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hairnets. [two artists tuesday]

though a red and white striped jumper, accompanied by white tights and saddle shoes, was not my favorite outfit, i really loved being a candystriper when i was in high school. the local hospital – huntington hospital – had a training program and then you could choose as many days as you wished to volunteer. there were many options – to help in the coffeeshop, to deliver meals, to offer magazines or books on a cart, to visit with patients. my favorites were the coffeeshop and visiting with patients, but i loved all of the work i was assigned. i learned about origami from one of the patients and spent hours with him making cranes and lightening his spirit. i don’t know what his diagnosis was, but i do know it was very serious and he was only a little older than we were. he needed light and we all tried hard to bring it to him whenever we could.

the coffeeshop was a blast, always filled with patrons. i have this unusually tactile memory of making toasted onion bagels with butter – giant new york bagels – i can even still catch a whiff, mixed with coffee wafting from large pots we continually refilled.

the worst part of the job – as a candystriper – was wearing a hairnet. clearly it was for sanitary reasons, but no sixteen-year-old-girl really wants to scoop all her hair into a net and plaster it against her head. especially not if she has a nordic high forehead – which i did – well, and still do. yup. at the end of our shifts, we would go out into the sunlight and yank off our hairnets, leaving our long hair to blow wild and free.

our front lawn is wearing a hairnet. it kind of made me giggle a little as they laid down the haynet and rolled it out. the dirt and seed under it likely groaned – confined! – but the hay will keep the birds from snacking on the new seed and dan said that the hay will dry and then you can rake up the netting. easy-peasy.

mostly, it is astonishing to look out the front window or drive up to the house and see a flat yard. for the last seven months or so we have had a giant lump in the front yard, a debris pile with cement and rocks and asphalt and chunks of hard rubber and copper fittings and some cast iron – and, i’m guessing, lead – since that is what they were removing – bolts. when grass-trying-to-be-a-yard-again grew on the lump (which was all the way from the house to the street and at least twenty feet across) there was no way to cut it. we quickly became “those people” on the block, with the messiest (and ugliest) yard. david went out with the mower, but that was impossible, so he took trimmers and diligently trimmed the top of the mess. a lower mess is better than a higher mess. but – a mess nonetheless. i’m quite sure that people drove by and pointed. i can’t say i blame them.

they came and excavated the debris lump. it was a big job and they had big scraping machinery and a big dumptruck. it was quite the process. the guy in charge was particular and, thus, particularly annoying to the other workers. but they were a hardworking crew and, a few hours later, drove off with our water line replacement leftovers.

and so now we are primed for new grass. we are watering appropriately and we are conferring with dan, who has the best grass ever. he will guide us into better grasshood. we will tend our new yard carefully as it comes back from its turmoil and wreckage.

and one of these days we will be able to remove its hairnet and verdant grass will blow wild and free.

*****

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slow, slow. turtling. [d.r. thursday]

though unable to sprint away, the turtle knows when to withdraw. the beautiful wizened face peeks out from under the shell and i don’t want to scare it, though it is likely i already have. the black iris stripe, always parallel to the horizon, the water’s surface, highlights its beautiful eyes, yellow-green peering at me. the marks on its shell tell tales we won’t know. we don’t pick it up or move it; there is no road danger for this turtle as we are in the woods and, by the trail it has left in the grasses, it seems to have a deliberate destination.

these years seem turtling years. pulling in, sheltering from the outside, moving slowly, slowly. in light of all that has transpired through the last couple years, i have not minded turtling. it is renewing strength, re-prioritizing, revitalizing humor, stoking up energy. the pandemic has forced this inwardness; this place has been our shell, reassuring, comforting. even with all the zeal i have for adventure, i love being home. there will be a different time. time will pass and seasons will change and the river keeps flowing. nothing is static. my eyes focus on the horizon.

the turtle paused in its trekking as i took its picture. it looked out from under its own fortress-home and whispered smart-turtle-wisdoms, grinning at me, “just keep going. wherever you go, there you are. you carry home with you. keep your eyes on the horizon. slow, slow.”

