Smiles

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Last Saturday my grandson said “grandma” for the first time. I was eating breakfast on the deck when my daughter opened a kitchen window and my grandson called out: “Grandma!” I have to admit that I was very excited. By the end of the day, “grandpa” had also joined his ever growing list of words: mama, dada, dat (that), two (which means more), dog, duck, banana, turtle, all said emphatically. He is learning to communicate—pointing, nodding yes or no, speaking. He has learned to walk. First he walked like a zombie, hands and arms stretched out in front of him. Now he squares his shoulders and walks with his hands down by his sides. He has his father’s swagger and his grandfather’s smile. He can carry objects and even eat while he walks. He is no longer a baby. He is a tippy toddler.

Watching him, I am reminded of my own daughters: his laugh before he does something he knows he isn’t supposed to do (like climb the stairs), his smile when he sees a dog or cat, his determination as he places blocks into slots, his rapture when I read to him. These moments are also little jogs down memory lane as I remember a daughter doing the same thing. Some things are different. He spends more time pushing cars along the ground and less time trying to fit objects together. He puts the animals in the back of the tractor without worrying if they are in the right slot. Each of the girls would have been more concerned with placement. Is it a boy versus girl difference or a personality difference? My grandson is his own person. He knows how to manipulate the adults in his life—a smile, a tear, a cry. There is delight in watching his personality emerge.
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I am lucky that I have been able to witness his first milestones, to share in the excitement with his mother and father. Someday soon he won’t live with me.
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Once I was a young mother. Some days I was overwhelmed; some days I was selfish; some days I had so much joy I could not imagine more. I wasn’t always the best mother but I had the best daughters. They grew into their lives and I am happy for them. When I see traces of the life we had as a family in my daughters’ lives, I know that we did a good job raising our children.

Now I am a grandmother. I get to be the one that bends the rules. And while I am content at this stage of my life, I sometimes find it hard to let go of being the parent. My daughters are adults; they may ask for advice but they do not need constant guidance. They make their own decisions. And isn’t independence what we want for our children? We teach them how to walk, to speak, to be polite, to make decisions and then we hold our breath and let go. We watch them reach milestones in their own lives and remember the steps we took together on that first mile of life. Sometimes those steps were rocky and challenging. Sometimes those steps were smooth and tranquil. Then one day our children travel without us. We adopt dogs to fill the empty space and discover new adventures, but we always have an eye on our children’s paths for the glow of their successes and joys warms our hearts with happiness.
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Posted in Aging, boomerang children, everyday life, Family, mothers and daughters, not so empty nests, transitions, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Sunshine Pills

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It’s spring. Bulbs are popping up. I have crocuses in my yard. As I drive through town, I see brilliant bushes of wisteria, flowering dogwood and daffodils. Robins hop on my lawn. Cardinals flitter in the tree branches. The world is bright with color. Spring has arrived. So have the April showers. Sunshine is still a fleeting thing.

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I went in for my annual physical. I learned I had bursitis. That just sounds like an old person’s disease. It sounds like something a Dickens character would have so we would all know how old, decadent and decrepit he was. And I have it. Occasionally when something brushes up against my knee, I howl with pain. My joints are failing me. The doctor gave me advice on how to treat my knee but he did not say that I had to give up running or cycling. So I did both this week. I have my mile time down to nine minutes. Not as fast as when I was much younger but a good speed. This morning I did six miles in less than an hour—54 minutes. I don’t feel old. Only when I look in the mirror do I remember that I am now closer to decade number six than any other decade.

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I ran those miles this gray, overcast morning because I was upset. The doctor’s office called and said my blood work indicated that I had a vitamin D deficiency. Really? I’m outside all the time, even in the snow. I drink milk and eat yogurt daily. “This is to be expected in a woman your age,” said the nurse calmly. A woman my age? My age? “You have to take a supplement; you can’t get enough from your food.” I could get more if the sun shone!

