Just Passing Through

God did not intend the human family to be wafted to 

heaven on flowery beds of ease. 

Frank Knox 

The kindness and affection from the public have carried me through some of the most difficult periods, and always your love and affection have eased the journey.

Princess Diana

A child seldom needs a good talking to as a good listening to. ~Robert Brault

Traveled through Yellowstone National Park this weekend on our way home from visiting the kids and liked this shot of a little girl playing by the side of the river.  Children have so much to discover about life, and are interested in everything.  About the only thing a grandparent has to do is be the safety patrol, and that was easy enough.  Donovan was responsive to warnings, although a little uncomfortable with me hanging on to the collar of his shirt and coat with a death strangle as he leaned over the deep rushing water, a little too close to danger for my comfort.  My philosophy about raising kids has been distilled down to one thought.  There is so much that we have to say no to, that we should say yes whenever we can.  And a little healthy fear is a good thing.

Most poignantly was that it brought time with Grandpa to mind. The summers before and after I started school, as I remember it, my grandpa came to work for my dad.  I rode along while he delivered loads of hay about 50 to 60 miles in each direction from home.  We bonded while cooling off over strawberry milkshakes and chocolate covered ice cream bars.  And a couple of times, to my great delight, I got to steer the empty truck on our way home.  But mostly I just rode along for company.

My grandpa was somewhat of a family legend.  When he was a young father of two, my uncle and my infant mother, he was working at the quarry.  While underneath a truck working on it, someone got in it and drove away, unaware that he was there, and ran over his pelvis and legs.  The doctors told them he wouldn't ever walk again.  As Grandma told the story, when she needed to go somewhere, she would put a blanket on the floor, and Grandpa would roll out of bed and onto the blanket.  She would then drag him out to the car.  What happened from there, I don't recall having heard. Maybe someone else in the family can remember. I know that after the accident he drove the bus to the quarry that carried the men to work and back until he retired.  Then he and Grandma went to work at the college campus, she in the kitchen and he as a custodian.

I wonder now just how he came to be completely mobile.  It didn't seem like Grandpa ever had much to say about it.  One story I love to hear my mom tell, is that Grandpa would go in the house, lock the doors with the kids outside, and then spray them with the hose through the open windows.  He loved to tease and was pretty good with the guitar.  We begged him to play the old songs for us, and sometimes it took quite a lot of persuasion.  They came to visit us in Wyoming every year on their annual road trip across the United States to visit relatives back in South Carolina, where he came from with his mom and brothers and sisters on the train, because Grandma didn't want to raise the kids picking cotton.  They homesteaded in Washington, and family history recounts a pioneering story or two about useless husbands along the way.  And plenty of music.  Sometimes Grandma brought his guitar along, so he could sing to my kids, too.  They wouldn't let me make coffee for them in the morning, because they wanted to take us all out for coffee. And doughnuts.  Every day.  Could Jerry meet us?  Why, yes! Of course!

The sadness seemed to overwhelm me when I realized Grandpa could no longer remember all the words to Letter Edged in Black, and he smiled and pretended that was the end of the song.  But he could usually remember most of the Titanic and Under the Old Apple Tree and when he couldn't, he would sing over and over what he did remember, and smile when he was done.  Then Grandma passed away.  It was almost more than he could bear that he lost her, the car, his home all at once,  so we just cried together.  Saying goodbye to Grandpa wasn't really saying goodbye at all, because I only have to think of him, and he is here.

So following Donovan around was so different as a grandparent.  As parents, it seemed like our kids followed us around, then maybe took the lead at surprising times, when their talents shone and we reveled in the unexpected, like a whole rack of clothing in Herberger's falling over because my child was hiding and walking through the clothes and tipped it over.  I remember my surprisingly brave, tiny daughter climbing a very tall slide again and again.  I recall vividly carrying sons in my belly, puffing up steep hillsides to gather the hard-to-find wood for our stove, and a cross country trek through underbrush, again up steep slopes.  And then going to sleep exhausted afterwards while Daddy had to feed everyone because Mommy was too tired.

