Summer Is Tired, And So Am I

     

Summer is tired, and I think she's looking forward to handing the reins of her empire over to Autumn who is to arrive tomorrow. I've been hearing the katydids and crickets for weeks now, and the chlorophyll is beginning to drain from the leaves. The lush green of the trees on the mountains is looking dull and dusty as they prepare to don their autumn robes.  Goldenrod and ironweed provide the brightest splashes of color in a browning landscape. The nights are cooler, crisp even, although the days are still plenty warm.

     There is a faint blue haze in the air, and fog that lays dense in the hollers some mornings. The cacophony of bird song that filled the dawn hour has faded as many of our summer birds retreat south ahead of the coming cold. I've even heard the honking of south bound geese as they skein across the sky. They, of course, will be replaced by other geese from farther north, for whom this is south. 

     I have my own brand of tired, and it's not going to disappear in two days.  Maybe it won't, ever. I keep hoping I'll wake up one morning full of the anticipation and energy I used to feel years ago, but the longer this ennui lasts, the less likely the prospect seems. 

    There are a lot, a lot, of good things though! I'm down a few more pounds and have, for the first time in probably four or five years, ordered some new clothes. New ones, not ones given to me from someone else's closet or bought at the thrift store. Not that there is anything wrong with closets and thrift stores - I've been grateful for all of those - but there is something about buying yourself something brand new that just feels good. Aaaaand, those new pants I ordered are two sizes smaller than what I've been wearing!

     Darling Girl is still riding her heart out and doing very well. She and Buffy are becoming quite the thing and, this season, she is finally using Charlie more. He is the off-track Thoroughbred she got first, the one she couldn't use in shows for a year or so. She has ridden him plenty at the farm, practiced barrels and such with him, but this is his first season showing and he's doing great. I'm so proud of her and her work with both these guys, and proud of the horses, too. Can't wait to see what their futures hold!

Musings on St. Patrick's Day

    

     It's still quiet at 7:00 this Sunday St. Patrick's Day morning. Unless you count the birdsong outside the window. The birds have all made it back from wherever it is they go in the winter, and their early morning gabfest is a joy to my ears. I miss that during the short days of winter. The furnace is still kicking on throughout the night, even though spring is pretty much here. The days have been warm and lovely but it still gets chilly at night. Right now, warm air is pouring from the register across the room and winding around my bare ankles like a softly purring cat. 

     Speaking of cats, Inky/Hagar is curled up on my desk, next to my right arm, snoring gently. Honestly, those little cat-snores are the cutest thing! It still leaves me gobsmacked to realize how completely I've come to love this turd. I didn't want him to begin with but, within two months, I found myself sort of enjoying the company. Now, I would be crushed if something were to happen to him. 

    Had a kitchen fiasco yesterday - I was making baked mac and cheese to go with a batch of pulled pork and overcooked the macaroni. The cheese sauce was just "ok," being a little bit grainy. I must have stirred the cheese in while the white sauce was still too hot. Still, it's edible, and the flavor is good. The mac, though, is pretty disgusting. I expect I'll pitch it, much as I hate to waste food, and just cook another batch. Fortunately, I made way too much of the "ok" sauce and have enough for a do-over. I'll take some pork, the new mac n cheese, some coleslaw, and a batch of brownies out to Darling Girl's family this afternoon.

    In other news, I've been struggling my entire life with my weight, and a few months ago it got to a point where it was downright scary. I didn't say anything to anyone, but I was worried. Out of the blue, my sister called to tell me she had signed us both up for Noom, a weight loss program that incorporates psychology with easy food tracking. Well, two days ago, I stepped on the scales to discover I finally hit the thirty pound mark. Twenty-anything pounds was meaningless but, thirty, now that made me feel like I accomplished something. It's been a long, slow, slog, but the changes I've made are bearing fruit, and I'm hopeful. Our subscription runs out in another month, but I feel like I can manage on my own now. Yes, I will find an app or something that makes logging my meals easy - that has been a huge part of my success, and I daren't let that fall to the wayside. BUT I have the basics well in hand now and, even though the weight comes off almost painfully slow, it does come off. I'm sort of excited to see where I stand in another six months. 

    In closing, 

I Am A Dinosaur - And Proudly So

     

     

A couple of things have transpired in recent months that have pointed out just how much of a dinosaur I am, how completely the blood and bone and soul of me is connected to times gone by. Not just the physical part of me, but the inner me, the part that determines how I view and respond to life and human interaction.

     The first came when my son was laid off from a job he really liked. It happened around the middle of December, and he was told the layoff would last until the end of February, possibly the beginning of March. Then, in January, he got a letter from his insurance company saying his policy had been cancelled.  He called his boss to find out why and was told they weren't calling him back.  No phone call, no text message, just a cancelled insurance policy to let him know he was out of a job. In my world, that's a completely shitty move. 

