Truth in Comics

The forecast for snow was serious enough that our schools were closed. As so often happens, not much materialized. We had an errand to run in town, so we stopped by the library. I found two books; John picked out two videos, and I chose five books to read to neighbor Logan. That’s something I’d not done before. Logan always asks to see Curious George on our TV, but he isn’t here often when that show is on. There were three George books and two others chosen randomly.

Fast forward to a time after lunch when I read the comics. Dennis the Menace was sharing a chair with Mrs. Wilson, and she was reading him a book! I’ve likened our favorite neighborhood boy and myself to Dennis and Mrs. Wilson. The comic strip came to life when Logan knocked on our door. The cute little boy sat beside a rather frumpy woman with colorless hair who wore glasses, and they read a book. There was one big difference. I’m not sure what D the M did, but Logan began to read the first sentence. He continued reading three pages! Yes, I supplied a few of the longer words, but he did marvelously well. He is only five years old!

012016 Dennis and Mrs Wilson.JPG

The three dimensional map of our area was on the floor, waiting for John to hang it in his office. Logan was drawn to it like a magnet. John quickly picked it up before the boy might step on it, and the two began to explore it. John pointed out Asheville, Waynesville, and the area where we live. Logan delighted in running his hands over the mountains and tracing the Pigeon River through the gorge. I took one quick photo and was surprised at what I saw when it was expanded on the monitor. John looked quite a bit like his dad from that angle.

012016 JC Logan with map.JPG

Walking Rescue and Snow Patrol

We were happily walking in light snow when I realized something was hurting my ankle. Surely it wasn’t my sneaker. Leaning against a truck near the café, I saw blood on the shoe and the sock. We stuffed a tissue there and walked on to the creek. John insisted on walking home and driving back to get me. What a beautiful time to enjoy the stream, knowing I wouldn’t have to huff and puff up the steep hill!

John estimated it would take him 20 to 30 minutes to get back to me. There was plenty of time to watch the lazy snowflakes drift down and examine the creek. Splashing ripples were building lacy edges on stones and twigs. It was still well below freezing, although not as cold has it had been. A wave would splash under the ice, slowly building it up along the edge. One of the boulders in the water appeared to be wearing a cape of lace with diamonds on the edge. It’s a shame the lighting was such that it didn’t show in a photograph.

012016 Ice decorations for J Creek.JPG — Jonathan Creek edged with ice

Neighbor Joyce called while I was standing at the creek. She asked a favor, that I’d let her know if the roads were getting bad. It was snowing heavily where she worked. This would be fun, being on snow patrol! An hour later I texted her, saying we had blue skies. In the early afternoon, that changed and snow began to come down in earnest. I let her know it was sticking on our deck, although the road was clear. Fifteen minutes later I said the forecast had the temperature in Waynesville dropping to freezing at 4:00. I wrote, “The New Yorker (John) would say it’s nothing. The Tennessean (me) says cut and run when it’s feasible.”

Joyce replied, “I am on my way home now.”

The Sound of Grief

We were well into the day when I realized John had been playing CDs for hours. He often plays music, but seldom does he keep it on all day. I hadn’t paid attention to the selections. I asked, “What is that piece? It is very dark.”

“It’s a requiem mass,” he replied.

On a hunch, I asked, “Is it for Brad?”

“Yes.”

I understood then. It was the day of Brad’s wake when John was thinking particularly of our dear friend, Brad’s grandmother. John told me a long time ago that when he was young his mother used music with him as a way of expressing emotions. If he came home upset about something, they often went to the piano or phonograph where she played something appropriate that brought peace and healing.

The mass that was so dark was by Cherubini, a contemporary of Beethoven. John showed me the stack of disks, seven in all, that he had been playing. That didn’t include the Brahms Requiem that was in my collection. The most beautiful to me was the one by Victoria, a 16^th century composer that is a favorite of both of us. As the music played, I feasted my eyes on the mountains, with mist after rain rising like prayer.

To sum up the day, our house was filled with the sound of grief. It was by turns heartrendingly sad, somber, dark, angry, accepting, beautiful, peaceful, uplifting, redeeming, ethereal, and totally restful. May you rest in the Lord’s peace, Brad.

011616 Mist after rain.JPG

Jilted by the Jeep

The day the Jeep tricked us again was the day my brother asked if I had quit driving. In all my writings, I never mentioned going anywhere by myself. He was right about that. I generally tag along whenever John runs errands, because I love to wander through stores and look at the mountain scenery on the way.