I remember father and son fishing trips, where their heads were together, focusing on teaching how to bait the hook, how to cast the line.  There were sandcastles built from black sand that stuck to faces and shirts and diapers and sandles and toes, along the edge of the river on quiet Sunday afternoons.  Hot dog roasts.  Camping trips with rain soaked gear and tents, and the sun coming out and drying everything out, and making me very happy and cheering up everyone else, too.  Once we carved spoons out of wood because we had packed everything for our cookout except silverware.  We never seemed to forget the same thing twice. Appetites seem keener in fresh air, so forgetting the salt didn't matter as much as it would have at home, but forgetting the baking soda is rather a disaster for biscuits, wherever you are.  We heated water in a fire-blackened coffee pot, then washed dishes with borax soap and the smallest amount of water possible, and went home with everything we had just about as damp and dirty and black as it could get, but we had smelled the pine trees, heard the birds sing, and the breezes in the tree tops.  We had warmed our feet and hands over the fire as the temperature dropped, we'd snuggled in sleeping bags through the darkness, and slept with bear spray close at hand .

Watching Donovan while his mom runs an errand, I hope to get to know him better.  He's grown so much since we last were able to visit him, and now he's a little boy, not a baby.  He is independent and adventurous, delights in climbing over rocks and splashing a stick in water, lying down on the bank of the stream.  It is his idea to cross over a small, flooded bridge, feet protected by red rain boots, so I roll up my jeans, take his hand and a tentative step to make sure it's safe.  We cross over, and then back again, because it was strong enough, because it was there, because it was safe and different and fun.  Reveling in our joint accomplishment, we have a moment that is ours alone and we smile at each other.  My camera battery wanes and dies.  My SD card is full.  Yet while I regret the demise of my camera equipment as the lowering sunlight becomes more advantageous, I have a greater respect for the wisdom of a child.  As the fleeting moments pass quickly into goodbyes I am reminded that precious moments are not captured on film, but when a child takes your hand, and you slosh through a puddle.  It is more important to explore the splash of water than to capture it on film.  And best of all is to experience life through the eyes of a child.  I wonder what he will remember.

Affection is responsible for nine-tenths 

of whatever 

solid and durable happiness there is in our lives.

C. S. Lewis

People might love themselves with the most entire and unbounded affection, and yet be extremely miserable.

Joseph Butler

There was never a child so lovely but his mother was glad to get him to sleep. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Having a two-year-old is like having a blender that you don't have the top for. ~Jerry Seinfeld

If we would listen to our kids, we'd discover that they are largely self-explanatory. 

~Robert Brault

Showing me Daddy's back-o. 

Love is not to be purchased, and affection has no price.

St. Jerome

Let Us Plan

The Eye of the Buffalo

The game has a cleanness. If you do a good job, the numbers say so. You don't have to ask anyone or play politics. You don't have to wait for the reviews.


Sandy Koufax

By the River

North Fork, Shoshone River

In the year of our Lord, 1970, we moved into a new house that our folks had built. Mom took our pictures by the front door.  I can't find mine at the moment, but I remember walking around outside the old farmhouse before they moved it, thinking it was more than good enough, just perfect, in fact, but the folks had it moved next door for Grandma to occupy, which she did for the next few years, so that was that.


Mom designed our house, as far as I remember, down to the square footage of the closets, to be spacious enough for the needs of a growing family with three daughters and a son.  Later, my baby sister, Heidi, completed our family of five kids and lots and lots of company.  Most family gatherings centered in the spacious kitchen and dining area of our home, and sometimes we spread out the expandable table in the long living room to accommodate even more guests.  While an energetic team of helpers cooperated to serve beautiful and delicious meals of lefse, sukiyaki and tempura, Dad kept things, and life in general, lively with games, pranks and stories for the guests inside and out.


