oh geeeeez. i wish i could say that this was in-no-shape-or-form even a smidge of reality. but…it is all-too-true.
the google lens on my phone – and google, in general – are most definitely my oft-used applications, if you set aside the camera and texting. we are curious folks, after all. and when we are hiking and come across plants or creatures or tracks or trail options, we do have a tendency to whip out our phones and google it.
suddenly, we have access to all-there-is-to-know about mayapples, all-there-is-to-know about salamanders, all-there-is-to-know about jumping squirrel tracks, all-there-is-to-know about elevation gain and mileage, water on the trail, exposed areas with no shade. we become momentary experts on any single thing.
it’s like when you need a new stove/oven. you google stoves/ovens. you realize the proper word is actually “range”. you gasp at the cost. then you sort between gas, electric, glass-top, round-spirally elements. then you look to see what each of the options do – as opposed to what you really need or what you would really use. then you start sorting through brands. then you start reading reviews. then you ask a friend, or, maybe, many friends. you ponder and ponder, rich in language – and knowledge – versed in phrases and marketing terms like like dual fuel, conventional, convection heating, precision, programmable, vacuum, temperature probe, heating coils, sabbath mode, nearly poetic about the differences between bake, roast and broil. you proudly convey your newfound knowledge to anyone at all who wants to talk about ranges – or – really – anyone who doesn’t want to talk about ranges. you have arrived.
you decide. you purchase/choose/opt/elect/sign-on.
and then – like most any appliance decision/vehicle decision/children’s paraphernalia decision/eyewear/footwear/outerwear/new puppy/gas grill/television/cellphone/cable network/carpentry-masonry-tilesetting-plumbing-mechanic-architect/mattress/birdfeeder/menu decision – all the knowledge you have looked up and researched and gleaned and studied and pondered and perseverated over – doesn’t stick – promptly falls out of your brain – leaves the building – and you are left bereft. as if you knew nothing. all over again.
and the google gods chuckle. “did it again!” they smirk.
amaryllis makes me think of my sweet momma. the color pink makes me think of my daughter.
on the windowsill of the bathroom there are two small bottles. one is estee lauder’s ‘pleasures’ and the other is a tiny daisy-capped bottle of marc jacob’s daisy perfume. two scents that remind me of those same two beloved people.
because i am thready (some may say overlyyy thready) i surround myself – intentionally and unintentionally – with tokens of remembrance – some actual, some merely floating in my heart – filaments that connect me to people – and make me think of people – whether they are nearby or far away or on another plane of existence entirely. threads. woven in.
this bulb – a gift – requires no attention whatsoever. you just place it anywhere and it will take care of itself. no water needed. it contains all the water and nutrients it needs to flower. it has stored carbohydrates so it is self-sustaining and can bloom without any care.
i am thinking that between the plethora of mcdonalds fries i ate in my teenage years on bike hikes, the wavy lays and cape cod chips in later years (and even recent later years!!), ever-reassuring mashed potatoes and the daily morning breakfast david makes each day that includes yummy potatoes, i have plenty – plenty!!! – of stored carbohydrates. one would then extrapolate that i would be self-sustaining and would bloom without care. but, the flora world has it all over us on this one. i do not have the advantage of the waxed amaryllis bulb. water, nutrients and care are necessary.
the pink-waxed amaryllis is just starting to get closer to blooming, a flower stalk straight and tall from the center of the bulb, the bud tightly wound. i visit with it each day, marveling at it.
and i think of dearest jen every time i look at it.
