I’m not normally in the choir at church for two reasons. I’ve lost half my range, and I’m a zombie when they have rehearsals in the evening. On Good Friday, John thought there were not going to be enough sopranos, so he asked if I’d be willing to sing with the choir. He knew I’d directed all the music at our last church and was familiar with it. I found it exciting to witness the action. Downstairs, all was serene and worshipful, but in the loft there was constant movement.
The organist put on shoes before going to the front of the church to accompany a cellist playing the prelude. John says she plays the pedals of the organ wearing socks and not shoes. My toes cringed at the thought. The organist’s daughter directed the choir. She normally directs music at the praise and worship service, but the music director is quarantined with his COVID-infected wife. What a time to be forced to stay home from your job! Heather was a marvelous substitute. While directing, she switched to singing alto, because there was only one other there. Grandson David does not show at the other end of the tenor section, and John was out of the picture. Perhaps you can see two people sitting before monitors as they were live-streaming the service. Another was downstairs with her phone, getting shots of the cellist and organist.
I turned to the front of the church where the young tech was videoing the people playing the prelude. The young man who does the audio had stepped away, but you can see his sound board all lit up. He plays the marimba next to the sound board. I don’t often hear that soft sound, but he usually plays when the congregation sings hymns. I was very impressed with the talents of all these people.
Despite the quiet hubbub upstairs, the service was very meaningful. As usual, we left the church in silence after the Bible was slammed shut. Requiescat in pace, dear Lord.
We didn’t see Cat very often this winter, but she has begun coming out to walk with us again. This is the lovely animal whose owner said, “She belongs to my daughter, who named her Blake. I just call her CAT. My wife and daughter persuaded me to let the dog in the house, but this cat is never coming further than the garage.”
I tried to get a good picture of her this morning, but most of the ones I took were blurred because she was moving. She came running up her driveway and straight to me to be petted. After a good rub, I started walking, and she ran ahead. When she stopped, she looked around to make sure I would rub her again. This went on, in our usual fashion, until we were out of sight of her home. She got sidetracked by some interesting sight and rejoined me when I came back from the stop sign.
CAT waiting to be petted
Cat has a bad habit of running in front of cars. Most of the people who live here know to watch out for her, and they creep past her. I don’t usually pick her up, because she hates it. This morning I had my hand on her, so I picked her up. It was awkward to hold her as she struggled, but I managed to wave at the driver. On the way home, I grabbed her again and waved. I know about six of the neighbors’ cars, and I didn’t recognize this one. It pulled slowly forward and paused as the window came down. A voice inside said, “You cheated.”
I laughed when I found myself looking at my son. He had heard stories of Cat, but this was the first time he saw me with her. Wouldn’t you know he’d catch me trying to protect her??
John opened the box from Amazon while I cleared the table after lunch. I wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing, and he suddenly said with conviction, “Lars is an excellent writer!”
We have been thrilled by his books before, so he was just underscoring something we already knew. John loves history, too, so he can compare Lars’ fresh words with the thousands of history books he has read through the years.
“Listen to this,” John said. “Unfortunately, in the bloodsport of Roman politics, money, ambition, and talent were necessary ingredients, and the elder Caesar lacked all three.”
This is one sentence from page two of The Caesars Vol. 1 by Lars Brownworth, published in 2021. When son John $pencer came in, John read aloud another sentence or so. $ put his name next on the invisible sign-up sheet to read the book. If anyone can bring dusty ancient history to life, it is Lars. I do not normally choose to read history, but my name is third on the list.
Just a quickie to let you know we did get moved. We had a beautiful sunny day — most unusual for this time of year. The weather and the men couldn’t have been nicer.
This past week I brought Mr. Clewes over here to see the garden. He noticed that the people behind us have a garden where not a blade of grass is out of place. Wouldn’t you know that’s where the owners of this house live?
Twice during an otherwise sunny day this past week, there was a mixture of snow and rain. After one episode I said to a sulky Kate, “Look! The sun is out again.” She grumbled, “No! I don’t want to look on the bright side.”
Kate was not sulky when she read a book to John $ in the old house. Kitchen shelf — two-thirds toys, one-third cookbooks.
Earlier in the week I came over several times to bring things to this house and do some unpacking of things already here. You should have seen me measuring a possible space for a dishwasher with John $’s help. He thinks the bendable metal is the greatest.