From those carefully planned and abundant closets, Mom performed feats of magic.  For us and for our guests, coats and boots of all sizes appeared as needed.  She conjured from the depths a box filled with ice skates in various sizes and the warm winter clothing to accompany them: hats, gloves, snow pants, while Dad handled snow removal from the pond, and flooded it to freeze overnight.  He aired up inner tubes and located toboggans and helped us smooth the first run or two down the hill on the sleds.  His magic acts were more along the lines of getting a snowmobile unstuck from a snowbank, or bringing one back to life after someone flooded the engine, and fixing flat bike tires, and keeping the three wheeler, the lawn mower,and the Honda 90 in working condition.  In addition to other rabbits they pulled out of the hat, we found warm food to fill our tummies and a fire in the fireplace to warm our hands and feet and dry our wet gear. So much fun, supported now, I realize, by so much work and planning, before, during, and after the event.  


It all seemed very magical.  Snow packed boots tromping up the steps, rosy cheeks reddened by brisk winter temperatures, everything we needed appearing without fuss or bother.  Mom knew what she had and was quick to locate it.  All Dad asked was that we would sweep his shop for him once in a while.   Abacadabra...freezers and cupboards filled to the brim with easy to prepare food.  Presto...laundry done, clean sheets on the beds, towels folded, or mopping up the water that flooded the basement in the latest rain. As a kid, I took so much for granted, but today I understand that behind the spontaneous fun and the company we felt free to invite home at a moment's notice, was a lot of thoughtful planning. 


Planning.  What a word.  I'm learning to appreciate it.  What does it mean?

plan

 [plan]     Origin

Ads

noun, verb, planned,plan·ning.

noun

1.

a scheme or method of acting, doing, proceeding, making,etc., developed in advance: battle plans.

2.

a design or scheme of arrangement: an elaborate plan for seating guests.

3.

a specific project or definite purpose: plans for the future.

To me it meant that if I needed anything, Mom probably had it in her purse.  Or in the office, or the kitchen, or her desk.  And it means that I really missed Mom's purse when I left home.  Our family was magical, too.  We were experts at making fingernail clippers disappear.  Also socks, generally one of a pair, of course.  Coats, homework vanished, food spoiled. My family learned they could not depend on me to have anything.  I did not have a tissue, nor any lotion.  No, I did not have an emery board, I did not have a pair of paper scissors that kids could use, I did not even have a flashlight, no, not in the car, not in the house! No screwdriver either, but I am pretty sure I did have several. This was starting to sound like a real live Dr. Suess story that needed a happier ending.  Mom was an inspiration and I eventually got on board the magic train, although with less success than she.

Jerry has a system in his truck although anyone trying to catch a ride with him would not find it obvious.  The front seat is a disaster with parts and paperwork piled chest high, but you don't want to be the person who puts a tool back in the wrong place, because he will let you know when he finds it, because he thought he left it somewhere, and there it was in the WRONG bin. Thinking the office was my domain, I would occasionally sort and organize stacks of paperwork on his desk.  After a few times, he said, "Do not touch my desk!"  In all the heaps, he knows where things are, or so he says.  It's a fright and a disaster, just like his shop, too daunting of a task for the time, knowledge and space available.  I stand with trepidation in the doorway, thinking he has a bit of Houdini in him. 

A couple of times a year Mom would make a scowling safari into the storage room, unhappy with the mess we'd made of things, and a couple of hours later, emerge victorious.  Definitely a good time to be in another part of the house.  Afterwards, taking a quick peek only for fear of having an adverse effect, I admired the labeled boxes, the efficient use of space, the cleared path. Yay, Mom! So we each have a level of tolerance for disorder.  We know when we've reached the top, or the bottom, and that is when we take action. When. Enough. Is. Enough.

