pssssst. wanna play telephone?? i remember this as a little girl. you would whisper something in your best friend’s ear who would whisper in the next littlegirlear who would whisper in the next littlegirlear until you went all the way around the circle. that last littlegirl would announce what she was told and all the littlegirls would giggle at how silly it was that what had started as one whispered thing quickly became another.
columbus tells stories of growing up in a little town in iowa. he delights in the stories of everyone-knowing-everyone and everyone’sbusiness being everyone’sbusiness. whether thebusiness is true or not. pssssst. now living in a suburb of denver, he still yearns for monticello, iowa and his littletown. he has not recollected stories of thetelephonegame type silliness to us, but i am certain they exist.
this island…well, wow. mike said to us, “if you sneeze on one side of the island, by the time the news reaches the other side you will have pneumonia.” this is ridiculously true. even if you didn’t sneeze.
i miss my piano. i didn’t realize how much until late last night, in the darkened theatre, my hands touched the keys and i could breathe. my neck and shoulders, stiff and aching from undue stress, relaxed just a little. tears fell down my face. they are still there now, as i write this.
this morning, as d was making breakfast, a tree frog hopped out from between the cabinets and landed on the stove. fortunately, we were able to coax him from the hot burners and take him safely outside. it was unclear how he got inside. but his message was clear, a message we had learned from helen quite some time ago. f.r.o.g. = fully rely on God. and so, a giggle and a time of fresh, deep breaths.
when i have performed this piece NURTURE ME (as i mentioned in a previous post) i have loved to tell the story of the carrot seed, the absolute knowing that nurturing can lift anyone, any living thing, from fallow, from despair, from seed into grandness, into thriving, into life.
carrots, pianos, tree frogs. all are capable of telling the story. nurture trumps hate.
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years ago when i turned 30 we celebrated by going to the zoo. we spent the day, along with my parents and my niece, traipsing around admiring animals, learning factoids, taking pictures, eating ice cream. i’m not really a zoo person. i prefer to think of animals living happily in the wild, supported by a world that is thoughtful, careful and ecologically minded. but i do recognize the need to conserve endangered species, study wildlife and inspire education and preservation of species and their natural environments.
it just so happened that the day we visited this zoo, this day that i turned the big 3-0, they were pouring cement sidewalks. there is a wee letter ‘k’ in that sidewalk. a mark.
we all want to leave a mark. is it an invention? is it a passing-down of a precious heirloom? is it a name on a bench in a personal, special place? is it a work of fine art, a painting, a piece of music? is it a story? is it a world record? is it a mindset? is it a way of being on this good earth?
i’m not sure when they last poured the surface on townline road. but on that day, a certain seagull decided to leave a mark. it walked across the freshly poured street – pad, pad, pad – and, until they pour again, its mark will remain. we smile every time we walk past this set of prints, wondering aloud how long they have been there.
as we continue our time here, we are aware both of the mark we are leaving and the mark people are leaving on us. in many years from now, when the road is paved over and we are no longer, i would hope that most of us led with the mark my sweet momma left, “be kind to each other.”
dogdog sits at the edge of the lake and gazes south. i wonder what he is pondering. south is where home-home is. south is where his backyard is, where he runs in gleeful circles when the dachshunds next door are out in their yard. south is where he goes on extended errands in the scion, where unka john comes over, where the upstairs gives babycat space from him and for him. south is where he barks and rules the domain that is clearly his.
i wonder what he is thinking. is he wondering what it all means? is he curious about when he will be home-home next? is he wondering where we are now? does he like this location, full of wildlife he hasn’t seen before? does he like the smaller space, putting us four all together more? does he like the treat he and babycat get every time we arrive home, the “mom-and-dad-are-home-treat”? does he like to fall into dreams at “sleepynightnight” time in his familiar crate in a mostly unfamiliar place, next to our bed as usual?
babycat was slower to adjust. his adjustment came under the bed in the middle room, as he sorted through his “where-the-heck-are-we-and-did-anyone-ask-me-if-i-wanted-to-come?” eventually he came out from under the bed and started finding that, yes indeedy, there is a bed with the quilt he recognizes that he can sleep on. and yes, indeedy, “they” brought my favorite toy, the turbo-scratcher-round-circle-chasing-ball toy. and yes, indeedy, it’s a different food bowl, but it’s the same food. he has discovered that he can sit by the french door to the deck and watch seagulls and ducks and geese and bald eagles flying past and above. it’s work but someone has to do it, and babycat is all-in. yes, all is seemingly well in babycat land now.
adjustments are a bit easier when your unicorn toy and bones and treats and chasing-toy and leash and kibble are there, are the same.
i, too, have sat on the edge of the lake and gazed south.
we are five hours and a ferry ride from our basement. but we have an amazing posse of friends back there on the mainland. my girl has taken up residency keeping an eye on our house and our posse is keeping an eye out for her. we know that, no matter what, someone is but a phone call and minutes away from any kind of help she – or our house, basement included – might need. and in that, we rest easy. such generosity.