John $ at the old house. The bottle was empty. He still used a sippy cup to drink.
Both John and I went to school for the conference night for the older grades. All Lisa’s teachers say she is working at form level or above, but from the various things they said we don’t think she is exerting herself one little bit. She admitted the next day that she isn’t working more than she has to because she doesn’t want to. Grrrrr!
John and I have picked up a phrase that we’ve taken a fancy to. Here, instead of straightening things out or getting things settled, you sort them out. If you are muddled about something, you “sort yourself out” to remedy the problem.
The men came to pack for us on Thursday. I thought they’d do the china and crystal and thought nothing more about it. There were two who came, and they expected to put in several hours. I had to run around the house to separate rooms with them to point out what pictures and furnishings were to go and what was to stay. While they did other rooms, I organized the kitchen things by getting all the pots and utensils we’d need for the next two meals in one spot. I gave them sandwiches for lunch; they worked a little more, and then left.
Friday the same two men loaded everything into the van and pulled from the attic all the things of the owners that we’d stored. They pulled out about 12:30. We checked the house, stopped for sandwiches at the bakery, and came to this house. We waited and waited for the van and wondered what had happened to them. Finally they came with two more men they’d gone to pick up and they made short work of the unloading. We put $ in his stroller to watch the unloading and directed where everything was to go. They also unpacked! I was available when the china was done and was able to tell them where to put it. All the rest of the kitchen equipment was stuffed in drawers and cupboards. They did it in a logical manner, but not exactly where I wanted things. After they left at 5, I pulled everything out and re-stowed it. At the same time, John was re-doing all the books in the living room. We made a start on our bedroom and John’s room.
Gillian (neighbor across the street) had so kindly invited the girls to spend the night at her house and even insisted on picking them up from school!!! That left our minds completely free to concentrate on moving. I don’t know what state I’d be in now if I’d had to answer a thousand questions along with everything else. Gillian said she met some friends at Micklefield. Her daughter Caroline went there until just two years ago. We planned to get the girls Saturday morning, but Gillian insisted we come dressed in our work clothes at lunch time and have a meal with them! Nothing could have been kinder! We ate in the kitchen and had a lovely meal of beef and mushroom stew, leeks from their garden, mashed potatoes, green beans, and for dessert a choice of jelly (jello), applesauce, or fruit salad followed by coffee. It was so good to know we’d had a nourishing meal and I wouldn’t have to do more than get out sandwich materials for a later meal. Bless her!
I saw something in Gillian’s kitchen and couldn’t resist asking her about it. It was a funny ceramic thing, rather tall, but with the opening curved, rather like a curved pipe. She said it is a salt pig. It’s the only thing in which she can keep salt so that it doesn’t cake up. They are supposed to be readily available, so I’ll be looking for one. I never saw anything quite like it. [We still use the one we bought. This photo was taken in 2021.]
Shortly before the moving men left, Jennifer [neighbor who with her husband owns the other half of our rented house] came over to invite us over for a cup of tea. John said I needed a rest more than he did, so he kept $. I had a delightful time chatting with them. $ had fun climbing up and down the levels of steps in the moving van. The men left, $ went to bed, and we began to “sort things out.”
Today the girls and I walked to St. Peter’s for the 11 o’clock service advertised on their board in the front of the church. We wondered what was going on when we saw so many cars quietly parked and only four or five people waiting to go into the building. The board, we were told, was about 15 years old. The newer one had been taken down to be repainted with the new rector’s name. The hymn we were hearing was the end of the service we thought we were headed for. For years the main service has been at 10. Now we know. The man who gave us the information advised us to buy a parish magazine inside. Then he slipped in, handed us one, and refused to let us pay for it!
After dinner John went to Redhill for Bach’s St. Matthew Passion. He said it was glorious. The congregation got to sing all the chorales. There was even a tea break in the middle, and the people brought out their thermoses. He felt satisfied that he had truly worshiped.
This afternoon we cleaned up the old carriage we’ve lugged around with us and outfitted it with the stroller seat. We walked through the little village to the duck pond and down one footpath. This is going to be another facet of English life. A brisk walk of two minutes brings us within sight, sound, and smell of cows! We hear no traffic tucked back off the high street, and I doubt there is much, anyway. This may be the type of place where everyone knows everyone else. The shopping will be easy – small grocery, fruiterer, butcher, post office, two gift shops, hardware, dispensing chemist, blacksmith, luncheonette, two pubs and three or four antique shops are just around the corner. Don’t think I’ll buy anything at the blacksmith’s. This is so different from the traffic choked streets of Redhill and Reigate.