Kids on their own, but busier than ever, our work load increased and includes more frequent travel.  I look around at too many places that we've slacked off since the kids left home. So much ground has been lost in the battle for order while we match wits with the fire-breathing retirement dragon who has missed several deadlines already.  Although there is a good reason, the sad results are the same, whether I blame someone for my predicament or just accept this as my starting point.  Patient with myself I have been, and will be.  Inspired, calm, I shall conquer! Onward, brave heart! 

Broiled Shrimp and Scallops

Prep: 5 minutes
Cook: 10 minutes

1/4 c. butter
1/3 C dry white wine
1 T. fresh lemon juice
1 T. Worcestershire sauce
3 garlic cloves, pressed
Pinch of dried crushed red pepper
1/2 t. Salk
1/4 t. freshly ground black pepper
1 pound larged peeled and deveined shrimp
1 pound sea scallops, sliced in half if more than 1" thick
1 pint cherry tomatoes, halved
5 ounces baby spinach leaves

1. Preheat broiler with oven rack 6" away from element.  Place butter in a large roasting pan and place pan in oven just until butter melts.

2.  Remove pan from oven and stir in wine and  next 6 ingredients.  Add Shrimp, scallops and tomatoes, tossing to coat.
3.  Return pan to oven and broil 3 minutes.  Stir shrimp and turn scallops; broil 2 more minutes.  Remove pan from oven and add spinach, tossing about 1 minute or until slightly wilted.  Makes 6 servings.

 ***

  We tried this recipe on Sunday.  Easy, quick and the sauce is very good.  Jerry put red potatoes in the oven for the accompaniment rather than the french bread that was suggested.  I forgot the lemon juice and red pepper, but didn't notice until I typed this recipe out.  I used 1/2 pound of shrimp and sea scallops instead of one pound, but used the full amount of sauce ingredients.  We had more sauce than we needed even with serving it liberally over the potatoes. 

“Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.” ― John Lennon

Law of Attraction

The price

That must be paid,

Weeping wild.

Strong resentment,

Anger's token.

Time flickers,

Like a candle

Spitting wax,

A snarl of regret,

Straight reaction.

Present as 

A soft murmur

In perfect silence.

Hear, listening heart,

Love spoken.

Listen

Brushing softly

Oh, broken heart. 

A gentle murmur

Filled with passion

Hush,

Believe, and rest 

In reassuring vision.

The smiling eyes,

The main attraction.

MB

Que Sera'Sera'

The Democrats seem to be basically nicer people, but they have demonstrated time and again that they have the management skills of celery.


Dave Barry

"Ciao Mom-bo?", comments Duane.  "Sounds about right for Mother's Day!"

Little Red Caboose

IMPATIENCE


A marriage contract to me is as binding as any in business, and I have always believed in sticking to an agreement.


Paul Getty

Damp nearly to my armpits, I am momentarily struggling to remember why I wanted this puppy, or actually any puppy.  I am seriously scratching my head here. Taking him with me seemed like a good idea an hour ago. Cuddling with him before bedtime, I will remember again, but for the moment, it has escaped me.

Shep knew that with cattle guards you just have to pace and whine until you figure out a way around them.  Thinking Bjarne would do the same, I let go of his leash to watch.  He tackled it head on, slipped between the metal bars and scrambled up, lunged for the next bar, made it, missed the next one, hung on with both paws, and finally sprawled, in an inglorious belly flop, safe at last on solid ground reminding me of a lumpy cake that collapsed when you took it out of the pan. We met another puppy, a Great Dane lab mix, and playtime ensued.  Bjarne learned the dangers quickly of powerful pats with danish sized puppy paws, and found safety behind my legs as needed. Cute little puppy play-bows, hops and yips, and river dips, I'm hoping will dispel the middle of the night crying that woke me last night.  Gingerly picking up the muddy leash with my fingers, I dragged him, unwilling to leave his new friend, back to the car, to the once clean seat now scattered with light dog hairs that I hopelessly try to pick off my black upholstery.  Oh yeah, that's what pickups are for.   Spreading the handy, pet hair infused rug over the seat to protect it from muddy paw prints, I promised myself to vacuum very soon.  Now is as good a time as any to find out that he does know the meaning of "STAY!" if you say it with a frown and a no-nonsense voice, OR ELSE.