“it is impossible to ever compare two people because each stands on such different ground.”(john o’donohue)
breck has leafed. we are watching with admiration and anticipation. last year, our tiny aspen shot up in height, growing, growing, higher, higher, until it was awkwardly tall with all branches on the lower trunk and this spindly beanstalk heading skyward, full of oddly-sized leaves.
we wonder about this year. but we hesitate to compare it to other aspens – the ones in woods that grow in stands and connect-connect underground to vast quantities of aspen-relatives.
our breck is alone out there. the only aspen in our yard, though we won’t know for some time if there are others sprouting up in the aspen regeneration way, sharing a root structure, genetically identical trees waiting to surprise us with a grove. breck stands on different ground – on midwest soil not the soil of the high mountains. its experience is different from the forested side of the mountain on the ditch trail in colorado or lakeside in dory.
though i have successes and joys in my life, i recognize that you do as well. though i have difficulties in my life, i recognize that you do as well. though i have challenges and disappointments, i recognize that you do as well. i stand on different ground. you stand on different ground.
we have watched breck struggle and we have watched it flourish. we cheer it on, always aware that it is out of its mountain-element, always aware it is one-of-a-kind here, always aware it is steadfastly soaking up the sun and the rain and holding on during wisconsin winters and winds from the west.
no matter the size of its leaves or the distribution of branches, the height it achieves or the root system clones it produces, breck stands on different ground and it is beautiful.
“if you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.” (desiderata – max ehrmann)
the warm morning breeze was blowing in the west window. the sun was streaming across the quilt. dogga was laying at our feet and we were sipping coffee. we could hear the slight echo of the windchimes out back and the birds were singing up a symphony.
perfection.
in-between all the other moments – the ones that are not so perfect – somehow there slips one that is.
and the axis of the earth gives a little shake-off and the flecks of yucky-dust that have accumulated from those other moments fly off.
looking like a new year’s eve party noisemaker waiting to unfurl in celebration, the fern steadily grows. in-between last year’s clipped stalks and in and among dried leaves and the last vestiges of winter’s effect on mulch, it peeks out, pushing up toward the sun. it chooses to thrive, even covered by sandy soil and bits of the past. one day soon i will walk out to the back – where the fern garden is – and this tiny fern will have stretched and straightened and fanned out into a lanky beautiful feather.
it makes me think about blowout noisemakers. all furled up they look relatively innocuous and not particularly capable of being noisy. a little gumption and air blown into them and they can be pretty doggone loud.
the little fern breathes deep and reaches down into where gumption is stored. against the odds, this seemingly fragile, willowy plant rises up, centimeter by centimeter. suddenly it is a powerhouse, standing tall in the rain and a part of the wind in storms.
though it may be all trembly inside as it makes its journey upward and outward, its gumption, air and the sun give it courage and strength. it is tough and resilient and – it is said – has an incredibly strong survival instinct.
how often we are all tiny ferns – over and over – through fallow and rejuvenation, covered in the patina of the past and growing it off. innocuous and silent.
that would be everything except the fact that i can no longer view any reversethreading wordpress blogsite images on my laptop. any. there is an “empty-alt-attribute” problem – in every single one of my images in every single one of my blogposts. all 1899 of them. i see a problem.
a while back i loaded chrome as a browser because – all of a sudden – firefox would not host the writeable portion of my blogsite. it wouldn’t even open it. one day, after having no issue every single other day – for years and years – it just refused to go there.
so i started writing my blogposts on chrome. now, that soundsss like an easy fix – except for the fact that chrome would not allow me to preview the completed post – it says that there is a “privacy error” and that my “connection is not private” and that there are those out there attempting to steal information from me.
sooo, i would write the post on chrome and then open firefox to view it. and then, suddenly, firefox decided that was also an issue and will not take me to the viewable preview of my blogpost. but i can see that on my iPad mini, so i can open that up and view the preview, even though i cannot size any images on that device.
but now, i cannot see any images whatsoever on my site – in chrome (where i can write) or in firefox (where i can do nothing at all). i have read much commentary on the “empty-alt-attribute” debacle – and i have attempted fixes – but to no avail.
everything is not figureoutable.
but i sense that the problem is not the fault of wordpress.
what i believe is happening here is that my handed-down-handed-down laptop – which is from 2008 – is reaching the end of its rope. it can’t handle updates and – because it can’t handle updates – there is less and less i am able to do. it’s time for a new macbook. with all the imagery i fuss with and our smack-dab (and other) cartoons on photoshop, with a six-day-a-week blog, i need to figure out a way to get a new laptop.
some things are just not figureoutable.