     The second instance happened just a few days ago when I received a letter of censure from the WVU Extension Family and Community Development Director.  The letter stemmed from the incident I mentioned in "Do As I Say, Not As I Do." Apparently, someone (unnamed in the letter, but I suppose the lady who quit the club) reported me for reading her resignation email aloud to the club. Furthermore, it was reported that I, and others, had engaged in verbal attacks against her, questioning her character and mental health. That "attack" was someone mentioning that a friend of theirs suffered a major personality change after undergoing chemo, and wondering if Jane's behavior could possibly be related to her own chemo. Beyond even that, it has been reported that I "demonstrated disrespectful behavior" towards the Extension Service Committee itself. (I've no idea where this one came from, because I can't, for the life of me, recall anything remotely approaching this accusation.) Apparently, continued violation of the code of conduct may result in further action, including the possibility of suspension or termination as a volunteer.  Well, allrighty then.

     Whatever happened to the concept of human decency and integrity, where you dealt with people "up front"? The idea that, when faced with a difficult situation, you drew a deep breath and dealt with it instead of ignoring it and hoping it just went away? Or of asking someone accused of misbehavior if they did, in fact, misbehave and, if they did, why they misbehaved or, if not, what actually happened?

     I don't know where all that went. It seems to have been replaced by ignoring unpleasantness, as in the first instance of letting someone go without telling them you were doing so or, as in the second instance, assuming you know all the facts of a situation based on a single accusation. This isn't the way I operate, or ever have.

     Yep, I'm a dinosaur. And I am eminently okay with that.

     

     

     

Fun Show at Sundance Arena

 

      Darling Girl had a show yesterday, the first one I've been able to attend in months, and she had a good day! The weather has been such that she and Buffy haven't been able to practice for a few weeks but, even so, they managed to place in all their events and even won one or two - I sort of lost track. I just love watching her do what she loves. Horses are her happy place, the ribbons are just her validation that she's good at it.

 

          This is the barrel race, running a clover leaf pattern around three barrels in the shortest time possible. Buffy was feeling his oats, as they say, as evidenced by that little side kick between the first two barrels. Darling Girl called that one before it happened, saying, "He's going to buck today." She definitely knows her pony!

 

     The down and back, just what the name implies - race down the arena, around the barrel and back to the starting line, as fast as you can. Buffy loves this one!

 

     And, finally, the keyhole race, which is pretty similar to the down and back. The difference is, you have to go down between the barrels, spin and come back through the same way. Again, as fast as you can.

     I'm so lucky to have this child in my life. She is everything a granddaughter should be - smart, funny, loving, resiliant, brave and, if that weren't enough, beautiful, too.

Finally Got a Little Snow!

 

 

 

     It has been an unusually dry winter here, with very little in the way of rain or snow.  Particularly snow. Finally, midway through January, we have some! It started night before last, and by yesterday afternoon there was enough on the ground that I shoveled the walk and knocked the snow off the Jeep long enough to make a quick run to the drive thru for cigarettes and milk. Not because I was afraid of being "stranded for days" but because I was out of both. The nicotine is a filthy habit that I haven't been able to kick and the regular application of it keeps me happy and those around me, safe. The milk I needed because I was planning on making a skilletful of sausage gravy.

 

     I honestly thought that was the end of it, as the snow had tapered way off and whatever little bit might come would be negligible. Ha! That's not the first time in my life I've been wrong, and it probably isn't the last.  Long about four o'clock, snow started hammering down like something in a Norman Rockwell painting. By this morning, that little Jeep looked like I'd never touched it, and the only reason the walk isn't in the same condition is because I salted it after I shoveled.  I'll touch up the walk later, but the Jeep can wait - I've nowhere I have to be today.

     

Baby, It's Cold Outside

 

      Winter has taken it's own sweet time coming, this season, but it finally got here. First the wind came, groaning in the tree tops and growling through the hollers. Some of it still lingers but, for the most part, high winds have been replaced by plummeting temperatures. Today is cold, but sunny, and the little bit of snow we did get, sparkles in the deceptively warm looking light. The sky is a bright, clear, blue with a few scattered, high-up clouds. Current outdoor temp, at 9:24 a.m. is 17 and is projected to go all the way up to 19 this afternoon. Cold? Well, that's a relative term. It's cold compared to what we've been having, but a far cry from years past when we would spend a week or so in single, or even minus, digits. Let's just say I'm not looking forward to going out in it, even for a little bit.  