That No-scratching-at-the-front-door rule is only partially successful.  It was going well yesterday, but today we are starting from "scratch", literally.  And now, able to dodge all but one muddy footprint  aimed at my clean knit top, visions of sugar plums are dancing through my head, as I wrestle to keep him in the tub while he persists in attempting his escape.  Rather, since sugar plums are out of season, visions of another kind of plumb.  How nice it would be to have a laundry sink/dog washing sink, perhaps in the garage.

Smelling of a familiar pungent mixture of citrus shampoo/wet puppy, he curls damply up in the indentation between me and the couch, resting his soft black head and front paws on my soaked- to- the-skin pink tee-shirt.  I look sadly at my wet, clammy jeans, with all the evidence of puppy shedding, remembering past days of clean tubs, clean cars, and clean dry clothes, while he looks back at me with soft, dark eyes, gives a little sigh, and falls asleep.  I guess that was the reason I thought I was ready for a puppy.   But I'm serious about the wash sink.

That's the nice thing about being married to a do-it-yourself-er.  My husband can do anything, except delegate. He never stops working, you could say, day in and day out.  Work solves every problem for him. Need money?  Work more.  No vacations for this man. Two "real" vacations in 32 years and it was enough for both of us and trust me, you don't need the miserable details. If he takes a few hours off it just gives him time to think up more ways to work, so I have learned to let him work!

I don't remember signing up to work as hard as he does.  Was that included under the heading "for better or for worse?"  (What is the deal that people started writing their own vows, anyway?  Do they get to skip that phrase?)    Having a resident plumber naturally causes a wide variety of water feature improvements to pop into my head.  I've been treated to some of the best faucets made, and a custom made shower with six shower heads that spray at the same time.  I've tried out sinks in my own kitchen, made from cutting edge materials so he could give his customers a true recommendation, both with the faucet of my choice, and the most basic version he had in inventory on Sunday morning for a quick replacement.  I have the latest in radiant heat installed in my floor, because the resident plumber thinks he should have a top of the line heat system, the latest in water heaters, and the most energy efficient boiler.

His abilities extend beyond plumbing.  When he wanted to learn to install carpet I resisted strongly.  NOT another thing to do-it-ourselves.  It was no use.  We had to wait two weeks for someone to lay carpet one time.  That was all it took.  Next thing I knew, he had ordered the tools, bought an instruction book and now "we" install our own new flooring in rentals, carpet or otherwise, and when our carpet gets flooded, he pulls it up, drys it out and re-stretches it. From the standpoint of handy, it doesn't get better than that!  Amazed at the level of work this man can cheerfully tackle, I can only marvel.

Dubiously eyeing the load on our flat bed truck after the last trip to Home Depot as he snugged up the new tie-downs, I resisted the mounting doubt building in my over worked brain, exercised my optimism, and reminded myself that there is no lack of perseverance on his part, so I'm sure he can get it all done. (Oh, dear. I'm supposed to help?) This includes installing new vinyl in two apartments, installing a set of closet doors and a new lavatory vanity combination.    So...it's not looking like I will get a deck or a dog washing sink anytime soon.  Never mind.  A couple of hours sitting by the pool in Arizona and I'll be all to ready to get back to work in the air-conditioning!

Some ladies would just do it themselves.  Mindy is one of those!  I don't think there's much she isn't willing to try at least once!  I helped her lay carpet in one of her apartments.  That is no small job, tugging heavy carpet into place, handling the hot carpet-seamer, without burning yourself or the carpet, oh, so carefully, and bush-whacking the kicker with your knee.  My knee didn't like that job very much, and the short power stroke behind my feeble whacks made it seem like an exercise in futility, anyway.  Mindy proved that it's persistence that counts, not power. So much for that excuse.