*****

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the rockwalk. [d.r. thursday]

i don’t know how much i noticed the rock garden next to the chalet shed in the backyard of my growing-up house. i know it was there. there were plants peeking out from in-between the rocks and the garden-pile grew through the years as my momma – with a love of rocks and stone – added to it.

the cairns and vessel-collections in our house echo that garden and its solid base for my own love of rocks and stone and pebbles. though i believe i will remember where each individual rock originates, where i picked it up, what it means to me or what moment it represents, reality is that i forget. with a few exceptions, i simply know that they are important. they were part of something i wanted to hold onto. and they became part of the rock garden of my life. they all count.

the rockway of the shoin house of the chicago botanic garden is deliberate. carefully placed stones, “bones of the earth” form a pathway through the fragile mosses of deep green. we stood, gazing down, both of us – i’m pretty sure – lost in thought about how we could incorporate such a walkway in our own backyard. orderly and stunning and functional, protecting all around it.

we spent a couple hours in the basement last night. i heard them from a distance first; the tornado sirens were going off. then, closer. i am storm-nervous. the derecho back a decade has gifted me with long-term storm ptsd and i’m not sure if there is much i can do to alleviate it. so when the weather forecast offers “tornado watch” i get ready.

we created a go-bag during the riots in our city a couple years back. it was recommended. i also keep an empty backpack nearby for computers and cords. there’s a leash in the go-bag and we have a duffel with a few clothes. i didn’t unpack all this after those devastating riots. instead, we realized the wisdom of having important stuff nearby, things you can grab in an emergency. and so, i had this all lined up – like a good rockwalk – on the couch in the sitting room off our bedroom, waiting. d picked up the dog (who doesn’t do steps for some strange aussie reason) and i grabbed the bags and water and some dog treats.

when you think about tornadoes as you sit in the basement listening, you realize that you can only create so much order…you can only try to design a walkway…you can only make plans. sitting in two rocking chairs in d’s studio, surrounded by the bins i am emptying and clearing down there, a couple dehumidifiers turned off so we could hear, with our backpacks and duffel bag, it all comes down to, well, not much. chaos happens and we find ourselves in it, stepping, trying to find our way on the rockwalk, to the other side, the next sunrise.

we waited for the sirens to stop and for the weather app to show that the worst of it had passed over us. david carried dogga back up and he got another sleepynightnight cookie. the bags went back on the couch, lined up, things to put away in the morning.

i wanted pancakes but it was too late and we were too tired.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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vine-climbing. [merely-a-thought monday]

the 1977 graduating class of john glenn high school chose this song as our theme song. before the decision and ever since, it has remained a favorite. seals and crofts dominated our senior variety show – the one for which i wore a full wet suit including fins and played a piano duet -, our graduation, our prom, our yearbook. they played over and over in my bedside cassette player, on radio, on stereo systems throughout elwood and, likely, everywhere.

“so, i wanna laugh when the laughing is easy.

i wanna cry if it makes it worthwhile.

i may never pass this way again,

that’s why i want it with you…”

(jim seals, dash crofts – we may never pass this way again)

just last week jim seals died. he was 80. and suddenly, again, time flashes in front of us.

because somehow, listening to their music, i am back at 17 or 20 and they are in their early to mid thirties. but the years come and go and the journey keeps journeying, faster and faster it seems.

and so the moments and presence become infinitely more important and the stuff becomes less. the grand illusion of foreverness becomes foggy and we learn – little by little – sometimes, though, with ferocity – that we must be-here-now. we graduate and grow and regress and grow again and start to see that full spectrum is not so bad – that belly-laughing and weeping are both, indeed, necessary and that as we vine-climb from dirt to sky we are only really here to be with each other.

our beloved daughter was here for a couple days. any time we see her or our beloved son are those kind of rare-gift moments. we giggle and poke fun and talk and reminisce and ponder and there’s eye-rolling and i am astounded by them and, always, i cry upon their leaving or upon our parting. it is the hard part.

i know that we just never know. life has a way of teaching us that – again and again – though it is easy to forget, to push it aside. but the further up the vine we get, the more we recognize it. it is all so fragile. we may never pass this way again. simple. true. a calling, an imperative to say the stuff, to be vulnerable, to experience, to love, to acknowledge, to laugh, to cry, to be-with.

good choice of song, jhghs.

