ROMANCE

 

Close to pond’s edge,

Their toes in the water,

The trees stand in their green dresses,

waiting, arms extended,

for the night.

Oh! the dance of sunset and trees,

the breezy dip and sway of branches,

The long, slow glide of light

down limb and trunk.

Come On Home

Both photos of Parker taken by my photographer friend, Dave Bushell

Ten years ago my youngest daughter came home to regroup and get her feet back under her. She brought her cat, Parker, with her and immediately he became an honorary member of the farm next door. He loved this place - the wide expanse of green meadows, the surrounding woods, the chicken houses beneath which rats dwelt, the other cats, all but the one male called Fluffers. Fluffers was a Maine Coon cat as was Parker, a gentle breed, all long gray fluff, big green eyes and sweet disposition. The two fought but not often and not to the death. When Fluffers passed on, Parker became the dominant cat and acted every inch the King of his Domain.

When Daughter found a job and a new dwelling on a busy main street, she asked if Parker could stay with me rather than force him to become an indoor cat. I was only too happy to have a grandcat. He would be miserable without his woods and fields, his freedom and his harem. We slid into an easy routine. He spent most nights out of doors hunting with one of the farm cats. If the weather was nasty he slept in the hay barn near the sheep. When it was clear, he slept on the farmer's porch, curled in a gray ball on one of their cushioned outdoor chairs. If it was raining in the morning, he would lay just inside the door of a hay-filled old doghouse set on the hill behind the house just for him, watching and waiting for me to waken. The moment he heard me in the kitchen he made a beeline for the front door.

As Parker aged, he took to climbing into my lap whenever I sat down to read or watch the news. If I was out of doors, he sat on my lap while I ate dinner on the patio or napped on the outdoor swing. He loved to curl up behind my knees when I went to sleep at night but not before lying on my chest, his eyes gazing into mine as I scratched behind his ears and rubbed his velvety nose. I would talk, first about him, what a good cat he was and how handsome and sweet. Then I'd tell him about my day, about things I was thinking and feeling. He'd build up a mighty purr and roll over for a belly rub. There was nothing that a good belly rub could not fix. He still insisted on going out at night but not until four a.m. when I would crawl out of bed in the dark and open the door.

When I took trips to see my children and the grands he would climb into the open suitcase on my bed as if to say, not without me you don't! On the day of departure he'd turn his back on me and huff off. "Mind the house. I'll be back," I'd call to his departing form. When I returned, he'd curl around my legs and trip me up until I picked him up and assured him I loved him and would always come back. The morning I left for Daughter's wedding, he gave me his customary stink eye and strolled off toward the farm. "I'll be back," I called as I dragged my suitcase to the car. He never even turned his head.

Five days later, I wasn't back home for more than a few minutes when the phone rang. It was J from the farm and her voice didn't sound right. "I hate to tell you this," she began, "but Parker's been missing since Friday." She hurried on, "Of course, that's only two days ago and he could show up at any minute. It's been awfully hot. Maybe he's just gone into the woods to cool off. I checked with the neighbors but nobody's seen him. I'm sorry."

I launched a systematic search. I checked with the nearest neighbors to see if he'd gone into a garage and gotten trapped. That had happened once before and it was three days before he was able to get out. I tromped the woods and fields where he loved to roam, calling his name. I rode my bicycle a mile in either direction of the cottage, checking the roadsides. Nothing. No cat, no tell tale scent of decay. Nothing. No deliveries had been made in my absence, though the idea of his climbing into a vehicle seemed ludicrous. Parker hated being in the car. J and I discussed the possibilities. We live in an area that supports foxes, large owls, and hungry hawks. J has lost chickens to all three. Parker was big and gray and bunny-like. He was an older cat, going on 13 and growing thin. Though his last vet checkup hadn't indicated any problems, I'd noticed that he was losing weight. He'd thrown up on my bed while I was gone. Perhaps he'd just gone into the woods to die. The loneliness of that thought undid me.

