I think I spotted a cultural difference between the North and the South in an article in the Asheville newspaper. The death of a popular high school senior was reported almost a week ago. She was on her way to work when she veered off the road and died at the scene. This morning there was a picture of the pop-up roadside memorial. The article said there were many “flowers, pictures, and sodas” at the site. I could see flowers, teddy bears, and a basketball, but sodas???? Do people here leave soda cans as part of a memorial? Looking again, I saw both a bottle and a can of Coke, as well as a bag of Doritos. I’m sure I never spotted food at a memorial in New York.
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White Tornadoes
There used to be an ad for some super product that claimed it cleaned your home like a white tornado. We had two at our house. Beth and Bob can organize and execute a maintenance plan before others could make a detailed list. They said they would bring their work clothes, but I didn’t realize how much work they would accomplish while wearing them. It all began innocently enough when Beth headed for the garden and Bob looked at our angel fountain.
Beth is a super gardener, and she has a lovely way of accomplishing things. Instead of saying our garden was a mess, she gently asked if I thought it would be a good idea to pull plants back from the defining stones of the path. My original request was much tamer. I wanted an identification of a shrub with lavender flowers, which turned out to be spirea. She also taught me the name of plants beside the back porch, cotoneaster, pronounced ca tony aster. It’s a good thing I heard it first before she spelled it.
The rest of the day was a whirl. Bob cleaned our gutters and eaves, checked the firepla
ce to show us how to reset the controls, rehung the office closet door which keeps falling off, moved the heavy concrete birdbath to my deck, and tweaked anything else that seemed amiss. He and John looked at our new angel fountain, coming to the conclusion we’d bought a pump that was overkill. Before we quit for the day, we all went to Lowe’s to get a new pump, loppers for heavy pruning, a lightweight birdbath, and more plants.
Beth used the loppers like an artist, removing just the right things to make a pretty picture. That sentence doesn’t convey all the strenuous work involved. Only another born gardener could truly appreciate it. When we relaxed on the porch, we could admire all that she had done. We also saw another result of our labors – totally confused birds. A poor dove landed near where the old birdbath had been and looked around with a bewildered expression. He poked about on the ground, stalked around the stump where the old one had been, and eyed the new glass bath with suspicion. Golly! I never thought of privacy! Birds had begun to bathe in the concrete one after we put stones in it. They could hop below the rim for their ablutions. The glass one simply presents the water flat out with nowhere to hide. We may put a stone in it. Maybe a beach umbrella? in scale, of course.
Decaf!!!
John became the filling of an emergency sandwich at the hospital. His scheduled catheterization was delayed because of an emergency, and his doctor couldn’t phone after his procedure because of yet another emergency. We didn’t hear anything until John woke up and called us himself.
I’m waiting to see if there will be any hospital stories. John has not spent a night in the hospital since he was five years old and had his tonsils removed. Can you imagine anyone being that inexperienced at age 73?
John was released the next afternoon. He looked about the same as usual except for his hospital jewelry – tape and gauze on one hand, white plastic bracelet above the other.
He talked of only one restriction. He wasn’t angry, but he certainly was disgruntled. He said, “It’s a death sentence! Decaf!!! I can have only four cups of caffeinated coffee a day.”
Little Reunion
What a delightful visit we had! John and Ron graduated high school together, so they have a long history. Occasionally Kathy and I left them to chat together, because we never lacked for things to talk and laugh about.
We talked of many things, but I was most fascinated with square dance calling. Ron had joined a square dance group, and when the caller quit, he learned how to do it. He began with records, used tapes and CDs, and ended up with computer music. I wanted to know the mechanics. Being a square dance caller is something like improvising music. You find out how the beats are set up and call accordingly. Some things have 16 beats followed by two 8’s and might end with 4, all multiples of 4. I remember from playing for a ballet studio in Memphis that ballet music was always based on 8 beats. Ron said callers begin by looking at a cheat sheet they’ve set up, but you have to get over that. If the dancers are novices, they mess things up, and you have to use calls to get them back in order. He explained that you have three tracks running in your head, something like knowing where you are, making the call, and planning what comes next. With practice, it becomes instinctive. Well, for him, not me. I’d rather play for a communion service and make the hymn and diddle music finish at the right time.
