Of Herbs and Other Pleasures

I am snuggled in my chair with the curtains drawn against the blustery October evening; it has been a good day.  In the midst of the chaos in our country and in my own life, I am particularly grateful for the little routines of my days.  A bout of Shingles is reminding me that I must slow down a bit, but that is almost impossible when caring for my grandchildren.  My weeks are crazy.  Today, though, was a bit slower paced, and I spent much of the day tending to the little outside chores that are such a pleasure in the chill October sunshine. 

This morning I brought two rose impatiens plants inside to winter over.  They bloomed their hearts out all summer in the shade of my little corner garden, and I hope they will thrive in my dining room window with its morning sun filtering through lace curtains. 

After spending a couple of hours running errands, I enjoyed several peaceful tasks in the garden.  I bought two new thistle feeders for my finches, chickadees and sparrows.  My old feeders were no match for the driving rains we have endured recently, and the seed was molding.  These new feeders are a bit more weather-proof and should provide dry seed for these tiny little birds all winter.  I filled the larger feeder in the back yard as the mourning doves waited impatiently for me to finish.  As the days grow shorter, the birds are scoping out their winter feeding areas. 

Our black walnut tree provided an abundance of nuts this year.  The squirrels have busily stored them away -- many of them in the attic of our garage, unfortunately -- so they will have a good supply on hand for the long months of winter.

I covered my little pond with netting this afternoon; it sits under a lovely maple tree, and if I don't remember to place the netting, I face the nasty chore of shovelling out leaves in the spring.  Now, the leaves can fall and the pond will stay clear.

My favorite chore of the day was cutting herbs from the garden for drying.  This is a slow process that allows for quiet contemplation.  After washing them I bundle them and hang them from a wire in my tiny kitchen window.  Tonight the kitchen carries the pungent scents of basil, lovage, oregano, rosemary, sage and thyme -- and I look forward to winter afternoons when I will crush their tiny leaves between my fingers and sift them into simmering soups and stews.

It is 10:00 now and my lovely day is drawing to a close.  I am always amazed at the peacefulness that settles in my soul after a day spent in quiet pursuits.  The daily rhythms of life are soothing to me, and it is always a pleasure when I can take the time to savor them, rather than hurry the day away.  I think I will heat up some soup, place it in my large mug, wrap the afghan around my shoulders, and savor one more bit of comfort as I reflect on the loveliness of this day and make plans for a quiet Sunday.

Emma Pats

This year, with the birth of my new granddaughter last spring, I care for two of my grandchildren five days a week, and one four days a week. Alivia is 4; Luke is 3, and Emma is six months old.  I am amazed when I think of how much I accomplished when my own three children were young, because at 60 years old, taking care of these three exhausts me physically and mentally by the end of the day. 
Alivia attends preschool five mornings, and Luke three, so my mornings are busy -- making sure each one eats a healthy breakfast, overseeing toothbrushing, dressing, doing Alivia's hair, and giving Emma a bottle and getting her ready to go fills the hour between 8:00 and 9:00.  Then, I must load them into their car seats and head off to preschool.  We arrive there quickly, and the unloading begins.  Once they are safely deposited at school, with kisses and hugs, Emma and I head home.  She takes a nap, and has a bottle upon awakening, and soon it is time to return to preschool for the pickup routine.

We arrive home about noon, and after unloading everyone from the car, I place Emma in her little bouncer and Alivia and Luke talk or play while I prepare lunch.  We all sit together and talk during lunch -- even Emma sits in her high chair and takes it all in.  Then, it is time to get everyone ready for nap.  If I am fortunate, they are all settled in by 1:00 or so, and I can do the lunch dishes in peace and relax with a book for an hour or so.

After nap, Emma wants another bottle and some cuddling, and Luke and Alivia are ready to play, take a walk, or watch some TV.  Some days they play together very well -- other days they argue and scuffle all day.  Some days Emma is happy and pleasant, and other days she is needy and crying.  Some evenings I am bone-tired.

I started caring for Aliva when she was two months old, and since then my days have been filled with the work and wonder of these precious little ones.  This year I find myself more and more tired -- carrying my little Emma around leaves me with an aching back at the end of most days.  I also spend three days a week at my son's house and two days at my house, so keeping everything straight in my sixty-year old head is not easy. 

But, it is SO worth it.  Today I picked Emma up and she patted my shoulder.  At first I thought it was just a flutter of her hand, but each time I picked her up today, she patted me.  Later in the afternoon, I was holding her and Luke on my lap, and she reached over and patted Luke's back.  What a joy!!  How wonderful to be with her this week when she takes this new step in her growth --

In this world where there is so much turmoil, and in my own life where there is so much stress and uncertainty, I am so grateful that I can be here for these firsts with my grandchildren.  Emma pats and my heart soars -- my precious little girl!!