     Snowfall, so far, has been the bare minimum, with the biggest one measuring in at a whopping two inches. Again, I can't say I'm sorry we didn't have more, but I've been remembering snows of my childhood and missing the fun and adventure they brought with them.  I'm not sure if those long ago snows were so big because I looked at them from a small child's body, or if it's due to my aging memory.

     I remember snowsuits, and rubber boots that were hard to put on, and even harder to take off, over our shoes. I remember plastic bread bags worn over our shoes when we didn't have boots, and snowmen with faces made of little chunks of coal from the bin. I remember the igloo my dad made for us one year, piling up what seemed like a great mound of snow, packing it tight, then hollowing out a space big enough for two little girls to crawl in long enough to pretend they were Eskimos for awhile. That was when we still lived in Shippingport in the little, three room, tarpaper house.

    A few years later we had moved to Medicine Woods (named for a place in a Harold Bell Wright novel) and there was a worn, rutted track that ran back over our hill.  When we had a good snow, my sister and brothers and I would drag a toboggan almost to the top of the hill and position it carefully to "ride the ruts" to the bottom. That took a little cooperation and teamwork because, on the bends, we all had to lean just enough in the right direction to keep the toboggan riding the rut instead of careening off into the brush. Most of the time we made it!

Do as I Say, Not as I Do

     I was cleaning out some old emails this morning (something I really should do more frequently) when I came across one that still bugs me. It was from a woman I've known for going on fifteen years. She's several years older than I am, a former teacher, and a tireless volunteer. A paragon of virtue. 

     Up until about three months ago, we were members of the same education-slash-service organization.  At the meeting that day, the first one Jane had attended since the beginning of the Covid pandemic in 2020, a few of the ladies were discussing the latest variant. I should probably note that, in all likelihood, not all the information they were exchanging was factual. At some point, Jane told them they were spreading untruths, it was upsetting to her, and she wanted them to stop. They did. However, apparently, not everyone at that table heard her and they carried on. The first I realized anything was amiss was when Jane got out of her chair and started toward where I was presiding at the head of the next table. With bulging eyes and a wild look on her face, she laid a hand on my shoulder and said "I'm sorry, I can't take any more of this. I'm done."

     She followed that up with the email I mentioned, in which she said, in part: "...they started talking what I call "trash politics", and "I firmly believe everyone has a right to their own views, but there is a time and place for voicing them..."

     It made me laugh and raised my hackles, all at the same time. How can one espouse freedom of speech and, in the same breath, censor the places where it can be used? She continued on, telling me she was "saddened that the group has changed its outlook from one of love and civility to angry negativity.  I miss being part of a group that shares common goals and respects each others worth and values no matter if we have differences of opinions." 

     She was completely unaware of the contradiction. After a couple days had passed, and I could read her epistle with neither laughter or tears, I replied that, although I wasn't happy with her decision to leave the club, I supported her right to do so, and wished her the very best life has to offer, going forward.  I even told her if she ever changed her mind, her return to the club would be met with open arms. That is true, by the way.

    But people like that exhaust me and, frankly, I hope she doesn't change her mind.
 

Winter Solstice and a Geo-locator

 
  

  It's quiet here, just now, the morning of our first full day of heading back to the sun. Solstice arrived last night at 10:27 while I lay sleeping. Each new day will bring us a few more seconds of precious sunlight, that promise of Spring on her way.  All the years of my growing up, I remember my dad looking at the calendar and saying, "Today, we head back to the sun." It seemed a silly thing to me at the time, although I smiled at his enthusiasm, but I finally realized, in my adulthood, why it was so important. It was the promise. The anticipation. The concrete realization that Winter, no matter  how bleak it was at the moment, was already doomed. It would be replaced in weeks with softer, warmer air, the greening of the earth, new buds and leaves on the trees. Life would begin anew.

    The quiet feels good. Even Inky is still, napping in his hammock after an arduous morning of keeping me on track in the kitchen while I prepare breakfast (his and mine) and reminding me exactly where  the geographical center of the floor is. This ever-so-important task is accomplished by lying on the spot and, because I have a bad habit of wanting to use that spot at least a dozen times in the course of the morning, it requires a great deal of courage on his part. After all, if a fat woman trips over you and falls on you, well you might say you're risking your life by performing this valuable service!

     With my geo-locator asleep, the outdoors brightening ahead of the sunrise, warm air spilling from the floor register and wrapping around my bare ankles, and a fresh cup of dark, strong, Colombian coffee at hand, it's a lovely, peaceful morning to look forward - to Christmas and the new year, and the certainty of Spring.

