Ode to Borders

The news came this week that they are closing the Borders bookstore in Saratoga soon.  It is ironic that this news upsets me, because several years ago when the Borders and Barnes & Noble chain bookstores were settling in our area, I worried that our small local bookstores would disappear in the wake of this big business competition.  However, over the years I made peace with the "giants" and now feel sadness at their demise.

It wasn't too long ago that the Borders on Wolf Road in Albany closed, leaving a smaller store in a local mall.  The Barnes & Noble on Wolf Road moved to the mall across the street at about the same time.  I miss the freestanding stores.  I have many wonderful memories of browsing in the peaceful Barnes & Noble store -- a haven of sorts whenever life became too much for me.  Its new location in the mall is loud and busy, and not at all conducive to quiet introspection.  The Wolf Road Borders holds memories of hot chocolate and warm conversation in its peaceful cafe, which is non-existent in its smaller mall location.

The reasons given for the closing of the Saratoga Borders is the huge popularity of E-books and online bookstores, as well as the death of the music CD market.  How sad!!!  As a sensual person, I cannot imagine how an E-book can possibly compete with a hard copy.  I love the process of reading as much as I love the knowledge or entertainment found in a book.  I enjoy the weight of the book in my hands, the cover illustration, the font styles, the scent of a fresh new book or a dear old friend with pages worn and a musty scent.  Often as I read late in the evening, I begin to drowse, and must turn back a page or two to find my place.  I keep a quotation journal, and often page back through a book after I finish it, jotting down memorable quotes.  How cold it must be to read a book from a computer. 

I realize that technology has brought significant positive changes to our culture.  However, I truly believe we have sacrificed some measure of pleasure and humanity as we move into this high-tech world.  While texts and Emails are convenient, nothing can compare to sitting quietly with a friend and watching his eyes as he talks.  Words viewed on a screen cannot convey the inflections behind conversations.  How easy to misread the actual intent of a sentence when viewing it in abbreviated form on a screen.

I remember the days when business phones were answered by receptionists who listened to your needs and referred you to the proper person to handle your issues.  Today's phone menus are frustrating and completely impersonal.  I have become enraged several times when asked to speak to the computer, only to be told that the computer does not "recognize" my voice.  In fact, my Ford Escape has this "wonderful" Sync System that allows me to press a button and make a phone call.  For some reason, though, the car does not "recongize" my voice.  My husband's voice works like a charm, but for some reason my "voice" is unrecognizable in Sync's repertoire.  After a few futile attempts, I do not try anymore.  I take out my trusty old cellphone and dial the number -- at least my "dialing" is recognizable.

With our busy lives, much of the food we consume is "take out", or processed foods from the grocery store, picked up on the way home and heated up quickly before we head out to our next meeting.  Gone are the days when soup simmers on the stove all day, filling the house with its tantalizing aroma, and cake batter is stirred in a big old mixing bowl, baked in layers and frosted with buttercream icing made from scratch.  We sacrifice process for convenience, and everyone loses --

Of course, I realize that our technological world is constantly reinventing itself, and I try to keep abreast of the changes.  I certainly do not want to become an old lady who cannot communicate with her grandchildren or search the internet for important information.  I realize that our children must be educated to compete in the world as it exists and changes.  I do try, though, to make certain that my grandchildren have the chance to enjoy the sensuality of this world, too.  We read real books together, snuggled in a comfy chair; we make cookies and taste the dough, smell the vanilla, and enjoy the process of creation.  They sniff the flowers in the garden and feel their soft petals; they experiment with writing and drawing on different paper with all types of pens and crayons.  We take time to enjoy the "process" of what we do as much as we enjoy the final product.

And, as usual, I have digressed.  Obviously, the closing of one Borders store in a lovely little city in upstate New York is not the end of life as we know it.  However, it is the end of one more little pleasure in the lives of its patrons who gathered there to browse and read and enjoy coffee and face-to-face conversations with others who love books.  Good-bye Borders!!

Won't You Say You Love Me, Too

It is early afternoon on a snowy February 1.  I am sitting in the office, trying to catch up on a backlog of work.  Suddenly, from downstairs, I hear Alivia yelling, "Grammy, Grammy!!!," and I yell Back, "What?"  "It's OUR SONG!," she yells.  I leave the desk and hurriedly descend the stairs to hold her and sing the Barney song that has become "Our Song" to Alivia and Luke.  Of course, I make it down for the last stanza only, but that isn't what is important.  What is important is that we don't miss the hugs & kisses that accompany the song.

