From Typewriter to Facebook

One of my much-loved rituals has always been reading the morning newspaper with my mug of coffee at hand.  I love the scent of newsprint, and the feel of the paper in my hands.  I scan the titles of each article, deciding which I will choose to read, and especially love the commentary section where I can read and ponder differing opinions on issues.  I have been forced to cut back to weekend delivery, due to finances, so during the week I now check the online version of the paper.  However, I miss the paper issue so much.

I have been slow to accept our technological world.  Each tiny step I have taken has been by necessity, seldom by choice.  In 1987 I bought my first computer so I could learn word processing and begin a small "secretarial" business from home.  How wonderful it was!  In the mid-90's my husband started his electrical contracting business, and my accountant persuaded me to computerize my accounting system.  I was SO hesitant -- I liked my handwritten journals and registers -- but, after a few days of using Quickbooks, I was hooked.  How wonderful to make just one entry of every transaction!

Of course, setting up Email was a necessity for a small business.  At first I remember saying to anyone who would listen, "I prefer handwritten messages, or a phone conversation."  Now, I can't imagine my world without Email.  It is so wonderful to be able to send off a message whenever I have something to say, regardless of time or location.

I have learned to make good use of the Internet -- I love the easy access to information at any hour of the day.  Especially in the past year, as we have closed our business and navigated the paths of trimming down costs of healthcare, insurances, utilities, etc. I have found the Internet much more efficient than the legwork that would have been required to change our lives so totally.

And so it has gone -- slowly I have adapted to it all -- digital cameras, cellphones, texting.  I love listening to country music on my IPod as I cook.  I even created this blog in 2007.  However, I was very uncertain about Facebook.  Why would anyone want to put such personal information out for the world to see.  Now I have found that I love it.  I have reconnected with people that I seldom see and find much pleasure in sharing little pieces of our lives.  Checking my Facebook page has become a "must" for me each day.

I often ponder whether our quality of life is better because of technology.  I was very happy years ago when I communicated through letters and phone calls.  I preferred small TV sets that didn't "jump off the wall" to get your attention.  I find it rude when I am having conversations with people and they are texting on their IPhones as we talk.  I feel the multi-tasking that technology has enabled has created a much higher stress level in our young people.  However, I will continue to learn and stay abreast of the latest advances.  I will keep a balance, though, and not neglect the natural world and the face-to-face conversations that enhance my quality of life. 

Quiet Moments

I write to the sound of a gentle rain falling -- although it disappoints everyone when Saturdays are not sunny and warm, I must admit I love rainy days.  Somehow the world seems to slow down a bit, and I can sit in a cozy chair and read or write without an endless list of garden chores waiting for me.  And, this morning I need some rest.  The past couple of weeks have been very busy, and I am recovering from a cold and eye infection which seem to have exhausted me a bit. 

Two weekends this month were spent preparing a vegetable garden.  My yard has gradually filled with trees, so growing vegetables has not been a priority the past few years as shade is not conducive to vegetables.  However, I decided this year that I miss SO MUCH the taste of warm tomatoes fresh from the vine, and tender-skinned zucchini and yellow squash.  We bought two small raised bed frames and placed them on the side of our house where there is still a good deal of sunshine all afternoon.  It is a small area, but it will be exciting to grow my own vegetables again.  Years ago, I had a large garden out back, with tomatoes, green beans, squash, peppers, corn, carrots -- and I miss that.  But, I do love my shade trees and lovely perennials, so it is a trade-off.  Anyway, my vegetable beds are now filled with rich soil, plants and seeds, and fenced in with a high fence that should keep out all of my critters from the smallest bunny to the tallest deer.  And, now I wait for the pleasure of my own fresh veggies --

My month has also been marked with family celebrations.  Over Memorial Day weekend we attended family barbecues, and on May 30 we gathered together to celebrate my grandson's fourth birthday.  Luke was so excited -- the party was small, as mid-week celebrations tend to be -- grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins arrived for a delicious supper, bearing gifts and love.   His "kid's birthday party" was the following Saturday -- a much rowdier crowd!! 

My little granddaughter, Alivia, wanted a "sleepover" with Grammy this past week -- an impromptu treat.  I quickly changed dinner plans to "little girl" fare and spent the night with her snuggled closely to my side.