It's been two weeks now. Every morning I check the doorstep but Parker isn't there. I look up while reading a book, thinking I see him on the lawn but it's only one of the farm cats. I hear a cry and run to see but it isn't him. My imagination puts him in his favorite places - the front step, the outdoor swing, the chair on J's porch, the foot of my bed. I wake in the night, thinking I feel his weight on the blankets. I weep.

I haven't given up hope that he'll return but every day that passes makes it seem less likely. If you see my big ol' Parker kitty, tell him to come on home.

And The Wheels go Around...

The lettuce fields up the road that supply local restaurants and private customers all summer long.

The lettuce pickers are out early today. The men with their bare backs already browned by the sun, and the young women in tank tops, their long hair tied up on top of their heads, stoop over the rows as they harvest the young leaves. I wave, feeling mildly guilty that they are so hard at work while I ride by on my bicycle in such leisurely fashion.

Seeing them puts me in mind of all the jobs I've held since I was eleven years old; the housecleaning and babysitting I did to earn money for school clothes and 45 records and candy at the Five and Dime. I remember the crewel kit shop I worked in as a young mother, designing flowers and cutesy animals that were printed on cloth and packaged by a cadre of young women for a pittance, and the horrible job behind the lunch counter at a drugstore or the equally horrible stint as a hardware store clerk. I never could agree that the customer was always right.

I thought of how I worked my way from a teacher's aide to the secretary of the Vermont graded school my children attended, how the principal arranged for me to take typing classes before school started so I could better my salary. When I moved back to the flatlands, I was offered a job in the computer lab of a Connecticut school because I was the only applicant willing to work for the salary they offered. That I didn't know much about operating computers was less important. The classroom teacher arranged for me to monitor the before school computer program, saying prophetically, "The kids will teach you what you need to know." She was right, and I went on to take over the adult education classes in computer a year later. After I earned a Masters degree in writing, I taught writing classes through the community college. At the same time, I worked as a publicist for a non-profit organization and wrote a weekly column as well as news and feature stories for the local newspaper. When I retired this past June from the public education system, I had 55 years of working for pay under my belt.

Now I'm pedaling my bicycle as the sun rises, knowing that I have the whole day ahead of me to fill with chosen activities. My mile-long bucket list stretches out before me like a blue highway on a map. I wonder if the young people bent over the lettuce rows contemplate the day they will be retired, or if the long days of field work seem as endless as the years now behind me.

Good Intentions

Mist still asleep on the pond.

Ah, the best laid plans, etc. Upon retirement I thought to make an early morning routine of yoga stretching and a three mile bicycle ride before thoughts of breakfast and the heat of the day shoved me back indoors. I'd wake with such good intentions and then see the unfinished wedding dress hanging on the closet door and before I knew it, the sun was high, the day was hot, and it was time for lunch! Or I'd look at the dingy kitchen cabinets and see the paint can waiting stoically and I'd find myself thinking, just one cabinet at a time. Next thing I knew it was supper time and I was surrounded by wet paint and piles of cabinet detritus.

Now the wedding is a week behind me, the kitchen cabinets are put back together, and though my list of projects looms larger than ever, this morning I actually pulled on a pair of shorts, dragged my bicycle out of the garage, and pedaled off into the 6 a.m. sunshine. The air was a lot cooler than yesterday's 90 degrees. Small clouds that bedded down on the pond were astir and rising, birds chirped and sang and buzzed the meadow as I rode past. A small dog yapped a greeting (or a warning) and a neighbor raised both a hand (and an eyebrow) in recognition.

I pedaled up small hills, along straight stretches and around corners, thinking morning thoughts, watching the day stretch itself and wake up. Finally my empty belly and my aching legs made me turn around and head home. I still haven't gotten to the yoga stretches. Maybe I'll fit them in tomorrow before I get on my bike (and before the lure of unread blogs drags me to the computer).

Now I'm off to make a wee mattress and some bedding for a doll cradle I found for the Bean. Then I have patterns for some summer pajamas and a sundress or two. The cottage's interior walls all need painting as do bits and pieces of furniture. I'm working on a new poem and have volunteered to help out one day a week at the Senior Center. I'm writing a memory book for my older granddaughter S's October birthday, and hunting down ancestors on Ancestry.com. Perhaps some of my projects will be finished in time for Christmas!

Summer Notes

Sunrise over the pond.

It has been a time of littles, of sunrise walks, goslings on the pond, spiderweb-caught dew: of endings - the end of school, the end of the 6 a.m. alarm clock - and beginnings: the beginning of summer, the first spinach and lettuce from the garden, the first succulent asparagus spears, the first days of bicycling in the early morning before the day's heat builds and again in the evening when it begins to wane.

It has been a time of bigs - my youngest daughter's wedding, the announcement of another grandchild due in September, my own retirement after eight years at the local elementary school and thirty-odd years in various school systems, too-short visits from loved ones who make the trip east from the Oregon coast just once every few years.

There have been days of drought and hot humid afternoons that suggest storms that seldom materialize. Over other parts of the country thunderheads pile up, bruised and purple, collide and burst, bringing high winds and hail and torrential downpours, and thunder that does not stop, lightning that sets fires. Here we must water our gardens and hope they produce. My little patio garden is thriving but the farm garden has wilted under days of punishing heat.

I am dazed and tired and ready for summer with its somnolent days and fan-brushed nights. I will let the birds wake me far earlier than any alarm clock ever did but much more naturally, let the fact that I'm retired sink in, let others make plans while I nap in the long afternoons, and come here to read up on all of you now and then.

Wedding!

Monday, June 25
Ironing day. Fifteen tablecloths, 36 napkins, and a last minute pressing of the wedding dress. The temperature outside was in the high 80s. Inside, the thermometer was set to hell.

THE dress. It had satin covered buttons on the placket and a feather stitch-trimmed organdy sash. The Bean wore a matching sash on her little muslin dress.

Tuesday, June 26
Packing day. It took three trips from car to garage, unloading everything that lives in the trunk of my car, then five trips from house to car, loading everything I was to carry to the wedding.

Wednesday, June 27
Airport day. I picked my daughter up at 10 a.m., jammed her suitcase in the one available empty spot in the back seat and off we went to C's house. The bride-to-be was in a well-controlled dither. Taped to the dining room wall were large sheets of paper covered with wedding details. Together we checked off J's arrival. One more airport run was scheduled for Wednesday, and three more headed Fridays' list. We piled back into the car with Mama and baby and went off on a grocery shopping expedition. By Friday there would be ten people in the house to feed.

The "wedding wall" - who, what, when and where, all spelled out.

Thursday, June 28
Never was there such a hurrying from one detail to another, never was there such a marathon of cooking and cleaning and making of beds. Never were there so many trips from the house to the store to the center where Friday night's festivities would be held, to the wedding site where the tent was being erected. Never was there such a long night of fashioning wildflower seed-filled burlap bags for party favors, arranging of flowers in coir pots, printing of menus and calligraphing of place cards. Never was there so much banter and laughter and camaraderie.

Each little burlap bag contained a packet of wildflower seeds for the guests to take home.

 Friday, June 29
After downing numerous bowls of cereal and washing a sink full of dishes, one carload of house occupants headed to the mall for last minute purchases. Another headed to the wedding site to set up tables and chairs and arrange hay bales for seating in the meadow where the ceremony would take place. I stayed back in the suddenly quiet house to mind a sleeping baby.

In lieu of a rehearsal dinner, a help-with-the-wedding-crafts night was held at the local civic center.  All the guests helped to twist wire around the mouths of canning jars to make candle and flower holders, pulled tissue paper leaves to create giant white flowers, tied printed cards to burlap seed bags and ate chicken enchiladas followed by ice cream (to soothe hot throats).

Hard at work making giant tissue paper flowers.

Friday night cooks heat up the kitchen.

The three airport trips netted five more people so that night my sisters and I took ourselves off to an inn nestled among the trees in the next town over. One sister read directions while I drove. It's a good thing my car has a reverse gear. We got lost no less than three times before finding the place. The building had once been an old mill and we fell asleep to the music of water of water sliding over an enormous rock dam.

An old mill building renovated and turned into an Inn.

Flanked by my sisters who are twins.

Saturday, June 30
The rush was on. Everyone headed for the wedding site to help set the tables for the wedding feast, decorate the tent and the ceremony site, hang Chinese lanterns from trees and canning jars full of flowers from shepherd's crooks, cover hay bales with blankets, and practice the march from the top of the hill to the arch where the families would join. From 9 till noon we worked, transforming a meadow into a fairyland, ordinary tables into works of art, and ourselves into sweaty messes.

Back at the house we cycled through the shower, shouting, "Your five minutes are up!" to anyone behind the closed bathroom door. The bride and the Bean and I climbed the stairs to the guest house on the wedding property and changed into our finery there. I felt tears spring to my eyes as I helped C with her dress. The Bean wriggled and squirmed and refused flat out to put on her shoes. "No no no no no!" She was so adamant that I carried her, barefoot, to the ceremony.

Promptly at four, C, her dad and stepmom, one of her brothers, her sister and husband, and the Bean and I started down the hill. My oldest son stood halfway down the grassy slope, waiting for a signal. Through the woods we heard the beating of a drum, calling us down, calling C to A. B's drum answered, "Boom boom, boom boom!" Down we went, getting closer and closer to the white wooden arch that stood serenely in the sunlight before the seated guests. The justice of the peace wore a bright blue shirt that glittered in the light. With a crescendo of drumbeats the couple met and approached the arch. For a moment there was no sound but birdsong and the gentle sigh of the wind in the pines. Then began the service that would unite them officially and the vows that would unite them emotionally. A promised to work at being the best husband and father he could be. C promised that she wouldn't be a grad student forever. There were tears and there was laughter and finally a great cheer arose as they were pronounced man and wife. Afterwards, we all trooped back up the hill to the celebrate with food and wine, laughter and dancing.

Boom boom went the drums, calling us together!

Food, glorious food awaited us at the top of the hill.

In addition to the three wedding cakes (lemon, coconut and chocolate) there were several pies, one of the bride's favorite desserts.

Grilled lemon garlic chicken or tofu, leek and herb rice pilaf, grilled squash with peppers, mixed greens salad and assorted artisan breads followed by wedding cake and pie!

 Sunday, July 1
All good things end. Laughter can turn to tears at the turn of a car wheel bearing loved ones away. Hellos become goodbyes too soon. Hugs are more poignant, promises to call sound choked and sad. But the memories, oh! the memories are balm to the aching heart. Here we are all at the hall on Friday night, sharing the cooking and craft making and eating and the washing of seemingly hundreds of dishes, all to the sounds of laughter and good-natured teasing. There we are bustling about setting the wedding tables with my grandmother's tablecloths, folding napkins that haven't been used in decades, laughing off how hot we are and how buggy the meadow grass is. Here are all four of my children together in my company again for the first time in years and all three of my grandchildren in my arms. There's A, resplendent in a white shirt holding C's hands, telling her he loves her, loves the little family they've created. Here I am tying C's sash and giving her a kiss. There's the Bean, struggling out of her little dress and dashing off in just a diaper to join the kids cavorting outside the tent. There are all the relatives and friends gathered together to honor the bridal couple, raising their glasses in a toast to love and continued happiness and a future filled with joy in one another.

My four children and my newest son.

Memere and her delightful grandchildren.

Happy little family

And here I am again, alone in my little cottage, all the anticipation and work behind me and my own life in front of me. It was a splendid wedding. Now, for the next adventure!

Countdown

They were a dingy almond. Now they look like frosting!

Kitchen cabinets cleaned, sanded, and painted glossy white.  √
(It's amazing to discover what creatures of habit we are simply by putting everything in our kitchens somewhere else temporarily.)

