The Priceless Summer

In June the days of summer always dangle as pearls in front of us.  As tulips and daffodils give way to roses, we feel as if we have so much time ahead to enjoy the long, peaceful days of summer.  Now, suddenly, it is mid-August -- we feel a panic of sorts; there is so much more we wanted to do, and the days are dwindling down.

This summer is a bittersweet one for me.  In September my oldest granddaughter, Alivia, will begin kindergarten, and my everyday world of three precious little ones will be forever changed.  I know I felt a similar tug to my heart each time one of my own children began school, but at least they still came home to me at the end of each day.  Not so with Alivia -- her Daddy will be home to get her off the bus and hear the story of her day.

I wanted to make this summer special for the two of us.  Luke and Emma's mom is home with them all summer, so for the most part, I have time alone with Alivia.  We have kept to a peaceful routine; she arrives at 6:30 am, and we spend some time snuggling together in the chair, often reading the books she holds so dear.  Then we enjoy breakfast together in front of the TV, while she watches Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  We water the garden together -- and the plants have required alot of watering this hot summer.  Then, we are ready for whatever activity presents itself -- she took two weeks of morning swim lessons and a week of morning summer camp -- we have made trips to the library, shopping excursions, begun a postcard exchange program, and spent time with Luke. 

To celebrate her fifth birthday, we went to a local tea room with Luke and a favorite cousin of mine.  What a terrible disappointment that was.  Alivia had been looking forward to it, but even though I had called ahead and ordered the "Children's Tea" and told them I was bringing two little ones, the wait was almost more than they could bear.  They were so precious -- practicing their best manners -- but even the "Children's Tea" was not appropriate fare for children.  This will be one of those memories we will all laugh about -- and I will forever carry in my heart the picture of the two of them dressed up and acting so grown up in such an uncomfortable situation.

I am thankful that I have been able to care for my grandchildren since they were infants.  The bond I feel with them is enormous, and I treasure these days.  Both Alivia and Luke are deep thinkers and our time together is filled with questions and conversation.  Already, Emma is chattering away, and it won't be long before she and I are sharing these serious conversations, too.  I have tried this summer to "pack in" as much quality time with Alivia as possible. 

There are still things I want to do with her and things I want to tell her, and summer is waning.  We are going to prepare a tea party for her Nanny, which she always enjoys.  She wants  to go to the playground with Luke and have ice cream at her favorite ice cream stand on the way home.  A much-loved cousin has invited me to bring all three little ones out to swim in her pool.  I told Alivia I would teach her how to make bread.  The list goes on and on and time is becoming shorter and shorter.

Soon, I will be putting her on the bus one morning and her life will forever be changed -- she is growing up, and Grammy is having a difficult time letting go --

Tend With Care

 

My old Rose of Sharon bush has bloomed its heart out this summer, despite the heat and lack of rain.  How hard this lovely plant struggles to hold on to its beauty as it ages, as all women do.  I planted this bush in 1992, with a twin nearby which died suddenly a few years ago.  Somehow this bush has grown far beyond my imaginings, and I have begun a process of selective pruning each year to tame her wild limbs, and encircled her over the winter with a support to keep her aging limbs from breaking with the weight of snow.  She is a work in progress -- as I have culled old limbs, new ones have begun to grow, straight, healthy and filled with new blooms this year.  When you plant gardens and watch them grow, the individual trees and plants become dear to you.

As I snapped this photo today, I was also observing how badly the old wicker chairs and the porch deck need a new coat of paint.  As we age, so do our beloved homes, and unfortunately, our energy level also begins to wane.  Just as the house and the gardens begin to need more and more time and effort, I find I can accomplish only so much at a time.  On Friday morning I was up early and out in the garden to weed with high hopes and high energy.  However, by 10:30, I was wilting from the August heat and humidity, feeling dizzy and somehow unsteady.  I had completed most of the front yard, but was forced to leave the back yard gardens for another day.  

It is frustrating!!  When I was raising my children, cooking, gardening, cleaning, entertaining, and working from home I never gave thought to the day when I wouldn't be able to accomplish one third of the work I did then.  Now, when I rise early in the morning I feel a stiffness that slowly subsides as I open the windows and make a pot of coffee.  Last week when I took my grandchildren to a local amusement park, it was with deep regret that I found I can no longer ride The Scrambler -- my all-time favorite ride.  My neck muscles cannot handle the stress.  How disappointed I am.  Inside is still the free spirit who loved the thrill of hurtling through the air, but my body is no longer cooperative.  