Yesterday was the last day of preschool for the year.  Luke's day was bittersweet, because he loves his teacher and was sad to leave her class.  Alivia's class held a Graduation Ceremony -- next year she will be in kindergarten.  My heart burst with love as I watched her up on stage; then the "graduates" joined their families (including my little Emma, who threw herself into Alivia's arms as soon as she sat down in her chair) to watch a video of their class memories.  How wonderful to feel the love in that room.  Bethlehem Community Church Preschool is a loving and nurturing environment, which prepares these little ones for kindergarten.

And now the weekend is here -- and I do plan to be gentle on myself.  My eye infection scared me -- even the remote possibility of losing the sight in one eye was a shocker.  Reading and writing are my bliss, and I realized this week how important it is that I am mindful of my eye health.  Somehow, with all of the screenings we endure -- mammograms, colonoscopies, etc., etc., I most often neglect my eyes.

So, I am making a vow to myself this morning -- I will not do any major work in the garden or the house this weekend; I will not hurry here and there; I will not plan any family gatherings.  I will let the weekend unfold slowly; watch my birds, enjoy my porch, listen to music, putter in the garden, and relax, so my body can concentrate on healing itself.  What a pleasure to have quiet moments --

The Worth of a Strong Back

The sun baked the high church roof as the workers labored  -- stripping off old shingles, loading the fallen shingles into wheelbarrows and pushing them to the dumpster, securing new shingles into place.  I watched as one tall, muscular young man tipped his heavy load of shingles off the wheelbarrow -- muscles rippling from his efforts.  And, I thought of politicians wrangling over the issue of raising the minimum wage.

Unfortunately, the legislators who make the final decisions concerning minimum wage and work standards are sitting in air-conditioned comfort as they argue over these issues.  To many of them, this is a political issue -- who wants to alienate business constituents with deep pockets.  There is a total disconnect between the work these legislators do each day and the work done by most minimum wage workers in this country.  

Unless you have earned your living doing physical work every day, it is difficult to place a value on this work.  Many educated professionals have never worked physically.  No matter how menial the physical work, it is hard work.  The construction laborer who does the digging and the lifting and the "grunt" work, the stock person who lifts and loads all day, the waitress who carries heavy trays back and forth again and again with a smile on her face, and the landscape worker who lifts and kneels and moves heavy stones are all physically exhausted by the end of their day.  Shouldn't they be paid a wage that allows them to afford decent housing, healthy food and health insurance?

As I was working in the garden the past two weekends -- digging and raking two new raised beds for vegetables, stringing fencing to keep my deer and rabbits out, planting and watering, I was once again reminded that physical work is tough.  I remember years ago thinking that painting looked like an easy job -- until we bought our old house and spent hours stripping wallpaper, sanding and painting -- up and down ladders, reaching and bending and kneeling.  I then realized that being a professional painter was no "walk in the park".

I wish each of our lawmakers would spend a few days as an "intern", working eight hours a day at a minimum wage job -- working with hands and back and muscles.  Maybe then they would realize that these workers deserve to receive fair compensation for their work -- compensation that will allow them to afford decent housing, healthy food and health insurance. 

Unfortunately, these people lack the political clout of the businesses that employ them.  Maybe we need a labor union for minimum wage workers -- to fight for their rights in a society which does not realize their worth.




     

My soothing back yard on a lovely Sunday in May.

And The Peonies Live On

The pressed glass pitcher is filled with pink peonies.  I place my hands around these heavy, voluptuous blossoms, breathing in their lovely perfume.  But this year, as I savor these precious spring flowers, sadness touches my heart.  I am thinking of Fred.  I picked these beautiful blooms last evening in his backyard, as I have for so many years; this year, though, Fred was not at the window or the back door.  He passed away before his daffodils bloomed and his grass turned green, and he is missed.  In a neighborhood of old homes where people move in and tend to stay on, Fred's passing impacted us all.  He was old, and he was sick, but his vital and caring spirit will live on in our hearts. 

2012 has so far been a year of losses -- wakes, funerals and grief have consumed too much of these months.  Not only have I grieved personally, but I have also grieved for friends who have lost loved ones.  I worry that this is a pattern, and that there are more to come.  I remember a decade ago when it seemed my sister and I attended funerals so often that we joked about becoming "professional mourners."  And now, that same sister that I laughed with is gone from my life.

There isn't much we can offer to our friends as they grieve -- a hug, a pot of hot soup, some cliched thoughts -- we feel helpless.  Grief is something we all have to deal with on our own terms.  The process of grief is long -- I still am moved to tears at the simplest of reminders, almost three years after my sister's death.