We had been rescued three times, the first when we stopped by the stream above Looking Glass Falls. Rain began to fall as the temperature dropped, and it took hours for the tow truck to come. The local mechanic replaced the ignition switch. The second time the starter motor was replaced at a rest stop in Virginia. Luckily, the third time we were stranded at the Asheville airport AFTER Lise boarded her flight returning to Denmark. Being in the cab of a tow truck became a familiar event.

A few days ago we took the Jeep to the dealer for a factory recall on the ignition. At least, this time there was no cost involved. Each time before, we trusted that the problem had been solved. Thrice burned, we used the vehicle for local errands only. John called from Clyde, the next town over, where he had been for a doctor’s appointment. I drove the round trip to fetch him. We left the silly Jeep in the parking lot and returned to try starting it the next morning before the rains came. Neither of us had faith that it would start. John was armed with reading material, planning to stay there until AAA responded. He unlocked the car, got in, shook his head, and opened the door to get out. I suggested he try it at least 5 times. I had Googled the problem and read that many people tried starting theirs 15 times before giving up. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he rolled his eyes, but he dutifully got in and tried the key a second time. Up went his thumb! The Jeep finally jumped to do his bidding. Without further ado, we drove home. How lovely it was to settle in for the rest of the day, watching the rain while sitting in front of our respective computers! Thank you, Jippy Jeep.

Search for the Magi

When everyone had left after the holidays, I commented that the figures in the manger scene had been rearranged. They were in circles around the shed. John said he didn’t think so, that he thought they were where he had put them. I was sorry to hear that, because they were on a low buffet where children could play with them. We’ve had that set for 50 years, and all the young people that have been under our roof had access to them. Maybe another year someone will play with them, I thought.

As John was putting the manger scene away, he said, “Maybe you were right. Maybe someone did play with the figures. The wise men are missing.”

I went to the back bedroom where many of our toys are kept. It would be logical for the wise guys to have hitched a ride, looking for new adventures. If they were there, they hid. I should also look on the porch to see if the trio turned into hobos and got in a boxcar. Obviously, they are old. I’ll bet senility set in, and they couldn’t remember how to find their way back.

I think we need to get a post-Christmas divining star to lead us to the three wise men of the East. One friend said the wise guys needed a GPS. I had another thought, that they had entered the witness protection program. We know they were on the run from Herod. Another friend, who does not preach politics from the pulpit, said, “Well, it IS an election year….it seems the wise men always disappear then.”

010314 House at Christmas (11).JPG — WANTED: Three Wise Men

The photo shows the complete set on the mantel in New York two years ago. The figures were accessible to our grandchildren, because at the time, the youngest was six feet tall. Who knew we’d someday need a WANTED poster?

Off on the Wrong Foot

I can’t wait to see what the day brings. Will I fall? or have a falling out? Will I drop the main dish on the way to the table? Anything could happen! You see, I started off on the wrong foot. And I did it deliberately!

I put the first sock on the left foot, as always, followed by the right. As sometimes happens with a routine, I decided to change it on the spur of the moment. The right foot dangled there instead of giving way to the left, so it wasn’t all my fault. On went the shoe, tied with a flourish. I stood up with a smirk on my face and walked straight to the computer. Perhaps daring the day was not a wise thing to do, but it’s too late now. I’m not about to retrace my steps backward and remove the shoes to start over. To balance things, I did get up on the left side of the bed, which was right for me.

Would you dare yourself in such a way?

Selfie at Story Time

Logan came over to visit, looking around for things to play with. We examined the jigsaw puzzle David and I worked before he found the balloons. That didn’t last long.

“Can we play hide and go seek?” Logan asked.

I said, “If you want to hide, I’ll look for you, but I don’t want to hide.”

I saw what happened when our grandsons played the game with Logan. The big boys hid too well. Logan lost interest and began playing by himself. I had no intention of standing in a dark closet for an hour with an inquisitive 5-year-old roaming the house. What I discovered is that I could do a few things about the house while looking for him. I won’t be able to stay ahead of him for long, but we had a win/win situation that time.

When Logan looked for a mug to drink from, he spotted the small book of German stories that went with two of the smaller mugs on the rack. Gerhard gave these to us several years ago. We kept the book there, more to keep track of it than to have it handy for reading. At his request, Logan and I promptly sat down and read all ten of the short stories. My selfies are never very good, but I wanted to show the boy and the book.