Aging in Place

I rose slowly from my soft bed this morning and slipped into my well-worn winter robe for the first time since the heat of summer.  The air is crisp and autumn-like, and I hurriedly put the dogs out for their morning duties and settled into my chair with a steaming mug of coffee and the Saturday newspaper.  How much I love these daily routines.

This year as I care for my three grandchildren, I am dividing my time between my son's beautiful new home and my own house -- such a striking contrast.  My son and daughter-in-law lovingly designed their home with it's large open space for entertaining and lovely windows which welcome the sunlight.  It is a home of light and the peacefulness of uncluttered spaces.  I love the bright kitchen with its large island and mullioned windows over the corner sink.  However, at the end of the day I am welcomed home by the comforting arms of my old house, with its dark coziness. 

I wonder about the concept of "aging in place" that has become a possible solution to baby boomers as we grow old.  Certainly, there are wonderful new condos and apartments on the market for seniors, with all the modern amenities so sought after -- granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, social activities.  However, I question whether I would ever feel "at home" in those luxurious surroundings.  I have lived in my house for almost forty years -- I know its loveliness and its scars, and find great comfort in its sameness.  I love my neighborhood -- how boring it would be to be surrounded by people of my own age all the time.  I love the sound of children playing in the street, and the music and laughter of teenagers.  I hope I will be healthy enough and financially able to "age in place" right here -- in the home that holds the echoes of my own family and friends, the home that feels like an old friend to this grandma who finds herself turning that corner into old age.  Each night as I turn out the lights and make my way in darkness to the stairs, I realize I know the terrain of this house with my eyes closed; I know it by heart, and this is where I want to spend the rest of my days, Lord willing. 

Goodbye to Summer

September has arrived with its promise of cool, clear days, cider, apples and the early morning scent of woodsmoke, but my usual high spirits have forsaken me.  Autumn is my favorite season, but this year my mood is melancholy.  On a personal level, I feel many of my traditional summer pleasures passed me by as I struggled with the uncertainties of the bankruptcy process in a legal system that is not forthcoming with information.  I have always been an organized person who likes to have a degree of control over my life, and I am so weary of unanswered Emails from my attorney and phone menus that bounce me from one incompetent person to another as I try to sort through the issues involved in closing our business and restructuring our financial life.  I had been hopeful that the entire process would be finished by September and I would be starting over with a much less complicated, though austere life.  However, September has brought no closure.

The last week in August was a time of sorrow in upstate New York, as Hurricane Irene swept up the eastern seaboard, leaving destruction in its wake.  While my little neighborhood suffered only a power outage, communities all around us have suffered the devastation of massive flooding. Lives were lost; farmers have lost their entire harvests to floodwaters; homes and businesses have floated away downstream taking a lifetime of memories and hopes with them; communities have been cut off by washed out roads and bridges.  Some quaint little historic main streets are no more.  My heart is heavy as I ponder the terror and sorrow these neighbors have dealt with over the past few days, and the massive project of cleaning up and trying to rebuild is daunting.

The economic and political news this summer is painful.  As unemployment and low pay threatens financial destruction for so many of our citizens, the politicians in Washington play their games to keep the other party from power, with absolutely no thought to the people they have been elected to represent.  I wonder if any of them remember what life is like in the real world.  They are all so focused on the next election, and on keeping their campaign funds from corporate America rolling in.  Do they even think of the human consequences of their grandstanding, childish behavior.  Do they think of the men and women searching for jobs - the people who must make choices between paying the mortgage or buying ridiculously expensive basic food items to feed their children.  Do they really understand the prohibitive cost of health insurance.  The health insurance policy we had while in business cost $900 per month for a couple; once the business was no longer functioning, this same policy cost $1900 per month.  Same policy, same two people, same insurance company -- how is this fair?  The politicans talk of cutting entitlements.  Do they realize that people who do not make a living wage need help.  There will always be among us the old, the sick, the mentally ill, the injured, and people with very low IQ's who aren't capable of performing more than menial work which pays very little.  What are they planning to do with these people????  The Conservative Christian segment of the Republican party seems to have lost sight of the fact that the Christian values they want to shove down the throats of our nation are at odds with the Christ I know -- the man who taught us to take care of the poor and the sick, and to not judge others -- to leave the judging to God.

Alas, on this quiet September morning I will push away all of these worrisome thoughts.  I have a weekend of work ahead of me to prepare my house and yard for a family clambake next weekend.  Tomorrow we will celebrate the baptism of my precious little granddaughter, Emma.  In a few minutes I will pour myself another cup of coffee and get busy.  The lawn needs mowing; the gardens need tending; the house desperately needs cleaning, and I will be thankful that I have these mundane little chores to do on this first weekend in September, and I will be sure to take the time to "smell the flowers" as I work along.

The Empty Couch

On Monday afternoon, my daughter and I took our precious boxer, Toby, to the vet and lovingly caressed him as we had him put to sleep.  Grief for me is a very private thing.  I can't speak of my loss without crying, so I don't talk about it.  The hurt is so deep I tiptoe around it -- allowing myself to think about it only in brief increments -- until enough time has passed to soften the edges. 

