon on a Monday. We found a metered parking space just feet from one of the good eating places for which the city is known. The Noisy Oyster was a fun place to eat, and we all enjoyed our choices. John had oysters, freeing the rest of us to choose anything we wanted. I had a lowcountry side, red rice. It had a good kick to it, so only two others tasted it. I had never seen a fillet of salmon served with a burger. David said it was delicious.

We squeezed in a swim before heading home. David delighted in being in the water, but I suspect the dog Mia had the most fun. She tried to bite water when Chris flicked some toward her. All too soon it was time to drive back to the mountains. We took many good memories with us.

Time Warp

I had hours of anguish after discovering I had lost photos from July through December. Heaven knows my pictures would never be classed as good photography, but they were precious to me. It all began in the afternoon when my brain was already in steep decline. I’ve chanted it so often that it’s almost a mantra – “I wake up instantly, and it’s downhill the rest of the day.”

John’s request was reasonable enough. I hadn’t copied photos to his computer, and he was missing two years. He remembered seeing a picture he wanted to share, and he didn’t have it. I had put water on to boil for pasta, the first step in assembling baked ziti for dinner. Thinking it would take only a few seconds, I went to my computer and copied the files to Dropbox. It was merely a matter of moving them onto his machine. When I checked to make sure everything was there, one folder had only two pictures. I must have hit something wrong. I went through the process again, saw there were many photos in place, and started back to the kitchen. John reclaimed his chair, looked for the picture, and came to tell me it wasn’t there. He explained, “It was taken in July.”

Can you see that I had set myself up for a colossal failure? By insisting on finishing the job when I was tired and had other things on my mind, I was stubbornly speeding the wrong way. I looked at the original folder and found the last date was the end of June. I was annoyed at that point, but I assumed all I had to do was copy another set from a flash drive. Looking at my main backup, the one I keep with me all the time, I saw with horror that only six month’s worth of photos were there. Hoping I hadn’t overwritten the folder on a secondary backup, I checked it. Golly Pete! What had I done? How could I have messed up that one, too? Then it occurred to me that the fault was on the hard drive. I had somehow erased half a year and carefully overwritten all my backups. Aaaauuuuggghhhh! I stopped and went back to the boiling water on the stove.

Speaking sternly to myself, I said, “Don’t think about it until after dinner.”

Not obeying, I thought, “What all is missing? Will anyone have copies they can share with me?”

“Stop it! You are in no state to think clearly.”

“I know I’m too tired to think. Still, various guests were with us for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I know I sent them photos.

“Good grief! Will you stop it? Nobody keeps email photos.”

“Wait! There is one last hope. Go get the external backup.”

By this time, the ziti was in the oven. I plugged in the external drive and couldn’t find the logs I wanted. There were so few files with recent dates. After bumbling around a bit, I told myself to put it all away and wait till the next day. No one should attempt to work in such a hopeless state. Again, not listening to myself, I looked at my master file. Understanding dawned slowly. I got up and put out the plates for dinner. As we sat down together on the porch, I told John and our grandsons what had happened.

I explained, “I had a really rough day, or at least one terrible hour. I was sure I had lost half my photos for a full year. You know what? I was dealing with 2015 and 2016, and you know I’m not good with numbers. I forgot 2016 was the present year. I was searching and trying to restore pictures I haven’t taken yet – photos from the future!!!!

The boys controlled their faces until I rolled my eyes and laughed at myself. A snicker escaped from David. He said, “You’re gonna write about it tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“It’s almost funny to me now,” I replied. “It will be after I sleep on it.”