“all the secrets in the universe

whisper in our ears

and all the years, they come and go

and take us up, always up…”

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY


					
		
	



					



	

					
				

			
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paintclothes. [two artists tuesday]

	


	

					








we are painting the bathroom.  this is no small task.  first of all, the trim – including both sides of the closet door – is barn red.  barn red.  that is not an easy color to cover.  i loved it back in the day.  now…somewhere i guess 20 years later…it is time to paint it.  (the painting aces among you are shaking your heads, horrified at the time-inbetween paint jobs, but time has a way of flying by and old houses demand your attention in ways other than paint.)





we went to ace hardware, the neighborhood store, happily singing, “ace is the place of the helpful hardware folks” as we drove.  we had picked up samples and had spoken to a helpful paint guy last weekend and so all the decisions were made and it was merely time to go have the paint mixed and buy all the necessary supplies.  i have to say – we really loved our neighborhood experience.  we know we might have spent a tad bit more on our benjamin moore paint and the new brushes, but we had real help and lovely conversations with real people, like the gal mixing our paint, who were interested in what we were doing and the questions we had.  kind of old-timey.





the problem came yesterday morning.  





during the work week, while david was toiling upstairs in his office, i was in the bathroom washing down all the walls and trim and then vinegaring the walls.  now, this is not-quite-as-advertised.  i had read numerous articles about this – including one by the ever-trusted bob vila of “this old house” fame.  the first thing they don’t mention is that when you “saturate the wall” it immediately starts dripping long long driplines…there is no recommendation on how to handle this without wiping, which is un-saturating the wall, if you ask me.  just sayin.  then they tell you to wait an hour while the vinegar dries and then you can go back and “brush off the mold” (in our case, less of a mold, more of a mildew.)  this.is.not.true.  you cannot simply “brush” it off. goodness, no.  instead, you get one of those rough green sponge thingies and grab your spray bottle of vinegar and you spray and scrub, spray and scrub.  hopefully you are wearing glasses or goggles and a mask and rubber gloves because the vinegar (and the mold spores apparently) get everywhere.  it’s all part of the fun.  😉





but i digress.  





once all that was done, it was time to start painting.  two coats of zinsser and two coats of bath and spa awaited us.





we got back from “the ace” and headed to change into painting clothes.  herein lies the problem…i had just taken the first giant load of clothing and such from the going-through-every-single-thing-in-the-house-effort to goodwill.  i had given away clothing that didn’t quiiiiite fit or that i wasn’t as fond of anymore or that i would never wear again.  as a really messy painter, what on earth was i going to wear to paint?  drama ensued.





i finally found a pair of the local high school sweatpants and an old long-sleeve t-shirt (i’m sure you are relieved to read that) so that i could mosey into the bathroom slightly later than d, who, unsurprisingly, had no problem picking out paintclothes, and start cutting in.





yikes.  what else have i given away, i wonder.  it’s too late.  the second set of goodwill boxes are piling up.  i refuse to go look at them once again.  it has taken days to try everything on or look at everything and decide what to do with it.  





i will load them up and move them out.





and return to start a few more.





*****





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we’ll see. [saturday morning smack-dab.]

	


	

					








i read it on facebook.  her daughter had fallen in love with the perfect home and had made an offer, only to lose this perfect house they had been saving and saving and saving for to someone who offered $200,000 (that’s two-hundred-thousand-dollars) OVER the asking price.  all cash.  it’s insanity!





we ponder the next chapter often.  we have dreamy homes in our mind’s eye and on my laptop screen, plans i have saved, photographs of houses over which we have lusted.  out the window are mountains and space, oftentimes water.  and never perfect grass.  i’ve noticed a theme of more natural settings, without the greenscape of manicured lawn, edged and treated and de-dandelioned.





but i cannot imagine how any of that is possible.  we are fortunate to live in our old house in a beautiful old neighborhood near a giant great lake.  we don’t usually have tornadoes or hurricanes, ice storms or lengthy periods of time over 100 degrees with feels-like humidity pushing us to stay inside.  we have winter, yes.  we have snow, yes.  we have very-late spring, yes, sort of.  we have gorgeous fall, yes.  we have thunderstorms and sometimes windy derechos, which are scary as heck.  every now and then we have ice and every now and then there will be a period of time with hotter-than-heck temperatures.  and we love our home…the creaky wood floors, the fluted glass doorknobs, the high ceilings, the six-panel doors, the nooks and crannies, the light.  even with all its idiosyncrasies and the ever-present maintenance list, we are grateful for it.





but…the next chapter.  i hear about people retiring and moving south – to florida, most often.  i hear about people moving southwest – to arkansas, to arizona.  these aren’t places we would choose.  we have a short list at the moment: colorado, north carolina, vermont, maine.  i think that’s about it for now.  i’m not sure how we could afford any of those places.  we don’t have two-hundred-thousand-dollars-cash-money-over-and-above-the-selling-price to entice a seller to accept our bid.  my heart goes out to my friend’s daughter.  buying a home these days cannot be easy – for most.





so every day, really, i tool around online looking at our top destinations, dreaming.  i jaunt over to airbnb to see what it would be to live in those spots for a couple months, enough time to immerse and feel like we have gotten out of dodge.  i show david pictures and we chat about the possibilities of someday.  i look at calculators and equations and budget projections.  yikes!  





and we start to make a plan.  our roadtrip.  i guess we’ll see.  





there’s a lot to consider and, clearly, we need a much bigger piggybank.





mostly, though, i’m guessing we will follow our hearts.