We sat on the back porch all evening as they enjoyed seeing the mountains and waiting for the horses to come near enough for a photo. The horses didn’t cooperate, but Kathy noticed them near the fence before breakfast. I had just cut up a large apple, so we took two slices for Kathy to feed them. The mare knocked one to the ground. The stallion ate his, and we talked him into eating the other from the ground. Kathy told him that was all, and he let her pet him.
Quail
I was idly working a puzzle in the newspaper when my ears, if they moved at all, would have perked up.
“Listen,” I said to myself, “you know that call.”
The bird said, “Bob, Bob White!”
I couldn’t see the quail, but it was very near our back porch. We used to hear them all the time in Stony Brook before the meadow became a development. It’s wonderful to have one here – a welcome party of one, if a bit late.
A bit later I took something over to Amy and Ron, arriving just as his home hospice aide arrived. Amy was climbing the hill to the driveway, making fun of herself for looking like a yard worker. Patricia, the aide, was a bit concerned that Amy was so hot. That’s when Amy told a story on herself.
She said, “I took Ron to the emergency room one time, – don’t remember what for– and I looked about like this. They thought I was the patient!”
Patricia disappeared into the house, and a minute later, she came back to hand Amy a bottle of water. Amy made good use of it – drinking some and poring some on her arms. Yes, gardeners are born, not made. I’d resent anyone making me work that hard. Amy’s yard is a showcase, though.
Rent a Grandchild
Amy talked about having trouble with her cell phone. Her solution was to hand it to granddaughter AE (Amy Elizabeth) who promptly told her some of the things she had done wrong. Sobering, isn’t it? The balance of power has shifted. As parents, we could often deduce what our children had done because they left telltale signs. Now our grandchildren can spot our faults electronically. AE asked if Amy had turned the phone off recently. As Amy told her story, her answer was a childlike, “I don’t know.”
I stood there as guilty as Amy. I couldn’t remember when I last shut down my phone. It took care of itself last night. It was already in silent mode when it tried to let me know it needed charging, so it turned itself off in disgust. Subsequently, I had half a walk this morning because I didn’t wake up until 6:13.
I am thinking we should share our grandchildren for the good of the neighborhood. There will probably come a time I’ll need AE’s expertise. When David and Nate are here, I could lend them for giraffe jobs, since both are tall. I suspect Shawn and Bob’s granddaughter, three years old, is an expert only in cookie tasting.
Being an early bird had its advantages. I rushed to finish cleaning up the house and preparing dinner before our guests came. A high school classmate of John is driving from Tucson to New York via Florida. The green/yellow pollen was so bad I had to dust off the chairs on the front porch before sweeping the floor. I prepared baked grits to go with ham, spiced peach salad, and lemon rub pie. Mid-afternoon Kathy and Ron called to say they had been waylaid by heavy rain and were stopping for the night. That’s why I had time to write today. As I sat at the computer, Mother Nature produced a play in three acts – rain moving along I-40, mist obscuring the mountains, and our own shower with an encore of strong sunshine.
Moving With No Change of Address
John was enjoying the view of the clouds from his desk, and he suggested I move my computer into the bedroom. There would not have been an advantage a week ago. The view was obstructed by some generic trees. When we discussed removing them, I knew I wasn’t emotionally involved, having identified them as unimportant. Today our mountain view was there in all its resplendent glory. Instead of the old uninteresting trees, we have holly trees and forest pansy redbuds that should never encroach on our marvelous mountains. The question is, will the view interrupt my writing?
One in Eight Million
What a quick 16 hours we had! We watched the Concordia Choir rehearse in the sanctuary of the Asheville church and then had dinner with the students. Bob and Dennis from across the street came for the concert and said they enjoyed it. It was a delight to catch up with David’s news on the way home and get to know Davin. That’s when we discovered that Davin is one in eight million. He graduated from the same high school that John attended!!! Of the millions of people in New York, what were the chances that student and host would have the same alma mater? Mind boggling!
It was wonderful to hear the full concert again. We went to the first performance when we were in NY a week and a half ago. The second time I noticed lots of things I missed. Not watching the words as carefully, I saw the singers’ expressive faces and marveled that everything they did was from memory. Their dynamics were superb. Of course, this time I wasn’t nervous about page turning. David didn’t turn any pages, but he told us he had done it once on the trip and that it was easier than the first time. We delivered the fellows to the second Asheville church where they did a program for the grade school. We didn’t know if we could go to it, but another host said she was going in. We followed. The program was much shorter and included things the children would resonate with.