Our girls have still not met the girls we share the house with. I found out their names – Georgina, 15; Katherine, 12; and Philipa, 9. Don’t feel we can invite them in here until the entrance is free of its mountain of boxes.
The green door is ours. The red door is for the family with three girls. We have only half the house.
The house is old, don’t know how old, but the ceilings are quite high and the walls thick. We haven’t learned how things sound – I heard Kate calling me, and I had to search all over the house to find her. Turned out she was in the next room to begin with. We can’t hear $ crying if we are downstairs.
Back of the house. We have the sections on both sides of the back door.
The girls have a week and a half of school till the end of term. Then comes a month off. One week of that will be spent in Cornwall.
Grandson Nathaniel came for two nights and one day to celebrate his birthday. One turns 21 only once in a lifetime, and it should be very special. I’m just going to imagine that we had a glittering party with friends and family in high spirits. The meal was an epicurean delight, ending with a luscious dessert without candles. Gifts were cute and amusing. Reality was going out for lunch and driving up to the Blue Ridge Parkway to find it socked in with heavy fog. We loved being with him, though.
David had Sunday off, giving him a chance to enjoy his brother. We walked along a paved trail with exercise equipment along the way. Some of the stations had instructions showing what could be done. David went for the high bar.
Nathaniel took a low bar.
They are very strong, and I doubt either of them ever spent much time in a gym. And to think, I have to exercise just to walk straight!
About five years ago daughter Kate and grandson David saw a video about tying shoes a new way. They tried it, and so did I. After a few weeks, the process became automatic. I no longer supervised my fingers with my brain.
Fast forward to the present. I tied my left shoelace and paused. Since I learned a new skill late in life, what would happen if I forgot how to do it? I would watch my fingers and translate action into words that I could write down, just in case. I stared in disbelief as my trusty fingers fumbled. The action should have been fluid, twisting the lace around and pulling one bit through the other. Nothing worked. I blinked, looked away, and tried again. Think! No! Don’t think! Go on auto-pilot! It was no use. I could not tie my shoe!
I took giant clown-steps to my desk so I wouldn’t trip on the lace ends flopping about. I flirted with the idea of finding a video, but that seemed dangerous. Would I recognize the correct method if I saw it on the screen? I read some blog posts, knowing my brain would focus on the words and forget that I couldn’t tie my shoe. Evidently that worked. I’ve worn shoes every day since, with the laces tied. No one can tell by my appearance that I have had a serious senior moment.
Instead of worrying, I should have an emergency plan. Hopefully, one of the three people living here will be available if it happens again. If not, I pray that neighbor Logan (10) will have his own cell phone by then. I will text him and ask him if he can come outside to play quietly tie my shoes for me.
With dismay, I realized I had a dollop of conditioner in my hand instead of shampoo. There was no easy way to get it back in the bottle, and a penny-pincher would not willingly waste it. Even the stingiest miser would not want outside help at that point. Don’t even try to imagine the scene. I know what I did, but not how I did it. I opened the shampoo, put some in the other hand, and proceeded to wash the hair with one hand without losing the conditioner in the other. Using two hands, the rest was easy – rinse, apply, and rinse again. It’s comforting to know that my brain could solve an unexpected problem while preparing for the day.
On the way to Charlotte, taking grandson Nathaniel back to school, we went to a church we’ve been to twice before. It is one we particularly like. It’s a beautiful gray stone church on a winding mountain road, and a rushing stream borders the property. Inside is even more attractive, because the people are very friendly and worshipful. They use the old standard liturgy and sing the chorales that guide your thoughts in deep channels. Like icing on a cake, the pastor chants the service easily and precisely.
John couldn’t tell from the web site if this church was even having a service on Sunday morning. No one responded to email or a phone call. What a surprise to pull into the parking lot and find it full! An unmasked man walked to the entrance and went in. We followed and found the church as full of people as it had been in past years. There were paper bulletins and hymn books in the pews, something we hadn’t seen for a year. Even more shocking, one man shook our hands to welcome us! We might have thought we were in a time warp, except there were a few older couples wearing masks.