*****





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black ‘dack stack. [two artists tuesday]

	


	

					








i was a doubter.  i doubted the plastic lumbar support.  but i had done my research and, with the budget we were allowing for new chairs – which didn’t include traditional wood, composite or cool new resin – and the fact that we wanted black chairs – these were what i had come up with.





so we went to the ace hardware store not holding out a lot of hope, thinking that we would have to nix this plan and move on to target or menards and get some other color.





the adirondack stacks were outside on the sidewalk.  every color you could think of, stacked high against the front windows.  a rainbow of adirondacks.  we pulled one of the black ones down and drew in our breath to try it out.  





in a surprise moment of don’t-expect-too-much-this-is-plastic-after-all it was actually quite comfortable.  we bought two, loaded them into littlebabyscion, drove them home and placed them on the back patio to see if we would like them or if they would need to be returned.  not shockingly, we quickly decided that we wanted a few more and, as luck would have it in our plastic-chair-budget-world, the ace was having their grand opening the next day and had given us coupons for $20 off purchases.  





we went there in the rain.  early.  we didn’t want the black stack to be gone.  you know…a lack of black in the ‘dack stack. 





the dj was pumping out music, there were hamburgers and facepainters; it was quite the festival of celebration for a hardware store.  





we grabbed four black adirondacks, whipped out our coupons and moseyed off into the wild grey yonder, happy as clams to have six new adirondack chairs in which to sip wine, gather ’round the bonfire, soak up the sun, ponder life and all its mysteries and support our lumbars.





*****





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more barn-red and grey after the black and white. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

	


	

					








we are beginning to see more of this:  the basement floor.  more clear space.  





as you know, it is a slow process, tedious, actually.  and it is not something he can do with me.  this is mine to do.  for most of what is down there – in the recesses and the corners, tucked into old built-in cupboards and in, yes, bins and boxes and even bags, precedes him.  he is happy to help, but it is somewhat a moot point, as the decisions are mine and he respects that.





it’s not just a little bit of pressure, not just a little bit of work.  black and white decisions that aren’t really black and white.





you are weary of reading about this, i suspect.  skip today, i would suggest.  the basement clean-out is not a short story – it’s an epic tale, really – and, if you find any form of redundancy abhorrent, you will be tallymarking-in-your-mind the number of times i am talking about this.  this will be a tallymark mess, cross-hash upon cross-hash, the slashes accumulate.





a few days ago i turned the inner cardboard tube of a roll of wrapping paper upside down.  more birdseed than i am comfortable with fell out.  i suppose you are wondering how much birdseed-saved-in-the-wrapping-paper-roll i find acceptable.  well…really…none…as we are not the ones saving birdseed in that manner and it brings to mind the question of a city of dwellers below us about whom we know nothing.  they live in the barn-red-grey zone in silence and anonymity, leaving tiny clues behind in their stash.  i wonder what they think of the rest of the stash down there, most of which they are not likely to be able to get to – the bins of barbies and matchbox cars, the mementos and art projects my children created in elementary school, every story they ever wrote or note they penned me or the overalls that were ever-so-adorable on my son, the pink dress so sweet on my daughter.  maybe they are intrigued with the antiques, the tools, the not-oft-used kitchen appliances.  they are hoping to be invited to the next cornhole bags game, the next bocci ball tournament, the next badminton skirmish, the next time the pingpong table is set up and ready-to-go.  they are gazing at the collection of pingpong balls, golf balls, tennis balls, baseballs, soccer balls, thinking the upstairs-dwellers have a pension for round things.  surely they are impressed with the stacks of boxes of shrink-wrapped cds, though they are more likely mp3 critters and, being 2022-born, roll their beady little eyes at the mere mention of cds and cassettes.  i’m guessing our tiny visitors actually have no opinions about all this and clearly no interest whatsoever in the 8-track player or the record albums.  they are not thready nor are they sentimental.  they were simply seeking places to stash their seed-findings.  





yes, i will need a new broom…one of those angle ones that gets into the corners.  there is much to be swept.  





in time, there will be more floor.  barn-red and grey.  i have to get past the black-and-white of it all first.