I was impressed with the behind-the-scenes relationship of Dr. J., the director, and singers. They had an easy rapport that was fun to see. Dr. J.’s talks about the college were excellent – focused and tailored for the audience. It all brought back pleasant memories of our own college choir tours.
I had pictures from the rehearsal last night, David with his GP (grandpa) and Davin, and one taken during the school program this morning. The accompanist, a doctoral student, not only played the piano, but he took photographs. He is standing at the left taking a shot that I saw on the choir Facebook page an hour later. Every time the choir needed a starting note from the piano, he was right there at the keyboard.
I hated to say goodbye to David, but he is on his way to Atlanta today. The choir will give concerts in Decatur, Mobile, Baton Rouge, and Hattisburg, among others. They will go to New Orleans and sing at Hermitage TN, in Ohio, and in West Virginia before heading back to NY.
Gardeners Must be Born, not Made
Neighbor Amy called yesterday, asking if I still had the mint plants she remembered growing between our porch and the third bedroom. Those plants threatened to take over last year, and Amy knew I wanted to limit them severely. We removed only two big clumps, so there was plenty for her and her granddaughter to pick. Amy Elizabeth, the granddaughter, wanted to flavor something she was cooking. I was thrilled for the leaves to be used and a little embarrassed that Amy knew they were not my favorite. As we stood in the garden, she waved her hand and said most of the plants came from her house. I knew the story without being told. Amy, generous person that she is, shared her bounty with Pat, the former owner of our house. We inherited an established garden that I find difficult to maintain because of sheer ignorance.
As we walked, Amy bent down and pulled out some weeds. The way she did it was as natural as breathing. She realized I didn’t know which plants were desirable and which were despised weeds. We walked the path around the garden as she identified the good plants for me. The mess of last year’s stalks was too much for her, so she pulled out a bunch of them. Obviously, that is something I should have learned to do. I’m glad I hadn’t weeded much on my own, because there were several good plants that I would have discarded. Amy pointed out some nasty weeds, the likes of which I had dug up several weeks ago. After she left, I went right in to get the trowel to dispose of them immediately.
It wasn’t until later that I remembered sister-in-law Beth walked around our garden the first time she and Bob came to visit. She did exactly the same thing Amy did – began weeding without giving it a thought. I’m sure weeds assaulted both of these dear friends’ sensibilities. They are born gardeners, knowing almost instinctively what plants should go and which should be encouraged. I was most definitely not born with such wonderful instincts. I will learn a few of the basics, not because I want to, but because no one else will. I will become a rather lame caretaker by default, not desire. I hope my containment style of gardening will keep the area in bounds enough that I won’t be ashamed to pass it on to the next owner. Meanwhile, anyone who is a compulsive weeder is most welcome to come and stay a few weeks, free room and board provided.
Harking Back to Childhood
The childhood I’m harking back to belongs to our children. John and I did things we would have done 25 years ago, namely taking a child to the dentist. Son John $ was in such pain that his dad drove him to the dental school clinic in Sylva, the only place one could get treatment on a Friday in Western North Carolina. John knew the way, since that’s where he was treated for a broken tooth when we first moved here.
I was talking to the lawn guy Adam in the driveway, when father and son returned from Sylva. Poor $ hobbled with his cane to the front door and disappeared inside. He’d hurt his knee on a hiking trip, but as he said, that helped mask the pain in the jaw. I didn’t have a conversation with him until the next day when I found out he’d had three teeth extracted. No wonder he could only grunt that day! It seems a wisdom tooth decided to move, cracking the tooth next to it. They removed those, as well as the other wisdom tooth. Full mouth x-rays revealed a similar problem on the other side – a wisdom tooth waiting in the gum like a time bomb.
The dental fallout was in my f
avor. $ stayed from Friday to Monday morning, cooking Mother’s Day dinner on the grill. What a feast! He prepared coconut shrimp, filet mignon, grilled asparagus, and mashed potatoes. We ate so much we just sat about napping and chatting the rest of the day.
Mehrling Muse 