Things livened up when John got home from taking David to New Jersey. Logan was thrilled to have an energetic playmate, while I hid behind the toy camera.

Read that Label!

The present episode was not nearly as dangerous as previous ones. Off the bat, I remember two incidents that could have been dangerous. Because the contents were a similar color, I almost used an astringent instead of mouthwash to rinse my mouth. Ugh! Another time, instead of toothpaste, I picked up a tube of athlete’s foot cream. That could have been a weird case of foot and mouth disease, right? With each mistake, I lectured myself to read the label. There was no need to read labels this time, because I knew there were only two items in the bag.

Here is the story. David brought his swimsuit here, hoping to swim at the rec center. For obvious seasonal reasons, we didn’t even think of it until after life began returning to normal. With his departure looming, we hurried to get this wish fulfilled. I had never been swimming in the winter, so I packed carefully, hoping to take everything I needed. In went the swimsuit, a towel, the never used Silver Sneakers card, hair brush, toy camera (real necessities here), shampoo, and conditioner. I popped the small items in a little bag for toiletries that I use for traveling. There were also two magazines in case I decided at the last moment not to go in the water.

David and I enjoyed swimming in the open section of the pool, while others did laps in their lanes. Poor John was the miserable one. He dutifully got in the pool with us, walking back and forth for exercise while we cavorted in the water. We had come in two cars, so John left when he got cold. In due time, David and I headed for the locker rooms.

I piled my dry clothing on the bench in the dressing area adjacent to the shower. The traveling shampoo and conditioner bottles were at the closest edge within easy reach. Shampoo came first, easily distinguished from the conditioner by its blue color. The conditioner was the usual white, thick liquid. I didn’t pay attention to the feel of it, being occupied with all the other new experiences of the day. As I tossed the two bottles back in the bag, my eyes lit on a third bottle already there. What? I had put only two in at home. That third bottle was the conditioner. Whatever else was there had to have been left from the last trip. What on earth had I put on my hair? Body lotion!

After drying off, I wasn’t about to get back in the shower. It was what it was. The hair was no more shiny than usual, but it did seem straighter. The body lotion did not add body, thankfully, because I have a constant battle with wild witch hair. I lived with the results of my mistake for 24 hours, and no one complained or called the police.

Anne to self, “Read those labels, even when it isn’t necessary!”

A Morning in the Mountains

Grandson Nathaniel chose a drive on the Blue Ridge Parkway as our last activity before he flew home. The brothers enjoyed the scenery and each other. As always, the mountains performed beautifully.

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After an unseasonably warm debut, winter turned down the heat. Icicles decorated the roadway. For the four of us who had spent much of our lives on Long Island, this was a rare treat.

010216 Icicles.JPG

Nathaniel posed with his prize ice weapon, brandishing it until his hand froze. With a mighty heave, he threw it over the cliff. David and I waited to hear it land below, but to our surprise, it broke into three pieces in midair. That was as good as a cartoon “POOF”.

010216 N poses with icicle.JPG

David’s weapon was a camera, and he turned it on me! He shot me in cold blood! At least, I was cold when I got back in the car.

010216 D N lying on the mountain.JPG

Nathaniel performed two tasks before we drove to the airport. He wound the grandmother clock, which is something he used to do all the time when he was with us in NY.

The other ritual was lowering the mirror. I was cleaning house before he came the first time, and I hung the mirror on an existing hanger to get it off the floor. There were many items still unhung at that point. John and I laughed at it, saying only Nathaniel could use it. Since then, we always hang it high before he comes, and he returns it to a normal height as he leaves.

010216 N lowers mirror.JPG

Musical Mayonnaise Jars

What a dream I had! I voluntarily pumped gas into a car so that strangers could get to New York. As they pulled out, I watched the driver playing music with his feet. Instead of organ pedals, he was playing mayonnaise jars, Hellmann’s mayo, to be exact. Two of the jars were open. It must have been a Bach Toccata and Fugue, the way those jars were flying about. He ended with a flourish – karate chops to his legs for the final notes. I was satisfied with the performance, even though I hadn’t heard any musical notes at all. That was as bad as all my dreams of food, where I put things in my mouth and chew without tasting a thing.

Does anyone else have sensory perceptions missing in dreams? If not, it must mean I’m losing my senses.