*****





read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY
















































					
		
	



					



	

					
				

			
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lions and more lions. [saturday morning smack-dab.]

	


	

					








the summer of 2011 in our ‘hood was dramatic.  straight line winds came through, toppling close to a thousand trees in our neighborhood alone.  all in about five minutes.  i haven’t felt the same since.





when it’s windy out – really windy – or when strong or severe wind is predicted, i get nervous.  we – both – lay awake at night, wondering about the tall trees behind our bedroom, hoping that they will prevail and stay standing.  





a couple years ago a really gigantic branch fell into our backyard from our neighbor’s tree.  it did not land on the house, but it was a fortune to have removed and, in these weird liability times, was ours to deal with.  in an even weirder event, the neighbor came by to ask if we wanted to “go in on” the removal of three of the towering trees in his backyard.  for obvious reasons, we declined, as did our other neighbors, and this couple, who had been dear to us – after four decades of living there – sold their enormous house and moved to texas without saying goodbye.  





anyway, the windstorm-derecho of 2011 has made me tremble.  





david’s ptsd came from childhood and being hit by lightning.  i’m thinking i would have post traumatic stress, too, had i been hit by lightning.  he was in his house, by a window, and zap!  yikes!!





so when the rumbling starts and we are out walking or hiking, he is a wee bit trepidatious.  the moment the lightning starts, trepidation turns to panic.  





we were walking along the lakefront when we could see the storm clouds quickly approaching.  boom! the thunder rolled.  and then…the lightning.  time and again.  david was full-scale under-the-desk sheltering (though there was no desk).  in no time he had taken cover-without-cover.  i convinced him to get home.  we are not those people who revel in thunderstorms or chase tornadoes or delight in derechos or any ridiculously windy events.  we seek peaceful days and sun, maybe gentle rains and light quaking-aspen-leaf-worthy breezes.  idyllic.  nirvana. 





we are entering the season of wild storms.  they are all across the country.  we watch the weather and eliminate places as potential places to ever live.  “nope,” we say.  “not a chance!”  we have a short list of places we’d live, which is good, since it will lower the level of decision-fatigue and lessen the analysis-paralysis of too many choices.





in the meanwhile, on the shores of lake michigan with the lion full-on and the lamb – goodgrief – somewhere following at turtle-pace, maybe lost, one cannot underestimate the power of ptsd.  





*****





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uff da! [not-so-flawed wednesday]

	


	

					


bumper sticker on the car in front of us






every week we would drive to st. james so that i could take norwegian lessons.  my sweet momma and poppo took them too.  i had no idea why i was taking these lessons, but far be it from me to question the stubborn pull of the sons of norway lodge for my parents, who loved their membership there, a little inland from the north shore of long island.  i belonged to the sons of norway youth group as well.  one of my really close high school friends belonged to the greek youth group, so my membership at the loyal lodge didn’t seem quite so weird, but the greek youth group was way more lively than the norwegian’s, with many festivals and dances.  i mean, just think of the food alone: norwegian fish pudding vs. greek moussaka, lapskaus vs. souvlaki, krumkake vs. baklava, akvavit vs. ouzo…there is a different level of excitement and celebration.  anyway, i felt less like an anomaly going to norwegian lessons because angela went to greek school.





not much of the norwegian tradition has carried on.  there have been times when we have made krumkake, filling the plain waffle cookies off the iron with fruit or whipped cream.  there have – never – been times that we have sought out norwegian fish pudding nor lutefisk.  never ever.  i have never – ever – used my norwegian lessons.  sadly, even if i went to norway, which is most definitely on a bucket list, i would not understand any of the language now’days.  





but “uff da” has endured.





my dad used the expression often.  it was a substitution for “oof!” or “oh geez!” to express surprise or dismay or just to buy a moment of thinking-time.  “uff da!” is synonymous with him in our family.  so it is likely if any of us sees a bumper sticker or what-have-you that says “uff da!” we will send it on and around.  it’s like we have had a tiny visit from my dad; erling has spoken.





we have a couple “uff da” magnets on our fridge that came from their fridge.  and my nephew named his children beautiful and unique heritage-rich norwegian names, carrying on legacy my dad passed down.  i get to carry my dad’s name with me (as well as his jowls).  and you can sometimes – though not too often – hear me say “uff da” out loud.





my sons of norway days are no longer, but i remember fondly the cute boy “j-r” in my class, the norwegian dancing instruction, the man from the lodge who built our stone fireplace rock-by-rock, the miss norway pageant in the city and the marzipan.  





always the marzipan.





uff da!!





*****





read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY