Sunday, March 1, 2015
I'll be the first to admit that I have a problem. In fact, if you are a regular reader of this column you'll recall that I admitted to my Chapstick dependence without hesitation. Actually this is one of those problems that I've been able to keep somewhat under control because of limited space and my cats. The problem I'm talking about is my yarn collection. It starts innocently enough. I find a cute pattern on Pinterest or see something that I think I can make. So I walk the aisles looking for just the right yarn. I will find what I'm looking for but wait, what's this? A new soft multi-colored, self-striping yarn that would make the cutest infinity scarf! Before I know it I have an armload of yarn and a head full of ideas. Like I said earlier, my problem with buying all of that yarn I want is a lack of places to put it all that's out of reach of my cats, who love nothing more than to destroy a full skein and leave it all over the living room. So I have my yarn carefully tucked away here and there throughout the house. I also have a problem with good intentions. Thinking that yarn I just bought would make something cute and actually making that cute item are two completely different things. If you were to come and ask me about my inventory of yarn I would be able to tell you exactly what I plan to make with it "someday." And yet the yarn keeps coming. My friend recently posted on Facebook that she had acquired a large quantity of yarn and was looking to get rid of it. "I'll be right over!" I messaged within minutes of seeing the post. By the time I had gotten there, she had taken out what she wanted and had given some away but still had enough leftover to make blankets for the entire population of the U.P. Now that's what I call a problem! I, of course, had to help her out by taking two large bags of yarn off her hands. I honestly come by this naturally. My Aunt Bonnie has a bonus room filled wall to wall, floor to ceiling with fabric. My mom has an entire walk-in closet devoted to her fabric collection. So really, if you put it into perspective, all I have is one Tupperware box, a small cardboard box and three large bags of yarn which comparatively, is almost no yarn at all. And I currently only have 3 unfinished projects going. So as I said, I'll be the first one to admit that I have a problem and if that problem develops, I'll let you know.
Friday, January 9, 2015
I jumped up from the couch and sang a little song that I made up. It goes like this (with no real tune), "Awesome! Awesome! Christmas shopping is over! That's Awesome!" One thing in particular that I love about living in the present day is online shopping. I love it that I can have 3 stores open at once and never step foot in any of them. I love it that I don't have to haul 6 bags around a crowded mall, breaking out in a sweat because I decided not to freeze my butt off and leave my coat in the car since I had to park in the back 40. Ten months out of the year I love traditional shopping. I love the smell of the stores and I love the little bags with handles from Bath & Body Works and American Eagle. But as soon as November hits, literally the last place I want to be is in a department store or mall. In my middle age I have developed a sort of pushy-people, not sure what I'm getting anybody, anxiety. It's the same kind of feeling I get when I'm in the pet store with all of the un-caged giant birds flapping their wings and screeching "Hello!" at me. Online shopping has been a Heaven send for me. I can sit on my couch with a cup of coffee and take my time. I know who likes which kinds of jeans and I can order them with the touch of a screen. If one store doesn't have them I search for another store without warming up my car. I can flip back to my email and remember to plug in that code that will save me an extra $20 off of my order. I can use credit or Paypal. What's even better is that I can order something right when I'm thinking of it, and then I can search for it until I find it like I did with that random motorcycle part that I knew Tom wanted. Oh I know some of you already have me pegged as an anti-Christmas grinch with my fake tree and the fact that I put off decorating until some actually notices that I haven't done it. But the beauty of being me is that I knew that, yet I still did it that way pretty much guilt-free. Christmas morning was still great because nobody cared how those gifts got under that plastic tree. We all had something to open and it was a lovely day surrounded by family and pets. And now as I reflect on that lovely day I can focus on my newest venture, song writing.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
“Well, what do you know? It turns out I’m older than Sesame Street,” I said to Tom the night that PNR printed the story about Sesame Street, (probably the first show I remember watching), turning 45. I never even stopped to think that I might be older than the show that helped me earn a badge in Brownies by teaching me to recite 1-15 in French. This same show taught me those same numbers in Spanish as the children I babysat watched the Hispanic version when we moved to the Lansing Area. What kind of childhood show causes an adult of 46 to hum “do doo da doo doo” every time she hears the word “phenomena?” My children watched Barney when they were toddlers and I can guarantee you they don’t sing “I’m the elephant elevator operator!” every time they enter an elevator! They did watch Sesame Street for a short time when they were young, but it really didn’t seem to be the same. It was a different generation and the target audience didn’t seem to be my Upper Peninsula bred, dinosaur-loving kids. Even though they don’t have the same fond memories it doesn’t stop me from thinking of Big Bird’s giant nest whenever I would see that eagle’s nest on the billboard somewhere near Alanson. Cookie Monster with his googly eyes, who only ate cookies (NOT vegetables! I’m sorry, but that’s just wrong), and Grover were friends of mine. And I loved to count with the Count. I’m even old enough to remember SS before there was an Elmo. I am also a person who was impacted by the life lessons that show taught me. I mean, doesn’t everyone my age know that you should NOT eat crackers in bed? Thank you Bert and Ernie. I don’t even think I would ever use the word “grouch” if it hadn’t been for Oscar. Not to mention calling my kids “Oscar the Grouch” at times. I had some real life friends there too. Maria was probably my favorite human on the street. I can still hear her voice talking to her Muppet neighbors. I can also hear Kermit the Frog singing “It’s Not Easy Being Green.” Even after I became too old for the people in my neighborhood (the people that I meet each day), I never felt too old to sing “One of these things is not like the other. Three of these things are kind of the same.” to my classroom full of second graders. Does it make me feel old knowing that I’m older than Sesame Street? No it doesn’t. In fact it’s quite the opposite. I want to say Happy Birthday to a show that impacted my life in more ways than one…cookie.
Sunday, November 2, 2014
I am extremely excited to share that I have recently acquired the title of "great aunt." In September my niece and her fiancé welcomed a baby boy into the world. I used to think of a great aunt as someone with blue hair named Mertyl or Dotie. But now that I am one, I think of it more along the lines of being an aunt who just got a promotion. Being a great aunt is almost as awesome as being a grandma without the added grandmotherly responsibilities. I saw that diapers were on sale at Meijer and thought to myself, "I should buy those for Leslie." Now a grandmother really should buy the diapers, but a great aunt doesn't feel the obligation that the grandma might feel. And let's face it, I'd much rather say that I'm a great aunt than a grandmother. I sort of think of myself as a grandma-in-training. My sons aren't anywhere near ready to get married, so I would prefer that they not bestow me with that title just yet. Of course I'll be thrilled when the time is right. It just isn't right now. It's funny to me that not very long ago when I heard the term "great aunt" I though "old." But when Leslie told me she was going to have a baby I was so excited I could hardly stand it. And by the time little Carver came into the world I was telling anyone who would listen that I'm a great aunt. I continue to pass these milestones that are supposed to make me feel older and for some reason I feel the same. I feel like the worlds youngest great aunt. It's so surreal to me that I'm a great aunt that I feel like it should be called something different. Seriously, I remember my own great aunts and they seemed old; really old! My great aunts on my moms side were called "aunties." They had grey hair and made hand painted paperweights. They seemed to be on the cusp of the hereafter. But I wonder if they were like me. Maybe they were pushing 50 and just as excited to be great aunts as I am now. I'm learning that age is just a number and being called a "great" anything doesn't define me. I'm also learning that a title like "great aunt" doesn't mean I'm old. It simply means exactly what it says, that my niece just had a baby and it doesn't make me feel old. It makes me feel just great.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
I don't return home to a loud bark or a wagging tail anymore. These days I go into the house with bated breath, wondering if the curled up ball of orange fur is going to open her eyes and gingerly arise so that I can lead her to the door to go out. I know there will come a day when her eyes won't open; when she won't get up. Actually we are hoping that will be the case. Neither Tom nor I have it in us to make the decision to end another pet's life. We did that with our cat and it was simply too traumatic for both of us. In fact, we swear he is haunting us because of it, but I'll save that story for another time.
Molly, our 14 year old Golden retriever/beagle mix has had several near-death episodes and yet death eludes her. One was nine years ago when she ate enough indoor-outdoor carpet to snake through her entire intestines and leave a loaf of bread sized ball of it in her stomach. But she was only 5 then and we couldn't end the life of a good dog just because of a little carpet-eating habit. Major surgery and about $900 later she was home and on the mend. In 2007 she had a severe injury in to her back that had us thinking "this could be the end" and yet again, with a little bit of doggy Motrin, she was back to her old self. About two years ago we started finding her standing in front of walls just staring, unresponsive. A trip to the vet came back with a diagnosis of dementia (we didn't know dogs got dementia either). The prognosis was 6-8 months and we sadly went home with another prescription to help manage pain. Once again she miraculously recovered. About a year ago she began leaving us presents of the most unpleasant kind. It wasn’t a life-ending problem. We just needed to be more diligent about letting her out and insisting she leave the porch. But you know when they start losing their ability to "hold it" the end is usually approaching.