My days with these precious grandchildren are tiring, challenging, and more rewarding than anything else I could be doing at this moment.  This Barney song is ingrained in our hearts as the call that draws the three of us together from wherever we are to hold each other tightly and renew the bonds of love that we share.

I know that I am giving them both a tremendous gift -- the unconditional love of a grandmother during the hours their own parents are away.  As they grow up and move into the larger world, they may not remember many details of their days with me.  In fact, they may not even remember the "specialness" of this Barney song, but they will be more secure, move loving adults because they were held closely in the loving arms of their grandmother.

And I will always wipe a tear from my eye when I hear the Barney song and they are grown up and no longer yelling, "Grammy, it's Our Song!!".

"I love you, you love me,

We're a happy family --

With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you,

Won't you say you love me, too.

I love you, you love me,

We're best friends like friends should be --

With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you,

Won't you say you love me, too."

Savorings

"Live in each season as it passes:  breath the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit." -- Henry David Thoreau

As I opened the porch door this morning to put the dogs out, the cold darkness quickly chased me back inside to a hot mug of coffee enjoyed in the cuddly warmth of a soft afghan.  Now, pale sunshine has filled the sky and the snowy landscape is a lovely site.  This year the month of January has been much like those of my childhood -- frequent snowstorms, trees and shrubs sparkling with bits of ice, and crackling cold surrounding us all.  It is impossible to imagine that six months ago the garden was lush, and the heat and humidity of July were our daily companions.

Today my gardens are safely tucked under a blanket of snow, and the birds and squirrels fluff up their feathers and fur as they hurry back and forth from shelter to feeders.  While I love the pleasures of summer -- quiet evenings on the porch, fresh tomatoes warm from the vine, steak sizzling on the grill, and the scent of flowers lingering on warm breezes -- I also love winter.  There is a stillness in winter that soothes my soul, a drawing inward of sorts.  I love walking in snowy darkness, just me and the silent flakes that drift through the air.  I love sleeping under piles of soft quilts and the sensuality of wrapping myself in a well-worn sweater.  Soup or stews simmer slowly all day, filling the house with warmth and aroma.  A cup of cocoa warms cold hands when we come inside.  And, as in every season, the sunrise is lovely -- coming so much later and arriving slowly -- just the palest peach painting the horizon as daylight slowly pushes away the deep winter darkness.  I love moonlight on the snow -- a lovelier sight cannot be found.  I drink it all in -- the beauty and the stillness of this season when nature rests.

In the Northeast, we are blessed with a gift in our marked change of seasons.  Just as we tire of the endless cold of winter, we are greeted with gentle spring breezes that speak of warmth.  The mud of March becomes the fertile soil for summer flowers.  The long, hot, drowsy days of August are blown away by the cool, clear air of September.  How boring it must be to live where there is little to mark the passage from one season to the next.

I realize that there are people who do not find their pleasures in nature.  They live very happy lives in their "temperature controlled" worlds -- their contentment comes from more worldly endeavors.  They live productive lives and perhaps never find a thrill in a sunset or a flower.  They probably would prefer to live where the seasons don't change much, and the cold does not seep into your bones in winter.  But, like Thoreau, I prefer to savor each season and seek my bliss in the capriciousness of the climate of New York.

Christmas Musings

The morning was quiet and cloudy as I rose early on this Sunday before Christmas, at the moment when day is breaking and gentle light filters through my neighbor's pine trees.  I have not written a blog entry in over a month.  I have been so busy that my moments of quiet contemplation have been few.  The weeks have flown past, filled with preparations for Christmas, office work, and the tasks of reconfiguring our home to accommodate a new apartment for my daughter.  Our plans to sell our home and build an apartment on her house were too expensive, so now she will move back here for a time, leaving her own house and the dreams she envisioned there.  We are casualties of this terrible economy, which has taken its toll on so many people; there are usually no pleasant solutions to the individual struggles of its victims.  While I am relieved to be staying in my own beloved house, I grieve for my daughter's loss of the home she loves.

In the midst of the chaos of reconfiguring our house to include a separate, private apartment -- the moving and sorting and decisions of what to keep and what to let go -- I have also found the time to savor this most lovely of seasons.  The month between Thanksgiving and Christmas is one of my favorites.  While my time has been limited, and I am ashamed to admit I have baked only one batch of Christmas cookies with my grandchildren, and they were mediocre at best, I have managed to trim my small Christmas tree, place a single candle in each of my front windows, and fill the house with my treasured decorations.

Family time has been frequent, though.  We gathered for Thanksgiving at my sister-in-law's lovely home, celebrated my 60th birthday with a delicious dinner at my son's house, celebrated my daughter-in-law's birthday with a take-out meal, and spent a late Sunday afternoon sorting through decorations of long-ago Christmases to divide among my children and grandchildren.

Last Saturday we gathered my husband's father, sister, aunt, uncle, cousin and their families for a glorious evening of good food, conversation and laughter - a memory to cherish.  This past Friday night, we joined my cousin, her husband, and my son's mother and father-in-law for dinner at The Century House in Latham.  The dining room was warmed by a crackling fire and decorated with exquisite arrangements of greens, ribbons and tiny white lights.  The food was scrumptious, and we were shocked when we realized we had lingered for three hours, talking and catching up.  How wonderful it is that our in-laws are truly family. 

Late this morning, my God-child, her husband, and her parents stopped to pick up an antique sewing machine that I have no room for now.  Her mother, one of my best friends, and her grandmother were both wonderful seamstresses, and I hope that this sewing machine will always bring her special memories of the women in her life.  What a wonderful few minutes we spent reminiscing.

When I was young, Christmas was all about Santa Claus and gifts.  As a young mother, I spent the season making memories for my children -- baking cookies and gingerbread houses, sending lists to Santa, visiting the tree farm for a live tree, setting up the nativity set, attending Christmas Eve services by candlelight, and reading "The Night Before Christmas" before bedtime.  The weeks before Christmas were spent in a rush of shopping for just the right gifts, and the anticipation of my own gifts under the tree woke me early in the morning.

Now, however, the focus of Christmas for me has evolved into a calmer, quieter joy.  Due to economic necessity, I have cut back seriously on gift exchanges, so my own pile under the tree is very small.  Instead, I find my enchantment in the lovely decorations, the candlelight and the music, gentle snowfalls, the gathering together of loved ones, and the wonder of that birth in a little stable which brought the message of love and peace to our troubled world. 

Love and Loss

My mother-in-law passed away last weekend. Her death was sudden and unexpected, though she had been ill for six years, trapped in a body and mind that incrementally deteriorated to the point that she was immobile, and spent portions of her days wondering where she was and wandering in thought to her childhood. She was tended to lovingly and faithfully at home by my father-in-law. Her death leaves a large void in our family. 

As we have passed through this week, I have thought a great deal about grief – about the process and the ways in which we express and internalize our grief. I have grieved for my mother-in-law for years now, as the woman we knew slowly slipped away from us – in the final year or two her place was empty at our celebrations because it had become too difficult and painful for her to be moved from place to place, and the chatter and bustle around her was disorienting and disturbing to her. She was the matriarch of our family, and celebrations without her were touched with sadness for me.

Now, though, we are dealing with the grief that comes with the finality of death. And, we each must deal with this grief in our own way. The words of comfort from loved ones and friends are behind us now, and we settle back into daily life with a long journey of personal grieving ahead of us all.

In my experience, I have found that every person grieves in his own unique way. There are people who cry openly and inconsolably, and those with a stoicism that does not allow tears. Some talk about the loss of their loved one to everyone who will listen; others find it difficult to talk at all. My grief tends to be a private grief. I dread the wake and the funeral, because talking about the person I loved brings tears and sorrow – although I appreciate the comfort of hugs and love, I prefer to grieve quietly. In fact, after my parents died, I couldn’t even talk about them for months without tears, so I held them closely in my heart and carried on with daily life. I strongly believe that I will be reunited with those that I love some day, and this makes my grief easier to bear.

Grief is cumulative -- once the devastating emotions of fresh grief have softened, we carry the remnants of grief with us forever. Years later, a memory or a lyric from a song can once more release fresh tears of loss. We don’t stop loving, and we really never “complete” the grieving process. We carry the love and the memories in our hearts forever; our family gatherings bring new faces and new love, but the empty chairs are always there in our hearts. We don’t forget – we move on and live our lives – lives that are richer for the knowing and loving of those we’ve lost. They are always a part of us and their love still enfolds us. And the grief that was unbearably painful finds a quiet place in our hearts to linger gently forever.

Leaving Home

The house is quiet this morning -- my little grandson sits on the living room carpet with his new building blocks.  The view from my window is of clouds, drizzle, and the last leaves of autumn slowly drifting to the ground.  This season is a soothing one for me -- the craziness of summer is past and we have all adjusted to the more scheduled routine of fall. 

On Wednesday I accompanied my granddaughter on a preschool field trip to a pumpkin farm, and yesterday I made Halloween cupcakes -- with a grandchild on each side stirring and licking the batter from wooden spoons.  My memories drift to Halloweens long past, when I was creating holiday memories for their fathers and their aunt.  I remember the years of costume-making and parties, and the pleasure of reconnecting with neighbors as we trekked from house to house to Trick or Treat.