some things are just obvious. impossible, but obvious.
right now i am typing on my mini, which is from 2016.
because i know you want to experience this as firsthand as you possibly can, here’s the sordid story:
first, i emailed the image from my iphone to my email and downloaded it to my laptop desktop (because my devices are not capable of talking to each other). next, i loaded the image into wordpress on my laptop (even though i can’t see it, i know it’s there when i check on the mini.) i am unable to size or position the image (remember, i can’t see it), so my sensibility is knocked off by that. i write on the mini so that i can refer to the image (which i can see, but not size). and – because i cannot preview in chrome or in firefox, i can preview the post on this tiny mini ipad screen – with my dollar store readers. when the ipad suddenly balks, i panic a little and take a screenshot with my iphone6s of my post so that i don’t lose it entirely. the attachable keyboard to the mini loses power so i attach the cord and an extension cord to continue writing. i transfer to the laptop to do all my tags and such on chrome – but i have to switch to firefox to grab the link for kerrianddavid.com and to check the melange tab of our site because chrome won’t allow me to go there – another “privacy error”. i grab the link and go back to chrome, insert the link and schedule the post. i can’t see the other images i place within (like website boxes and qr codes), but i trust that they are there. when d isn’t using his laptop, I borrow it, sign out of his blogsite and into mine and size my images so that they are not obnoxiously large on my post. then i sign out and give him back his computer, trusting that the process (which used to be inordinately smoother and required far less patience) is now complete – even with all its figureouts. and it only took two laptops, two browsers, an ipad mini and an iphone to complete. and some laughter. definitely some laughter.
i guess things are figureoutable. sometimes a big pain and ridiculously workaroundish, but figureoutable nonetheless.
eh. i’m thinking that i need to figure something else out.
there are a lot of reasons to zoom through days, to forget about what is really important, to perseverate on things that make us unhappy, things that worry us, things that cause us to push others away, to not take time with others, not give time to others. much of the time we can convince ourselves – somehow – that those reasons are impeccable, that they matter. we can get ourselves all riled up and full of the shadow side of relationships and daily life. and then something wakes us up, takes us out of the dark.
it could be something really inconsequential, seemingly unimportant. the notice of a bird on the wing, the sunrise, dandelion seeds in the wind, a strain of music, a scent. it could be something way bigger – something that brings a sense of mortality, that brings you to a full stop and makes you realize that time is – indeed – passing by and that the moment that has slipped past is never again retrievable.
and suddenly we realize that they are all like that. all the moments.
irretrievable.
and love taps us on the shoulder and reminds us. to take the time, to give the time. to be aware of the things we want to do, the simple stuff that feeds us, the people we love and who love us. it reminds us that there is no time to waste – really, ever – no matter where in life we are. it reminds us we are not all-that and we don’t do this life alone. it reminds us it is flying by and by and more love is the only thing that will last and last – forever.
i just heard about darn tough hiking socks. they are known for their comfort, durability and fit. they wick moisture and are anti-blister. these are all important features in a hiking sock. heck, they are important features in living life.
the river rises and falls. we have seen it spilling way across the trail, with trees looking like they are standing in a bayou, water so stretched out it looks less like a river than a lake. we have seen it pulled way back, the level low, the riverbed exposed, turtles with no place to hide. it surprises us to arrive and see it so different from the last time. and it doesn’t surprise us.
everything is in flux. everything. and i suppose i am surprised and i am not surprised.
it all rises and falls. it spills over and recedes. life gives and takes. successes are jubilant, disappointments are despairing. relationships flourish and barely hold on…connection replaced by disconnect replaced by connection. well-being is momentary. we are secure, we are imperiled. we are flush with excitement and trembling with dread. such a dichotomy, this living thing.
it reminds me – once again – of an interview i heard with an elderly woman of 95. she was asked how she managed to stay vital and engaged for so long, to stay robustly healthy and remarkably positive. she just gracefully rode the ebbs and flows, surfing the river-bayou-trickle and its continual changes. she answered, “i take nothing personally.”