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Evidently I didn’t store up enough vitamin D when I was getting sunburned in Hawaii in January. Evidently I needed a longer vacation. And even though I was out in the sun, running, snowshoeing, shoveling, my skin didn’t get enough sunshine because I was wearing a hat, gloves, a parka, long pants, high ski boots, and sunscreen. Maybe the sun was too far away.

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So this afternoon I started sunshine pills.  It’s like a science fiction story.  With the right supplements, one can live underground and still be tan, blond and fit.  Someday science will have it down to just one pill.  Me, I’m waiting for the sun.

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Patriot’s Day, April 15, 2013

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Patriot’s Day
April 15, 2013
On a perfect spring afternoon, sirens interrupt my raking. Racing down the road a quarter mile away, they drown the church bells announcing the hour and move on. My thoughts are on the sirens a hundred miles away where foot sore runners, every muscle aching, saw their triumph obliterated, exploding into loss. And we across the nation, who had already checked the stats and postings, are snared in the vortex of media, watching and waiting.
A triumphal day commemorating freedom becomes another day of tragedy. Our souls rise up from the shadows of our forefathers, questioning the threats but find no ready answers. Who did this? Why? Is this the work of invaders or some misguided youth? On the cornerstone of freedom, no quick answers wait. And so we pause, a moment of silence.
We mourn the dead. We cry for the injured. We linger, brushing away our tears, searching for resolutions that may never cross the finish line.

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In Like a Lion, Out Like a Lion????

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Nature was playing April Fool’s jokes Monday.  Saturday felt like a spring day.  My husband and I drove the convertible with the top down even though it was a bit nippy.  We grilled hamburgers for dinner.  But Easter Sunday was chilly and overcast.   In the afternoon, my husband wanted to rake the lawn but the wind picked up, making any effort futile.  So we went inside and made Manhattans and watched a few episodes of House of Cards while the lamb roasted in the oven.  The last day of March was almost as dreary as the first day of March.DSC_0074

Monday morning I woke up, sat up, and checked the Weather channel so I would know how many layers I would need.  The good news was that it was already 46 degrees.  The bad news was that the area had yet another weather advisory: high winds and thunderstorms.  But looking out the window, I could see that the sun was shining.  The morning was beautiful.  I laced up my running shoes and went for a long run on the Farmington Valley Greenway.  I stretched on my basketball court.  I cleaned up, ran errands and enjoyed lunch on my deck.  Spring was here at last.  Still every time I checked the Weather Channel, the weather advisory was still in effect.

Suddenly while I was on the phone with an insurance company, the wind roared through the trees, thunder pealed in the distance and Princess went crazy.   Is it a joke when there’s a warning?

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERASome places farther north than I am got more snow.   I am thankful most of mine is gone.   Today the air is cooler.  It was 26 degrees when I took the dogs out this morning.  The wind continues.  Along the trail by the river, I notice ice coated plants, a sculpture in the afternoon sun.  Yet signs of spring are in the air.  The snow melts in one flower bed, exposing lavender.  Day lily bulbs poke through the ground.  The owls are calling in the woods.  Squirrels scurry down from their nests and onto my deck railing, teasing the dogs.  Geese fly overhead, honking as they return to north.  Two bluebirds shared a branch in a tree in the front yard.  A woolly caterpillar scurries on the ground.  My daughter’s boyfriend moved the snow blower to the garage.  We are done for the season.

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I understand now why some people like living where there are seasons.  Life is marked by changes.  We live our lives in stages: childhood, adolescence, adulthood.  Shakespeare’s “Seven Ages of Man,” the famous “All the world’s a stage” monologue from As You Like It, goes further, dividing adulthood into five periods of life, each marked by our strengths and frailties.  But I would argue that we have just four—much like the four seasons.  We start with the hope of spring and fade away in the winter. DSC_0003

I see spring in my grandson.  My grandson turned one a few days after the first day of spring.  Last year the sun was shining, bulbs were blooming.  This year was colder.  We took him to the Aquarium because he likes penguins.  The penguins are outside.  It was cold, too cold to stand there for long.  He enjoyed the fish inside more.  Young children are unpredictable in their likes and dislikes.  Every day brings changes.  You look at your child or grandchild and see possibilities, potential, promise.  And you enjoy the smiles and laughter.  Everything is new and exciting.