I recall the years I have taken such care with old things -- antiques, old houses, old pets, old people.  There is a fragility to old things and they must be tended to gently and patiently, and with much love.  And now, slowly I am realizing that my own body is becoming one of those "old things".  It shocks me, but when I look back in time to when my grandparents were my age, they seemed old.  Maybe because we baby boomers have grown up with the belief that we are somehow invincible, aging is difficult to comprehend.  We color our hair, moisturize and apply makeup, stay active, and expect to stay young.  But there is a point when we each realize that we are slowly moving from "middle-aged" to "elderly."   It shocked me recently when one of my friends was described as elderly.  How can that be?!

Alas, nothing stays new or young forever.  Just as I so carefully tended to all of the old things and old people I held dear, I will now put more effort into taking care of myself.  I will listen to my aging body and be gentle in my demands.  What I once accomplished in a few hours will now probably take a couple of days, but it will get done.  I will still cook and garden and take care of my grandchildren and dance my heart out, but I will do it with care.  I just need a little more tending, as my lovely old Rose of Sharon does. 

The Things We Keep

We sat on uncomfortable chairs in the chill air of the Emergency Room waiting area -- my nephew, brother-in-law and me -- waiting to hear the test results on my father-in-law, who had stroke symptoms.  Time passes slowly when waiting, and we filled the long uncertainty with conversation.  We moved from topic to topic with the ease that comes with the familiarity of family.  Soon we were laughing about Dad's propensity for saving everything, and I admitted that I do the same.  Whether it be scraps of pretty ribbon or fabric, plastic containers, clothing or furniture, I tend to hang on to these things "in case I need them someday." 

Then the conversation turned to the things that we would never part with.  Of course, all of my little treasures are important to me.  However, if I had to move tomorrow, there are three pieces of furniture I would never leave behind.  They are an old dressing table which belonged to my mother -- worn and battered by time, my grandmother's hope chest -- also knicked and not tightly hinged, and my grandfather's desk.  Grandpa's desk is not an expensive heirloom.  It was made of cheap wood, with a drop down door which was used as a writing surface.  Several years ago my father-in-law refinished it and replaced the drawer pulls, so it is lovely to look at, but not of much value on the antique market.  When I sit at my mother's dressing table, my minds paints a picture of the young woman she was, brushing her dark hair and dabbing perfume on her wrists -- the epitome of womanhood to her chubby little daughter.  My grandmother's hope chest was at the foot of her bed, and each time I open it, with its essence of cedar, I feel again the secure feeling of snuggling into her ample lap when I needed reassurance. 

The memory of my grandfather's desk is one of a lesson learned.  Grandpa had a beautiful pen -- green and gold -- that he treasured, and kept securely in a tiny drawer in the top of the desk.  For some reason, one day I opened the desk and took the pen.  I was very little -- not even ready for school, and I have no idea why I hid his pen.  I do remember the heavy burden of guilt on my young soul.  The days dragged on as Grandpa mourned the loss of his pen, and I tried so hard to admit my sin.  Finally, the perfect moment came, and I gave the pen to my grandfather -- he was so happy to see it again, and, to my relief, forgave me immediately.  But, every time I look at my lovely old desk, I am reminded that guilt can consume us.

As my brother-in-law recounted the stories of the treasures he keeps, one in particular touched my heart.  He has kept his father's old battered workbench.  It now sits in his workshop -- its sturdy construction far exceeding that of today's "do-it-yourself" workbench kits.  But, its worth lies not in its bulk and strength, but in the memories it invokes.  There are cigarette burns from the times his father laid down a cigarette briefly while working; spatters of paint from years of projects create a kaleidoscope of reminiscences, and hammer marks invoke the sounds of his father's hammering together his numerous projects.  But, most important to my brother-in-law, is the memory of his father reaching down to pick him up when he was small and sit him on the workbench to watch -- a little boy beside his Dad, feeling secure and loved -- by far the most treasured memory.  This workbench is definitely a "keeper."
 

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.