Wedding dress completed.  √
(Except for the hem. I can't finish that until the bride tries the dress on with her footwear of the day. And I can't post a photo until she sees the dress first!)


Wedding gifts wrapped.  √
(Both of my sisters in Oregon and my daughter in Florida sent their gifts ahead of their arrival to be wrapped and delivered so they didn't have to bring heavy extras on their flights. My sofa is covered with wrapped delights.)

Still left to do: 
*Load the pots and pans and silverware and sundries back into the painted cabinets.
*Paint the remaining kitchen cabinet (there was nowhere to unload what was in it).
*Calligrapher guest names on the place cards.
*Create a wedding card for my youngest daughter and her husband-to-be. It has to be as special as they are.
*Collect all the items still needed for the wedding (blankets to cover the hay bales, tablecloths and napkins for the dinner tables, coffeepot, canning jars (for candles), etc.
*Clean cottage before leaving so when I return with my sisters in tow we won't all gasp when we open the door.


I'm off and running!

Bits and Pieces

Covered buttons and hand crocheted loop detail on front of gown.

*Wedding dress is nearing completion. It will be ready for hemming after a fitting next week.
*Garden is growing; so are the weeds. So is the grass. When it was cut this time I gathered the clippings and spread them between the plants. Instant mulch/weed inhibitor.
*Retirement celebrations are behind me; ahead are days to be filled as they were today with a ten-minute wake up yoga routine, an early morning walk, hot tea sipped leisurely while lounging on the outdoor swing, eggs scrambled with fresh herbs from the patio garden, a bit of farmer's market shopping, a lot of sewing, an afternoon nap, an evening bicycle ride and a little writing time while waiting for the lightning bugs to appear.
*Friends and family from near and far sent $ that, when pooled, equalled enough to purchase a new mattress. I went today to the bed store and tried out half a dozen, flopping on them like Hugh Grant in Two Weeks Notice. When I finally found The One, I plunked down my money and made arrangements for delivery. My old mattress, almost older than I am, was carted out this afternoon. Tomorrow the new one will be delivered. My trusty futon will serve as my bed tonight. I am beside myself with excitement. I can't think of a better retirement gift!
*I found a baking potato that Bean had hidden under a chair cushion.
*Looking forward to tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow!

Reading My Life

Yesterday's parting gift - waning sunlight kissing the highest leaves goodnight. Today is my last formal day of work. School will be out for the summer at 11:40 a.m. Tomorrow will be my first full day of vacation/retirement (which is official June 30 when my contract ends). So ends one chapter of my life. So begins another.

Mind Photos

My swing at the edge of the yard.

There was no time for taking pictures this weekend so here are a few word snapshots:

Bean sat on my lap on the swing that hangs from a branch of the large maple at the edge of my yard. "Memere and Beanie are swinging," I sang as she leaned back and watched the leaves overhead. She smiled at me, at the tree, at the the bits of blue sky she could see through the canopy.

We went to visit the Moo, the Baaa, and the Ooo-oo-ooo-oo-ooooooo before lunch. "Hi," called Bean to the chickens. "Moo!" she said to the cows. She handed some grass through the fence to the sheep. Then we came home hand in hand to tell Mama all about it, but first we stopped to pick a dandelion and sniff at a wild phlox blossom.

The bride-to-be tried on the muslin prototype for her wedding dress. A tuck here, a dart there and we were both pleased. Next week the cream colored satin will be cut and stitched, green organdy will trim the sleeves and be fashioned into a sash. She will be a beautiful bride!

I kissed Daughter and Bean goodbye. Bean waved disconsolately from her car seat. I stood at the end of the drive and watched the car disappear around the curve. I will see them in two weeks' time. Still, I wept.

If you Don't See Me...

"I am just going outside and may be some time." 