The Game's Afoot - Holmes for the Holidays

    

 

 

     Today will be a treat. I purchased my tickets for this months ago and have been looking forward to it ever since.  I enjoy theater and, especially, murderously funny theater, so this should be right up my alley!  According to one blurb:

"The danger and hilarity are non-stop in this glittering whodunit set during the Christmas holidays. Its December 1936 and Broadway star William Gillette, admired the world over for his leading role in the play Sherlock Holmes, has invited his fellow cast members to his Connecticut castle for a weekend of revelry. But when one of the guests is stabbed to death, the festivities in this isolated house of tricks and mirrors quickly turn dangerous. Then its up to Gillette himself, as he assumes the persona of his beloved Holmes, to track down the killer before the next victim appears."

     I'm taking with me a friend who also loves theater but has even less opportunity to go than I do.  It will make the fun even more enjoyable to share it with someone who "gets" it.

     The venue is a small, but lovely, place called Lincoln Park Performing Arts Center, just a few miles from where I live.  I try to attend at least one show a year and, this year, I'll have been twice! The amateur casts are incredibly talented and never fail to pull you straight into the story and keep you there for the duration.  They go all out on their costumes and sets, so you never feel the need to "imagine" the scene. 

     In light of the horror of the past few days, this will be a welcome and needed respite, and I will not allow myself to feel guilty for enjoying these couple of hours.              

Life is Savage

 

 

     I have been blessed in my life, and I'm aware of that.  In fact, I am reminded almost on  a daily basis of how lucky I've been.  How little real loss I have known. That ended yesterday.

 

     My family dynamics, like many these days, are convoluted, to say the least. The short version is this: my granddaughter, my Darling Girl has two older brothers. Technically, they are half brothers but I don't do fractions so, brothers. And therefore, grandsons in my heart.  Yesterday, the oldest boy was killed in a car accident on his way to work. No other vehicles were involved. We may never, probably will never, know what happened, other than his car rolled over and slammed into a tree. Did he fall asleep? Was he maybe texting while driving? Knowing him, how responsible he was, the latter seems unlikely.

 

     The only thing we do know is that a beautiful young boy  lost his life and the world is poorer today because of it. I never saw him angry. I never saw or heard him do anything mean or small. He was a gentle dreamer. He was the perfect big brother to his younger siblings. Loving, kind, protective. 

 

     I've heard people comment how the holiday season, from Thanksgiving through New Years, holds no meaning for them because someone they loved passed away during that time. I understood that in my head but, today, I feel it in my heart.  He was "only" my non-biological grandson and I'm shattered. I cannot, can not, imagine the grief and devastation being suffered by his real family. His grandparents who raised him, the other grandparents who were ever present in his life, his younger brother and sisters who loved him with every fiber of their young hearts. 

 

     I'm not a close part of that family.  I'm not related by blood; I'm the grandma grandma, not the parent grandma. The ranks have closed, as they should, while they process their grief and struggle to come to terms with this awful new reality. I've let them know I am here. I am available if they need me. Knowing that is all I can do doesn't make me feel any less useless and lost.

 

                                                       

Hopefully Not The Winter Of My Discontent

      

 

     The end of November is within sight. We had snow flurries yesterday and our first sticking snow last night. It didn't amount to much, just a coating, and it will melt quickly once the sun comes up but, it's there, a harbinger of things to come. For the first time this season our high temperature won't even reach the freezing mark, although there is a warm-up (with daily rain) in the forecast.

    I used to really like winter - wrapped in a heavy coat, with the thick, warm, blood of youth pulsing through my veins, breathing in deep lungfuls of air so cold it felt like it would shatter if you "pinged" it with your finger. I wondered at the beautiful silence that came with heavier snowfalls, and would often stand outside in the dark, quarter sized snowflakes swirling around me, and listen to see if I could hear them join their brothers and sisters on the ground. Sometimes, I could.  

    I loved making the first tracks across a field of white, loved being the first car on the road on my way home from work. That drive, although little more than a mile, was often magical. The road was lined with trees and, when we had a wet snow, it would cling to every tree, branch, twig, and weed along the way. I started calling these "wedding-cake-snows" because driving on a pristine white road, with snow covered branches bowing down above me, and surrounded by snow capped weeds along the fence lines, it truly felt as though I were driving through a wedding cake with mounds of beautifully piped frosting.

    Maybe it was the lack of funds that eventually made proper outdoor gear harder to come by, maybe it was the rising price of fuel that made old, drafty houses difficult to keep warm, or maybe it was simply old age but, somewhere along the years, I've lost the joy of winter. I spend most of it in my snug little house, or a warm car on my way to somewhere else warm.

     I'd like to find the magic again, this year, if only for a couple times.  I'm not verging on destitution anymore and, if I set my mind to it, I can overcome the habits I've acquired, bundle up, step outside, and listen to the snow.