We found out the aunt of the pastor’s wife died the day before, and they would be leaving to go to the funeral and on to Colorado where their grandchild was born a month early. No wonder no one responded to email and web messages!
What we saw at the church was almost pre-COVID behavior, where things looked much like they did a year ago. I wondered if that is what our church in Asheville will be like some months from now.
I know the governor of NC issued more relaxed COVID guidelines the previous Friday, but I hadn’t read them. After church we went to a tavern Nathaniel chose from his phone as we drove along. It was in a small town near Charlotte. Masks were the only thing that screamed COVID. People sat at the bar, and tables were not as far apart as they probably were before. We used plastic menus instead of paper ones. I didn’t feel like I was being followed by an army of workers wielding disinfectants while silently cursing me for breathing. This may be a preview of how restaurants will be in the months to come.
How lovely it will be when the freedoms of the past and those of the present feel similar!
Grandson Nathaniel had Saturday off, and we made the most of it. He finished work the night before at 9 pm, and that’s when John picked him up in Charlotte. They were back at our house by midnight, and everyone went to bed. Over breakfast Saturday, Nate had us laughing.
Rose brought her artist sister to a cabin in the mountains to paint for the weekend. Rose and John $pencer went hiking two days to give her plenty of time to paint. I asked for a quick photo to show that her visit overlapped Nathaniel’s for a few minutes.
Later in the day I asked Nate to pose with his degree earned nine months ago. It says “Associate in Applied Science Cum Laude”. Are we proud? You bet!! He is over half way through his junior year now.
We had tea well past the proper hour. I got out our 40-year-old teapot from England and warmed it. Nathaniel weighed the loose tea and set a timer for the steeping. He is more precise than I would have been, and it was worth it. He chose a cup and saucer that had belonged to my grandmother, and I took one that commemorated our 25th wedding anniversary. Clunky mugs were not suitable for our tea.
Nathaniel skipped the mirror ritual this time. The official photographer had gone to bed when he arrived, and the family scattered quickly the next day. The day he left, I asked him to pose, showing the mirror had not moved. He bent his knees, petted Sadie, and stuck out his tongue.
We went to church on the way to Charlotte, but that’s another story. To show the brothers together, I asked the boys for a fast picture as Nathaniel was heading for his dorm. It was a quick visit, but very satisfying.
Neighbor Logan (10) is our family sweetheart, and he spent several hours with us on Saturday when there was no school. He wanted us to tell his parents that he did not look at the computer while here, and I forgot to send that message. The only electronic thing he did was practice sending swiped messages to John on the cell phone. He watched me text his mother and wanted to try it. It’s a fast way, though prone to errors. You drag your finger to the letters of a word, and when you lift your finger, the app proceeds to the next word. He and John exchanged short messages, amid much giggling on Logan’s part.
The lad has a high energy level and is never still for long. He doesn’t bounce off the walls, though. He began to play with the old office chair that John uses as a footstool. Bringing it into the kitchen area, he put a spin on it. I didn’t catch his fastest rate.
Logan steered the chair all around the room with full theatrics. I get tickled at all the things he tries. He is careful not to bump into things.
I was also amused at the lunch table. I always give him a choice of cutlery – utensils like we use or a child’s set. I bought the plastic fork, spoon, and pusher when Logan had almost outgrown it. The pusher caught my fancy, and I thought Logan might use it until his nephew Sufi was old enough for it. The thing is, neither Sufi nor his younger brother Pico has eaten with us.
The utensils are construction vehicles. I hadn’t looked at them closely and didn’t realize there were words on the backs of the handles. Logan turned over the fork and and read the words on the back. They said, “CONSTRUCTIVE EATING.” He could read before he went to kindergarten, so it should have been no surprise to me that he read it aloud easily. I giggled, anyway. It’s always fun to be with our favorite child in the neighborhood.
On the spoon handle: CONSTRUCTIVE EATING
This was our Valentine’s Day breakfast – chocolate brioche buns, one for each of us. Next time I’ll roll more chocolate chips inside. Would you agree with me that you can never have too much chocolate?
My name is Suki, my human is a writer, and this is about my world. The world according to Suki The Cat. My humans smell funny, look weird, and I can't understand a thing they say, but they feed me, so hey, what are you gonna do?
Mehrling Muse 