My daughters are in the summer of their lives.  They have planted the seeds of their futures and wait for the harvest.  The future is warm and sunny.  The days are long and bright.

I like to think I am in the early autumn of my life.  The bloom is definitely off my cheeks.  I have more than a few wrinkles.  Yet I still have the energy for adventure, the hope of a late harvest.  Facing the adversity of winter takes patience, takes strength, and takes preparation.  I am not prepared.  But it’s early yet.  In the meantime, the anticipation of each season is invigorating.  I wait each day to see what the weather brings.

Happy Spring!

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Posted in Aging, backyards, everyday life, Life in Connecticut, nature, New England, snow | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Spring is in the Air!

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This morning I sat in front of the fireplace in the living room; the two oldest dogs, with matching surgical scars on their right legs, lay at my feet. Outside the temperature was 24 degrees. The sky was overcast. The furnace was out again. Five days before the first day of spring we have fires in the fireplaces in an effort to keep the house warm while we waited for a repairperson.

Dude takes a morning nap in front of the fire.

Dude takes a morning nap in front of the fire.

Just last weekend the temperature was in the fifties. The dogs and I sat on the deck, sunning ourselves. I grilled steaks. I saw a few insects, tentatively flying around the yard. Birds sang in the trees. A flock of geese honked overhead. Monday morning, on my way to the veterinarian’s, I saw a large flock of turkeys in the yard of an old farm house. Tuesday wood frogs emerged during a torrential rain. I heard them barking in the woods beyond the house. My husband reported that hundreds of them were hopping across the road. On my run the next morning, I saw the bodies of those who did not survive the crossing. The poor little frogs froze, then thawed, emerged from the ground and died. The instinct that sent them across the road to look for ponds and mates was not enough to protect them from man. Perhaps the carnage was also a symbol. Perhaps the wood frogs had been croaking: “Too soon, too soon.”

Peanut thinks he is a snow dog.

Peanut thinks he is a snow dog.

Thursday I woke up to a dusting of snow. The snow didn’t last but the warmth of last weekend was gone. Last night I used the bar-b-que amid snow flurries. In November I would have been delighted with the wet snow that melted as soon as it touched the ground. Today, however, the flurry is not a sign that winter is beginning but a suggestion that winter is never going to end. In defiance of Mother Nature, I insisted on bar-b-quing anyway. Weather is not going to stop my spring from coming.

But five more days of winter stand in the way of spring. Yesterday’s high of 44 degrees was actually a few degrees colder than average. Last year was an anomaly. This year is more normal. As my friends in the Midwest brace for more snow in a few days, I check my supply of ice melt and gas for the generators. I may need to buy more firewood.

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I try to force spring along. I buy placemats with pastel tulips for the kitchen table. I set my buffet with a Depression glass cake plate and candy dishes, adding pastel bunnies and birds. Bunnies go on the mantels. Bright flowers go in a vase. This doesn’t make the snow melt any faster. But it warms my soul.

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Posted in everyday life, houses, Life in Connecticut, nature, New England, snow, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

A World of White Trees

 

DSC_0023I woke up this morning to a world of white trees. Four inches of snow covered the driveway and my truck. My husband had an early flight to the west coast, leaving no time to use the gargantuan snow blower. While he packed, I shoveled a path to the truck and cleared the snow off the windows, roof and windshield. He tossed in his suitcase. I brought along Princess because she is recovering from surgery. Husband put the car in 4WD and we started up the driveway as if no snow was there. “A piece of cake,” I whispered. “A piece of cake,” my husband said softly. We are so in sync. We drove to the airport, holding hands, snow falling softly.