This autumn I find myself at a crossroad.  Our family has struggled in today's difficult economy, and this may very well be the last holiday season I will celebrate in my beloved old house.  Our options are limited.  We are hopeful that we will be able to sell our house and build a small little inlaw apartment at my daughter's house.  Hopefully, it will simplify our financial lives, as well as provide us with a lovely little cottage to shelter us as we age.  It is exciting to think of building something new -- an open floor plan with a cozy loft for my bedroom and my books, a place for my grandchildren to sleep over, and a sparkling new kitchen.  The view from my windows will be of trees, grass, and inky night skies filled with starlight.

But, and there is a huge "but", my heart breaks to think of leaving this large old Victorian that has sheltered our family for so long.  The memories of almost two-thirds of my life linger within these walls.  This house has long been filled with children, pets, friends and family.  It has been the gathering place for countless holiday celebrations, summer picnics, everyday family meals, and quiet conversations with loved ones at the kitchen table.  While many of these friends and family have either moved on or passed on, I hold special memories of them all in my heart, and often picture their beloved faces at the table as I work in my kitchen alone.  There have been wonderful times in this house, but there has also been sorrow, and in times of sorrow, its walls draw around me and offer comfort and sanctuary.

Tears flow as I walk through my gardens -- my personal source of peace.  I have worked so hard to create my own little oasis here.  The stresses of a difficult marriage and a struggling family business have worn me down emotionally, and the solitude of my beloved porch and gardens soothes my spirit.  I have placed the stones in the walks, and around the little pond, painted the white picket fences, and lovingly tended the trees and plants that thrive heartily.  I feel as if I am leaving part of myself here.

I have to accept that it may be time to move on.  Sometimes in life we have to follow a new path.  It will be much better for me if I look forward to this move with optimism and anticipation.  I will design my little cottage in loving detail, begin plans for new gardens -- bringing along some of my precious perennials and cuttings from my flowering shrubs.  I will pack away the treasures I intend to pass along to my grandchildren, and look forward to a new kitchen with a sunny window for fresh herbs, and a lovely loft area with shelves for my books and teddy bear collection.  I will have a new, smaller back porch for sipping my morning coffee. 

But, this old house of mine is like a long-loved friend.  Leaving it will be heart-wrenching.  I can only pray that I find a buyer who will treasure it as I do.

Family Moments

I stand quietly in the French doorway as Alivia's Mom holds her hands and gently leads her through the cha-cha steps on the dance floor. Alivia's flower girl dress billows around her, and it is a mother-daughter moment her other grandmother tries to capture with a click of her camera. This was a moment to treasure in a day filled with such moments -- the wedding day of Alivia's uncle.

On this glorious September day we gathered as a picture-perfect family -- the affection, the laughter, the happy tears. These days are the reward for carefully nurturing family bonds. Below the silky smooth surface, however, lies all the drama of family -- the hurt, anger, and disappointment that is so much a part of every family saga. Somehow, the bonds of family hold us together despite our differences. While there are times we can't begin to understand each other, we share a history and links of genes and love that offer us security and comfort in this cold world.

A few weeks ago, I received an unexpected gift in the mail. I carefully opened the box and gently lifted out a most incredibly lovely afghan. There was a note from my cousin. She and her sisters had each contributed crocheted blocks and created this beautiful gift in memory of my sister. I had been especially missing my sister as the anniversary of her death passed earlier this summer, and the afghan brought me a tremendous sense of comfort. As I snuggle into its softness, I can feel the warm thoughts and prayers woven into each block.

This summer has been filled with special moments -- a Fourth of July party at a cousin's house with family members I seldom see, a graduation party for another cousin, the announcement that I will become a grandmother again next spring, a lovely dinner with a beloved uncle and his family -- it is always a joy to reconnect with loved ones and enjoy these gatherings.

At the wedding yesterday I sat with the groom's mother -- my close friend for over thirty years and my son's mother-in-law -- and the groom's grandmother whom I love dearly. She is in her 80's and now has twenty-eight great-grandchildren, and she never misses a family celebration. I looked out over the tables at the faces of these children I have loved for so many years -- now grown up with children of their own. What a gift it is to feel your heart bursting with love!!

These special days in the lives of our families are over much too quickly, and we return to the struggles of day-to-day life. We are stressed, hurtful words are spoken, we suffer disappointments and losses, and we sometimes forget how blessed we are to be part of our extended families. But blessed we are!!