We attended a memorial mass for a friend on Saturday morning.  He was an outgoing, warm man and a loving father.  As his son spoke the eulogy, he said the last words he had spoken to his father the night before his sudden and totally unexpected death were, "I love you, Dad."  How wonderful to live with the knowledge that your last words were loving ones.  I, on the other hand, cried as I looked at the photo of this charming man, and remembered that my last words had been, "You'll have to come over for dinner sometime," but I never followed through.  I will always regret that.

And so, as these months of loss have weighed down my heart, I will not dwell on the things I neglected to do; instead, I will try to make that little extra effort to let my family and friends know that I love and cherish them.  For, in the end, all we are left with are the memories -- and only we can make those memories count for something good. 

And each year as I smell the peonies, or hear a West Virginia accent, I will remember Fred -- his crotchety side and his generous, loving side -- a man who overcame every adversity, a man with a will of iron, a strength of spirit, and a love for his fellow travelers along the way of life, which made us all better for having known him.

A Carpet of Forget-Me-Nots

"There is a certain rhythm to rearing children and growing a garden.  They both require patience.  And watching.  And love." -- Molly Chappelett

This beautiful quotation speaks to my heart, especially in the spring as my garden wakes from its slumber.  I garden as I mothered -- sowing the seeds and gently tending, with no strict requirements --allowing both my children and my plants to become what they were destined to be.  

I have never been drawn to neat little beds of flowers.  I love a profusion of flowers.  My lily-of-the-valley migrate to the stone walk nearby; my thyme and oregano cascade over the little stone wall in my front yard.  My garden evolves -- as the canopy of leaves on my maple tree has shaded more and more of one garden, the showier flowers have given way to quieter plants with tinier flowers.  The birds and the winds carry new surprises to the gardens.  Where phlox once thrived in one garden, it is being replaced with black raspberry bushes which I never planted.

There are disappointments in the garden, as well.  Of the twelve climbing rose bushes I planted with loving care six years ago along the fence, only three or four remain -- and they look none too healthy at this point.  How sad for me -- a lover of roses!  This year I will try some other less fussy plants by the fence.  Along the driveway, in a patch of direct sunlight, a mix of phlox, coneflowers and a lovely yellow flower thrive.  Three years ago I bought one of the yellow flowers at a Garden Club sale -- the little old man who sold it to me didn't know its name, but said it grew very tall -- he was right.  Not only did it grow tall, it has also reseeded itself abundantly to provide a lush contrast to the pinks and purples growing alongside it.

How imperfect my garden is -- always changing, always growing outside its boundaries, fighting for space with a weed that haunts our neighborhood and makes my weeding chores difficult.  How much patience is required as I wait each year to see if the wisteria will finally bloom.  How frustrating when the deer eat the tulips as their leaves come out of the ground and the woodchuck devours the phlox out back before it has had time to blossom.

But, how beautiful it is was this morning to walk out into the yard and find a carpet of blue and white forget-me-nots.  Of course, this means the lawn will not be mowed anytime soon -- who can possibly mow down a carpet of flowers.  And so, my untidy, lush gardens thrive -- trees, berries, herbs and flowers -- raised with patience and watching and, most of all, love.  

Grandma's Potato Salad

My family gathers today at my son and daughter-in-law's home for an early Easter celebration.  Yesterday afternoon I made cupcakes with pastel icing and prepared my first potato salad of the season.  As I peeled and cooked the potatoes, diced the onions, snipped newly born chives from the garden, sprinkled in salt, pepper, celery salt and dill, then stirred everything together with Hellman's mayonnaise, my grandmother was in my thoughts.  My potato salad recipe was passed down from her, along with a lovely little covered dish which ALWAYS was used to serve her salad. 

No summer picnic was complete without Grandma's potato salad.  As she grew too old to cook, my mother took over the salad-making, and the tradition continued with my sister, my cousin, and myself.  I was the lucky one who claimed ownership of the pretty covered dish, which now bears a crack in its lid from an unfortunate kitchen accident.

Through the years I have made "adjustments" to the recipe.  I added fresh chives and lovage when I started my herb garden years ago, and dill when I sampled a good friend's potato salad which included chopped pickles (so much of my cooking has been influenced by friends).  I have deleted the chopped boiled eggs which were so much a part of Grandma's salad, because my daughter and one daughter-in-law do not like eggs. 

And so, today as we gather, once again Grandma's potato salad will be part of our celebration, and she will be with us in spirit.  One day I will pass along the special little dish (which is much too small for the larger salad I now make for our growing family), and the recipe will continue on in the now tiny hands of my grandchildren. 

I wish you all a Blessed Easter in the company of loved ones and traditions new and old --