       -- Captain Lawrence Oates

It's raining and usually rainy days are blog days. If I can't be out of doors, I don't mind sitting and pondering indoors, but there's a lot going on in the next few weeks. I'm ten working days from retirement, the material for my daughter's wedding dress is spread across the dining room table waiting patiently while I master the intricacies of my new sewing machine, the garden is planted but needs constant attention as the weeds are flourishing along with the vegetables, and as my daughter, her fiance, and the Bean have just moved house, I will be on the road between here and there as often as possible to lend a hand getting them settled before the wedding at the end of the month. (Pausing to wipe sweat from brow.) 

As weather and events allow, I'll be around to read and comment and hopefully to write - but if you don't see me here for a bit just look for the blur I've momentarily become!

Joy!

Bean chasing bubbles.

Joy is a green morning,

a child,

and bubbles floating 

free.

Back in a Bit

I'm off to see the Beanlet, that wonderful Beanlet of mine

She's a clever little Beanlet, we'll have a wonderful time...

Because, because because, because,

Because of the wonderful things we does.

Piece of Cake

My beloved childhood home.

I used to live in a 9 room house and when it was sold, I moved to a three room apartment. There was a LOT of downsizing going on. Still, when I moved from that apartment to a two room garage apartment, I cleaned out some more. When I left there and came to my one room cottage, a goodly portion of my worldly goods had found homes elsewhere. Even so, because the cottage has very little storage room I had some things that just wouldn't fit. My landlord, B, graciously offered me space in his garage attic. There I store tubs of Christmas and other holiday decorations and a few odds and sods that I don't want to part with.

When Daughter moved from her single occupancy apartment to share a place with her boyfriend (a man who has a LOT of his own stuff), some of her belongings made their way into my attic space. I told her I'd hold them until she had a house and storage space of her own. This weekend the two of them are moving into their newly purchased house and I had to move her tubs and boxes and bags from the attic to my car. Sounds so easy when I type it out like that but I know from reading one too many do-it-yourself books that the written word makes any job sound deceptively simple.

The attic space is reached by a ladder. Any box or plastic storage tub that made its way up there did so with the help of two people, one kneeling on the attic floor and reaching down through the hole while the other hefted said box or tub up the ladder to meet the waiting hand. Taking things down was just as precarious. Because I have limited upper body strength, when anything needed to be moved up or down I have been the person at the bottom of the ladder. Using my knees for leverage, my shoulders for support and the ladder rungs as a ramp, I could slide things up. B, whose upper body strength is augmented by youth and constant exercise as he goes about his farm chores, would reach down and with one hand haul up whatever I was pushing on with all my might.

Today B was unavailable but his mother, J, whose own arm muscles allow her to toss around 40-lb. hay bales, offered to help. Up the ladder she went. Trouble was, I had to climb the ladder too, to help sort Daughter's boxes from my own. To my surprise, the ladder emerged through a hole just a tad smaller than the amount of space I take up. I had to put one knee on the attic floor and twist until I could ease my torso in sideways. Anyone with a garage attic knows there's only one place one can stand and that's directly under the ridge beam. All our boxes were stored under the eaves.

Armed with flashlights, we opened each box, sorting them out until all Daughter's belongings were moved close to the ladder hole and all mine were stored at the other end of the garage. Wet with sweat and back aching after bending over for half an hour, I crawled to the top of the ladder and knelt down. I felt with one foot for the top rung but when I moved to lower my second foot the leg was seized with a vicious cramp. I have a small reserve of words for just such occasions. I used every one before I reached the bottom of the ladder.

J dragged the first box to the hole and lowered it onto the top rungs of the ladder. I climbed back up half way and balancing the weight on my chest, I backed down slowly, letting the box slide until I could grab it with both hands. One after another the boxes came down until they were all lined up on the garage floor. J eased herself down, we loaded my car, then collapsed onto patio chairs with cups of tea, congratulating each other and breathing sighs of relief that we wouldn't have to brave that ladder again until Christmas (at which point I'll type the words, "piece of cake").

My little one room cottage.