"We're nearing the end boys, (again), and you should start preparing yourselves to say goodbye to Molly-Moll" we sadly said. That was a year ago. I even started a little Facebook album called "Mondays with Molly" in which I'd post cute or funny pictures of her, thinking it would only go on for a few weeks. I finally quit after about 8 months. Earlier in the summer she had to be carried down the stairs. “This must be it,” we thought. I asked for prayers from friends. She hasn't been carried down since. She has arthritis and getting up and down is a bit of a struggle for her, but with her medicine she still manages to run laps around the yard like a dog half her age. Every bag of dog food I think to myself "This will probably be the last bag." The same is true with each new bottle of medicine.
For Tom and I, the hardest part is knowing when is the time to say goodbye. Everyone we talk to tells us that we will just know when it's time. I'm pretty sure that Molly knows it's ultimately up to her and based on the past, I think she's just decided that she isn't going anywhere. And that's ok with me.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Welcome to my Year of Crying. It isn't a year of crying over lost loved ones like 2010-11 was. It's more like my year of crying, 2011-12 when Robby was a senior in high school. In fact, I have been preparing myself for this year of crying because I remember every "last" that got me choked up to the point of tears the first time around. This year of crying began at this past spring's CHS commencement ceremony as I teared up watching my emotional friends return to their seats after handing diplomas to their graduating seniors, knowing that I would be doing the very same thing in approximately 364 days, (note to self: get waterproof mascara). This year of crying will be different though. It will be a year of lasts as my youngest son goes from a high school senior to a college freshman. I will cry on his last first day of school, his last first football game, and his last final football game. I'll be on the bleachers wiping away tears during his last first wrestling match and during his last tournament of the season. I will be misty-eyed though homecoming and prom pictures. I'll choke back tears as he pole vaults for the last time and as we go on college visits. Mostly, I will cry because I am not ready for this to end. I'm not ready to be done being the mom of school-aged children although I realize that even if I had 10 children, there eventually must come a time when I would be forced to pass into the next phase of life as the parent of adult children. Tom and I wonder what we will do on those quiet Friday nights in the fall, and the long Saturdays in the winter. There will be a gap between school aged children and grandchildren that we have been preparing for since the kids got drivers licenses and summer jobs. Even though I pray that this year will creep by I know that like everything else in life I will blink and it will be over. I will try to enjoy each moment, every report card, every joyful event, every heart break, every win, and every loss. Because in June 2015, life must carry on in new and hopefully exciting ways not only for our children, but for Tom and I as well. So if you see me and I am in tears, don't worry. They are tears of sadness for what must pass and tears of anticipation for what is to come. I will survive my year of crying because that anticipation far outweighs the wad of damp Kleenex in my hand.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
I have many hobbies that I enjoy, but gardening isn’t one of them. I still consider myself a “city girl” even though I’ve lived up her for over 20 years. I grew up with a mom who was and still is, in my opinion, a “master gardener.” When I was a kid we always had a fairly large garden every summer and then a pantry stocked with canned fresh fruits and vegetables all winter. Unfortunately, I didn’t inherit her passion or talent for gardening and canning. Tom and I tried growing vegetables, but after a few frustrating summers, our garden now consists of several sorry looking strawberry plants and 5 blueberry bushes, only one of which produces berries. I always want fresh summer vegetables, and since becoming a vegetarian, they have actually become quite an important staple in our house. This spring I discovered Bluestem Farm in East Jordan. They are a CSA, which a farm where you purchase shares, and in return you receive whatever quantity of, in my case, vegetables you order on a weekly or bi-weekly basis. The catch is that you don’t pick what you want. You just take what they bring, which means whatever is in season. Since I only have a vague idea of what I’m getting from week to week, it’s literally like having a vegetable Christmas every Monday! I have only discovered one problem. When one gets enough produce to feed a small herd of sheep, one must first, know how to process and preserve it all, and second, have the patience and attention span to do so. I need to clarify that my fruit and vegetable processing skills include stuffing freezer bags with corn and making freezer jam, neither of which require much time or effort. I did attempt real jam last summer with real canning jars and I need to be honest. The amount of time and effort it took did not in any way pay off with the 6 pints of runny jam that resulted from the process. Since my family is unable to consume such a large amount of vegetables coming in week after week, I had to do some research in order to find quick and easy ways to preserve things like greens and beets, hopefully which involved freezer bags. If I don’t, my fridge is overflowing with produce that we can’t possibly finish before it’s time to pick up the next delivery. What a problem to have, right? I’m not complaining though. I am thrilled with our decision to buy this share and support one of our local farms. We are loving the new and diverse range of produce, much of which I have never voluntarily bought at the store. Mary, from Bluestem, gives us recipes, tips, and advice in her weekly email. All of which makes the whole process a bit less overwhelming. I am happy to report that I don’t have to be a master gardener/canner in order to live like one. All this city girl needs is an ample supply of freezer bags and a lot of fresh produce.