the humidity and heat has been high in southeastern wisconsin this summer and our basement? in a line from my big fat greek wedding, it suffers. one dehumidifier is not enough. worried, we texted our up-north-gang up north to ask advice: “in a non-centrally-air-conditioned house, how many dehumidifiers would you put in the basement?” immediately we got back answers from jay and gay, opinions from charlie and dan, and within days dan brought over a dehumidifier, installed it and checked on the one already there. thinking about the cluttered basement, we texted to him that while paying attention to the basement to please ignore the basement. he texted back, “i didn’t even notice the basement.” generosity.
we ran home for a night a couple weeks ago. we ran errands, we installed the a/c units in the windows, we grocery shopped, we weeded and vacuumed, we prepped the house for our girl’s arrival. we picked up mail and packages from john, shared drinks and not-enough-stories with jen and brad, ate a late dinner with 20, had quick before-she-went-to-work coffee with michele. in their busy schedules, our beloved posse dropped everything and made time to see us, time to spend together. generosity.
we couldn’t be here without our posse there. fact of the matter is, we couldn’t be THERE without our posse there.
because it takes a village to take care of a basement. and each other.
the first time we went to the tiny farmer’s market on island we ran into a few people we had just met. new friends, they stopped to chat for a time and tom said, “the whole island is a welcome sign.” that seems to be true. a welcome sign.
yesterday we heard about people standing in line in the little grocery store. the clerk and the customer checking out were having a chat. no one in line interrupted. no one shuffled their groceries. no one shifted from one leg to the other, impatiently sighing loudly. they just waited. and then, when it was their turn, they had their own chat with the clerk. the grocery store is a welcome sign.
we were walking down the road arm in arm, a few miles from home, and an old light blue pickup truck pulled up next to us. a sweet old man leaned out and said, “you two lovebirds want a ride?” we laughed and said that we were out for a stroll. motioning to the bed of the truck, he told us he had plenty of room but added, “it looks like you are doing just fine.” we chatted a minute more and he pulled away. a welcome sign.
we were obliviously riding our bikes on the road, looking for deer in the woods. talking quietly and laughing at my attempts at no-handed riding (which, by the way, came back after a try or two), i suddenly realized there was a car behind us. i motioned quickly to d to pull over in front of me and get out of the car’s way. as it passed, i called into the rolled-down window “sorry!” the driver called back, “no worries! enjoy your ride!” no horn beeping, no revving of engine, no grumpy voice, no gesturing. just a “no worries!” a welcome sign.
the lake wakes up different every day. our little bay is moody and this pensive morning was not willing to add much color. water morphed into sky which morphed into water and, were it not for hog island and two birds, it would be hard to tell where they each started and ended.
every day we are on island i will take a picture of the morning lake. its hues, its movement, its message for the day.
today, as i look at this photograph with two birds and an island, i am quieted into thinking about the day. in looking at the date, i note that 27 years ago today i lost my big brother. i wonder if he is gazing out at this morning lake with me. i wonder if he looks out on the day, its hues, its movement, the message of this good earth’s day. i wonder if he has snapshots of every morning from heaven.
if you are watching hgtv and they are touting the positives of having a washer-dryer combo all-in-one, don’t believe them. we quickly discovered that the dryer part of the washer-dryer was in name only. unless you have hours to wait and money to toss for the added electricity, the “dryer” is more like a wringer-outer that removes some of the moisture from your laundry.
and so, on this little island, for this summer, we now have a …. wait for it … clothesline. after a trip to the mercantile where we bought line and clothespins, d installed it and voila! we have a “dryer”!!! the breezes off the lake and the sun dry our laundry quickly and dogdog loves to help with the hanging-out and taking-down of clothes on the line. i feel myself channeling my sweet momma as i shake the clothes taking them out of the basket before hanging, lessening possible wrinkles, and again shake the clothes as i take it them off the line, lessening possible hitchhikers. it feels like time-ago. it’s refreshing and pretty heavenly. there’s plenty of time. and the laundry dries.
we have found that we needed to slow down a bit here. we drive slower, for wildlife is everywhere and you must be careful. we walk slower – in the middle of the road – for there are far fewer cars and no frenzy. we have fewer errands, for there are not many places to shop. we see that we will see change slower, for the wheels of progress are big ole tires here, turning slowly as a big tractor down a mottled dirt road. we wave at everyone we go by, we stop and talk, we laugh about our long tenure here – a whopping fourteen days. we know we will slowly become a part of this place. there’s plenty of time.
we were at a new friend’s house high on a bluff in the woods overlooking the lake the other night. we were telling a story and i said something to our host about not doing nutshells very well; she interrupted my apology and said, “there’s no rush. tell the whole story. we have plenty of time.”
you have to plan a little differently with a clothesline. adjustment is necessary. a day which dawns rainy and grey will not be a good clothesline day. and so, you must choose a different day. for there is plenty of time.
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