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Today is the one year anniversary of living in our Connecticut house. Last March, the sun was shining, the snow was melting and the movers were able to get our furnishings indoors without tracking mud. The grass peeking out from the snow was green. Spring was in the air. My biggest worry was that it would rain on the boxes of yard art and patio décor. “It won’t snow again,” New Englanders told me. I have learned one thing about the weather in New England. No one knows what they are talking about. Not the natives. Not the weatherperson. No one. They say ‘an inch’ and suddenly the snow is a foot deep.
We had an inch the other day. I cleared it off the driveway with a broom. The snow blower has to leave an inch of snow over the gravel so an inch needs to be done by hand. Today was a day for the snow blower. But I am not comfortable using the snow blower. It’s big. It’s heavy. And I am afraid of pushing the wrong button or lever at the wrong time, thus hurting the snow blower. I know it’s just a machine but it’s more than that. It’s a toy. My husband’s toy. It’s too new for me to wreck. Once I didn’t drive a new car for three years because it was his dream car. Then we replaced my plain but practical Jeep Cherokee with a fancy gold SUV and I drove his dream car for another five without a single accident. Still I hesitate.DSC_0027
In the truck this morning, husband says: “You have to be careful of things like that.”
“Like what?” I had been staring out the window admiring the snow on the trees, wishing I had a camera with me.
“It scares me that you don’t pay attention.”
DSC_0039Why? I’m not driving. I’m the passenger. Passengers get to stare out the window. But really it’s all right. Every time it snows, he gives me a lecture on how to drive in the snow. I know that it’s not the truck he’s worried about. We’ve been together so long; neither can imagine life without the other. I’m becoming good at driving in the snow. The hardest part is not to speed along. I just take my time. Where ever I’m going will still be there by the time I arrive.
The world here shuts down when it snows. School is delayed or canceled. People stay in. When I took my dog into the vet Thursday, I learned most of the other owners had postponed surgery because of the weather. We had half an inch snow. The dog had a fast growing tumor. I wasn’t going to wait. It was no different than driving in a bad rain storm. The roads are plowed. The snowmelt is down. I have to allow for extra stopping time. But the snow is so beautiful.

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After twenty years in the same place, over forty years in a state without seasons, I love the challenge of a new environment. Seasons give life a new perspective. The view out my window today will not be the view out my window tomorrow. There is something poetic about that. I understand the poems of Robert Frost so much better as I watch the changing seasons. I think of Wallace Stevens walking from the Hartford Insurance Company to his house in West Hartford, thinking of poems. Mark Twain lived so many places before he settled in Hartford with his wife and children. Something about the change in perspective makes you think, analyze, consider. Life is unpredictable. So is the weather.

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Posted in backyards, changes, everyday life, Life in Connecticut, New England, relationships, snow, transitions | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Ice Obsession

DSC_0038From the title, one would hope that my newest fascination would be with diamonds—diamond earrings, diamond bracelets, diamond rings. But that’s so not me. I wore a plain gold band for the first twenty years of my marriage. Then my husband surprised me with a diamond band. We were in Vegas. He thought I needed some bling. The first few months, I would hold my hand so the diamonds would flash. Eventually I forgot I was wearing it. Yet when I had to have it resized, my hand felt naked. I missed the flash. But this post is not about flashy accessories. It’s about real ice—the ice rink that materialized in my driveway last week; a thick treacherous pond that encased the bottom of my driveway, requiring me to put the truck in 4WD in order to leave; a slick, shining ice flow that required crampons to cross. This ice should have never been allowed to form. This ice had to be destroyed.

photo credit: youngest daughter

photo credit: youngest daughter

After the blizzard a few weeks ago, we failed to clear our driveway completely. My husband set the snow blower so that it left an inch of snow over the gravel. After our storms, we found just driving over this layer of snow caused it to dissipate. We have a gentle slope from the street down to our house. The area in front of the garage is flat, protected from the sun by trees; consequently snow melts more slowly there. We didn’t use any snowmelt product because I was under the mistaken impression that one shouldn’t bother salting gravel driveways. So basically, I’m confessing to ignorance. And in today’s world, there’s no excuse for ignorance.