Because Jerry was so busy as usual, one day I decided to try to fix something before he got home, thinking I could surprise him with my resourcefulness.  We had built a little water-fountain stream  running outside our living room windows, and it had a little submersible water pump that quit working.  I didn't know the first thing about fixing water pumps, but I thought I could learn as I went along.  This wasn't my first brainstorm.  However, I don't think he will ever let me live down the day I decided it was time to start remodeling the bathroom while he was at work.  Walking through the door after work, with a friend in tow,  I thought he was going to fall into apoplexy when he saw me standing on top of a four foot heap of ceiling plaster, sheet-rock, wood trim and what have you, hammer in hand.  It's not like we hadn't discussed the project.  Was it my fault he hadn't specified a date to start?

Since then I have found interesting little renovations my kids have done, and I'd had some practice biting my tongue.  I knew that an 8 year old could create a flat bed truck from a nice Fisher-Price dump truck. It appeared that all you had to do was take a hammer and whack off the sides of the dump box.  Judging from the patient but puzzled look on my eight year old's face, the fact that the edges were jagged was not significant to the more important fact of the desired result, a flat bed truck.  As if to say, how could Mom find this so difficult to understand. I also knew that if you were curious to know how a watch worked, a clock, or a tape recorder, you took it apart to see what was going on inside.   Sighing at little piles of destruction around me, I began to slowly comprehend the learning process.   You didn't necessarily have to get around to putting it back together as long as you had learned what you needed to know.

Being older than 8, I thought I should be able to handle this little repair.  It was obvious that the first thing I needed to do was to remove the bottom cover with a Phillips head screw driver. I assembled a few simple tools and got to work.  As soon as I removed the screws, oil started pouring out.  Suddenly I needed a large receptacle, which I had not realized I would need. I knew right away that something was suspiciously wrong about such an unexpected loss of fluid so I immediately changed my plan, and decided to wait, very anxiously, for expert help.

Help arrived in the form of a husband who wondered, not for the first time, how a farmer's daughter could be so clueless that she didn't realize that opening an oil-cooled pump signified the end of the pump's useful life.

I have noticed this, that if I want anything done, all I have to do is start it.  He takes one look at my incompetency and pitches right in.  Works like a charm every time.   I guess I need to install that new ceiling fan, get some stakes to start plotting my deck's dimensions, and yes, make a final decision on the lavatory sink for the basement bathroom.  Oh, and build the landing just outside the kitchen door in the garage.  Except he's on to my schemes, now.  One mention of a project I have in mind, and he's quick to inform me that he plans on moving another shipping container into the shop to paint, install new windows in a rental, start up the air conditioning unit for our renters, and fix the waterline that froze over the winter. It's so difficult to argue with productivity.  I guess that means we're even in the "no new ideas, please" department.  The ceiling fan was his idea, though.  So maybe I should bring the box in from the garage, at least.   Put together the pieces.  Definitely make the final decision about where it's going to hang.  Yes, that sounds like a good plan.

There's no secret about success. Did you ever know a successful man who didn't tell you about it?

Kin Hubbard

Would you like a new day with that?

a spot of tea

Come and sit a spell.

Phoenix, Ciao for now.

Inaction breeds doubt and fear. 

Action breeds confidence and courage.

If you want to conquer fear, do not sit home and think about it. 

Go out and get busy.

Dale Carnegie

Northern Pacific Train Depot

Never make a promise - you may have to keep it.

Neil Jordan

Honk, honk.  Looking for a lost mate.

Suite-a-tete.

If you believe you can, you probably can. If you believe you can't, you most assuredly won't. Belief is the ignition switch that gets you off the launching pad.

Denis Waitley