they must have modeled the socks after her. comfort, durability, fit, moisture-wicking and anti-blister.
his shadow on the wall has kept us company – each morning – with the east sun streaming in through the window – reflecting his perch on our bed, the furry top of his head tousled by many good-morning pets.
time has flown by and his muzzle is grey. he is slower at evening’s end, retiring earlier and earlier – maybe a little bit like us. he groans a bit, getting his body moving. but his amber eyes…they are the same. they belie the time that has escaped our noticing. the aussie puppy is still in there.
while d is setting up coffee for the next morning and i am turning down covers and getting ready for sleep, dogga is laying on the bed. there’s a routine. in these quiet moments i sit next to him and we talk. he loves belly-bellies so it is without question that is part of the conversation. there are times – as he looks up – that i am struck by his very being, this dog who trusts us for everything. what a responsibility we all have with these furry family members. what a privilege i feel…the experience of dogs and a cat who love me or have loved me like i love them.
but i am floored by the time. and i realize that in the way i have less time ahead of me than behind me, so does our sweetboy. we – the people in this equation – both tear up anytime we even allude to this, even in the vaguest of ways. but dogdog doesn’t. he just holds a steady gaze, wags his tail, spins and gives kisses, sneezes when we ask and opens his mouth in a silent “love you” when we say “i love you” to him. his amber eyes reflect back his life with us.
and so – now – he goes on more errands with us. he gets even more pets. he has chicken breast with rice and peas and carrots for dinner. we keep him close.
because like really anyone – two-legged or four – we are whirling through space faster than ever – and there is never enough time to be together, to share life, to love each other.
our old wagawag reminds me of this every single day.
my sweet poppo used to say, “put it in the barn out back!” only we didn’t have a barn out back.
he thought it would be wise to simply save everything – old stuff would all come around again. and, judging by the seventies clothing we are seeing in the boutiques ‘out there’ he was right. bold colors, big pattern, crocheted-granny-square sweaters and vests….i should’ve saved everything. i’d be right in fashion.
now, it goes without saying that in my closet are plenty of items that date back. no…not like six months or a year. they date back to the 2010s, the 2000s, the 90s and beyond. i always think, “save this. it’ll fit again one day/it’ll be in style again one day/i love it too much to give it away so keep it to wear again some day” etc etc. and, to my credit, some things are just classic pieces and they work no matter when you wear them. well, at least in my estimation they do. i’m guessing that’s up for grabs.
as you already know, we love antiquing. it flings us to and fro through the decades we have been on planet earth and is quite entertaining. we laugh as we see the corningware and tupperware we currently own. we stand in front of record albums reliving our teens. we roll our eyes at the inundation of tchotchkes, miscellany and bric-à-brac galore. and then we pass something that just cuts to the chase, goes right to our hearts.
these ice cube trays did it for me.
we had these ice cube trays growing up. i distinctly remember them. steadying the cold tray with one hand, i can feel the crunching thwap of pulling back the aluminum handle, releasing the ice cubes, ice shards flying out of the tray. it totally brings me back to my childhood home.
we stood in front of the ice cube trays for a bit, reminiscing aloud to each other, the only audience who wants to listen to an ice cube tray story.
when we moved on it was to discover that there were three – 3!! – viewmasters also in the booth. because you must – the visceral tugs mercilessly at you – i pulled down on the lever, looking around for the round slide thingies that go inside them. i still own a viewmaster (with a few slide thingies) and i was trying to decide who we should gift with one of these.
alas, we moved on sans purchase. we didn’t even purchase the ice cube trays, even though our kitchenaid icemaker no longer works and we either have to make ice cubes or purchase ice. we have other ice cube trays – ones that work better than the metal ones – and we still hold out hope that one day the icemaker might work again.
but, if those trays had been out in the barn it would have helped us, at least temporarily – until the icemaker revives.
and then outside – on a table in the weather – sat the birdhouse. rusted metal roof, old peeling painted barnwood, a tiny backdoor, and a nest inside, we were smitten.
$5.28 later and my poppo was smiling from the other side.
reverse threading 