But, tonight I must write about it -- in memory of Toby -- and let my tears flow in solitude.  You see, we had to make the choice to put this beloved dog to sleep -- at only five years old -- a strong, healthy boy, who we loved so much.  We have had some issues with food aggression between him and our Yorkie, which have been worrisome.  However, on Monday, as we sat at the lunch table with my little granddaughter, he snarled and lunged at her as she sat eating her peanut butter sandwich.  Peanut butter was Toby's favorite.  Fortunately, he didn't bite her -- just brushed her face, but we realized that we couldn't ever trust him with our little ones again.

What a terrible decision to have to make.  I have loved this dog since he was a tiny pup.  We have been through all sorts of health issues with him -- stomach surgery, cardiac issues -- and through it all we were there to hold him and love him.  He was a lap dog from the start -- and even took his last ride to the vet on my lap -- all 70 pounds of him.

My daughter is devastated -- he was her baby.  And seeing my precious daughter grieve intensifies my own.  There are reminders of him everywhere I turn -- I expect to see him jumping up into the air when I come home; the couch on the porch where he would stretch out and sleep brings tears to my eyes.  I can't get his face out of my mind as he passed from this life --

When you have pets, there are inevitable losses and grief, but somehow this is one of the worst -- there was no time to prepare for it, no illness or injury that made it necessary.  This was just a horrible choice that had to be made, and it will haunt us for a long time.

In the meantime, though, I will hold my grief closely to my heart, and in time, the pain will ease a bit.  I will be able to think about him and laugh at his crazy antics, and remember his soft, happy face snuggled against me as he slept on my lap.  But for now, I try to think of other things and keep busy, and deal with the little bits of pain that I can handle.  I was always the one to pull the bandaid off slowly and gently, never ripping it off in one quick pull.

Godspeed, Toby -- I love you!!

Oh What a Beautiful Weekend

After a busy and difficult week, filled with a pervasive sadness as I marked the second anniversary of my sister's death, I was rewarded with a weekend of pleasure.  Saturday morning I rose early to mow my lawn and grocery shop -- getting these mundane chores out of the way as quickly as possible.  In the early afternoon my cousin and I went to Pine Hollow Arboretum, a beautiful haven in the midst of the little hamlet of Slingerlands.

The Arboretum is a 25 acre parcel of land which has been lovingly tended by Dr. John Abbuhl and his wife for years.  We were graciously welcomed at the Visitors' Center by Kay Abbuhl, and, map in hand, began our stroll through this most lovely acreage.  As we walked the trails through wooded areas dotted with ponds, I felt a lightening of spirit.  The residence is surrounded with lovely plantings, and graced with a hillside waterfall gently flowing midst greenery and flowers.  Water lilies in several colors float on the surface of the ponds, and black raspberry bushes hide along the paths.  Benches here and there beckon you to linger.  We startled a deer as we walked and he darted away across a small field to hide in a stand of pines.  We strolled and talked, and were soothed by the beauty of the natural world surrounding us.  We came back to my house and sat on the porch for a bit, relaxed and content from our afternoon wanderings.

Last evening my brother-in-law came for dinner.  We enjoyed a dinner of grilled steaks, baked potatoes, and sauteed vegetables, and sipped wine on the porch as the evening waned.  Bill is an interesting person, and our evening was low-key and relaxing.  He brought over some old photographs he had found in the house, and as I looked through them last evening, I was excited to find several photos I did not remember seeing before -- of ancestors I had come to know through my genealogical research.  Now these photos will become part of the family history I am working on.

This morning I slept in a bit and let the day slowly begin, reading my newspaper with coffee at hand, and then watering my plants before the hot summer sun rose higher in the sky.  I prepared a potato salad and roasted a chicken for an early dinner with my father-in-law.  Once again, after dinner, we sat on the shady porch, talking away the afternoon as the heat and humidity of July began to deepen.

The week ahead will be busy and most likely carry its share of stresses into my life, but I am so thankful for the gift of this peaceful weekend.  What more could one ask than two days filled with the pleasures of nature, good wine, good food, and the company of beloved family.

Choices

I walked at dusk tonight, along the sidewalks I have walked for almost forty years.  My heart is heavy -- it has been one of those weeks that weigh on your soul.  As I walked I thought how many times through the years I had walked these same streets with deep sadness in my heart.  And I thought about choices -- the choices we make in our lives -- the choices that are often forced upon us by a sense of duty to the ones we love -- our children, our grandchildren.  They never really know the magnitude of the choices we made -- whether to leave or to stay.  They only know that we are here and they are loved, and that is really all they need to know.

But tonight, as I walked, the phrase "cold-hearted bitch" played in my head from a supper conversation with my husband, and I wondered how different things might have been if I had left.  It never seemed that I really had a choice.  But, tonight I wondered, as I walked these familiar streets alone --

Life is a series of choices -- and it seems that so many times I have made the wrong ones.