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At first the snow was light and powdery. We could drive over it and it became slush. This was not a problem. Then the temperature rose during the day, melting snow, only to fall in the evening, freezing the slush. On Tuesday, February 19, it rained.
Now I had a highly productive day: I vacuumed and dusted the entire house; I wrote a chapter of my novel; I took care of my grandson because my daughter was horribly ill with the flu. I looked out my office window and watched the water puddling over the slush in the driveway. I checked weather.com. Temperatures were supposed to drop down to the teens. By midnight I would have an ice field.

 
I became fixated on the driveway. I had visions of our cars spinning in circles on the ice. I worried that my parents would try to cross it and fall. What if the girls next door ran down the driveway to borrow eggs? Most of the driveway was fine. The bottom was impassable. This was a liability issue.

 

DSC_0093My husband and I had discussed paving the driveway. This would allow us to set the snow blower on a lower setting and put out ice melt before it snows. We have a long driveway. We like the way the gravel looks during the other three seasons. Other people have gravel driveways. We must be doing something wrong. That evening I skipped dinner because I wasn’t hungry, sat at the computer and read articles on how to clear a gravel driveway of snow.

 

I learned that light snow (less than an inch) should be brushed aside with a push broom. After I wrote my post, “A Snowy Day,” I cleared half the driveway with a push broom. I also cleared the bottom of the driveway with the broom while my husband was getting out the snow blower on Christmas. I was pleased to find out that using the broom or a rake on a gravel driveway was a good thing to do. And that we should do this after we use the snow blower. Then we should use a spreader to put snow melt over our driveway. We have a spreader. It’s in the garage loft because I figured I didn’t need it until spring. So now I know how to clear the driveway. I was ready to start before the ice formed.

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Only my stomach wouldn’t let me. I didn’t feel like eating because I was coming down with the flu. You don’t need details. I slept all of Wednesday. Thursday I found my daughter had posted the ice field on Facebook and tagged me. I was well enough to sit in my office and stare out at the ice. It had to be an inch thick. It was smooth, shiny, slippery. Some parts of it were thin so that the gravel showed, making it treacherous. Beyond the field I could see that the driveway was clear, but the turnaround space was a frozen pond. My parents had to cross this because the senior dial-a-ride could not come down the driveway. UPS and the postal service left packages out on the street. I stared at the ice and planned my attack.

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I really wasn’t better on Friday. Snow was predicted for the weekend so I was determined to get rid of the ice hazard. I sent my daughter out to the grocery store and hardware store. I told her to buy bags and bags of ice melt, the pet friendly type. She came back with a pretty purple one. That afternoon I spread two bags of ice melt over our skating rink. I went back indoors and waited.

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The day was warmer, but not warm enough to thaw the ice. The ice melt, however, did dissolve and soften it some. Using a shovel, I was able to break some sections of ice into chunks. Then I raked it to the sides. While I was working on this, the UPS truck ventured down the driveway. He stopped at the ice flow. “Wait until spring,” he advised me. But I couldn’t. The ice had to go. I learned that it was better to hit the ice about a half an inch from the edge with the tip of my shovel in order to crack it. Then it would shatter into chunks. I thought of the disappearing ice flows in the Artic as I made my ice flow vanish. I managed to clear large sections, establishing places that car tires could get traction and a path up the driveway. Then I went back to bed.

 

DSC_0016 We didn’t get the predicted snow last weekend. It was warm enough that I thought the rest of my ice would melt. But it didn’t. So on Monday, I tackled the remainder: another bag of ice melt, another day of smashing ice with a shovel, another day of raking the chunks off the area. For all my work, I got a blood blister under a rowing callous. Then I had a relapse and spent Tuesday in bed.
This week the temperatures have been warm during the day, in the forties. The snow is melting. When I got up this morning, it was warm enough that I didn’t bother with hat or gloves. The mud puddles on the driveway did not ice over during the night. In another week, most of the snow will be gone. The piles of ice chunk have almost completely melted. My ice flow would have faded away on its own.

But I am ready for the next storm. With any luck, it won’t be until December

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