Boomer Blues

Getting older isn't much fun. I thought (I'd been told!) that being older meant being wiser but consider the events of the past week:

Sunday. I am washing the supper dishes. Suddenly the sink is bright with blood though I've felt nothing, no pain. I lift my hands from the suds and in the left is a broken glass. The middle finger on my right hand is pumping blood at an alarming rate. I wrap the finger tightly in a towel and run next door to beg a ride to the ER for the stitches I know I am going to need. The doctor unwraps the finger, peers at it and says nonchalantly, "Nothing to stitch here. You've taken off several layers of your skin nearly to the bone."

My stomach does a little dance. A gentle nurse washes the wound and bandages it, a big, white, bulky roll of a bandage. The next day at school one of the urchins exclaims, "Ms C! Were you being bad with your bad finger?"

What was I thinking, stuffing my hand along with a bulky sponge into a glass? Glass breaks! I've since bought a spongy brush on a long handle with which to wash the glasses.

Tuesday. Weekday mornings are always a rush. I get up early so I have time to shower and dress, pack a lunch, make the bed, feed the cat, and check my email before leaving, but inevitably I am flying around at the last minute. On this morning, I rush out the door into the rain juggling my school bag, keys, tea mug and umbrella. I set the travel mug on the top of the car, close the umbrella, toss the bag into the car and climb in after it. As I'm pulling out of the driveway something dark goes flying by my left side. Startled, I step on the brakes and peer out the rain spattered window. There, leaking all my lovely hot tea into the drive, is my travel mug. Sigh.

Friday. An official looking letter arrives in the mail from the motor vehicle department. Inside are instructions for renewing my license. I'm flummoxed. My license is not up for renewal until 2015. It's only 2011. I've heard of efficiency, but this? Hell's bells! I look at the clock - too late to call and get it straightened out today. It will have to wait until Monday. Halfway through supper, after mentally muttering harsh words about the incompetency of officialdom, I grab up the paper and look again. It's not for renewing my license - it's for renewing my car registration! How had I missed that? There it says, in blaring blue capital letters at the top of the page, VEHICLE REGISTRATION RENEWAL. I'd fussed fruitlessly for at least an hour and wasted some very choice vocabulary words because I'd misread the paper. I've been with second graders too long. They never read instructions thoroughly either!

Saturday. Laundry day. I don't own a dryer though I do have a small, apartment-sized portable washing machine that hooks by hose to the kitchen sink. Because I'm always in a hurry on weekday mornings, I usually save the laundry chores for the weekend, hoping for at least one sunny day for line drying. This morning the sun popped up over the horizon quite early and the day promised heaps of sunshine and warm temperatures. I roll the washer into place, hook up the hose, turn on the water and put the clothes in the machine.

Something is amiss. The water stops filling half way up the tub and the agitator starts turning with half the clothes still sitting serenely (and quite dry) on the top of the pile. I stop the machine and put it on a different setting, thinking that perhaps the delicate setting I'd chosen requires only half a tub of water. The agitator starts up immediately no matter what setting I choose. Well, hellfire. I can afford neither a repair bill or a new washer. What is wrong with the foolish thing anyhow? And then, only after I pull half the clothes out of the washer, let it run on the small amount of water it will draw, and contemplating a day wasted standing in front of the washing machine, does it occur to me to check the water setting. One of the items I'd pulled from the unwashed clothes was a left behind baby sock and I have a sudden clear image of the Bean gleefully turning the dials on the front of the washer when she was here last weekend. Sure enough, the water setting is pointing to LOW.

I'm telling you, old age is a bother. Your brain (well mine, anyhow) just doesn't click along the way it used to. I'm feeling mighty foolish as I write this, knowing you're all shaking your heads and tut-tutting.   But, if there's anything you've been meaning to ask some older, wiser person, you had better do it now while you're thinking of it. Chances are, if you put it off, you'll forget it and the older, wiser person will have done so as well!


Addendum
In her comment, Tabor asked me to tell what went right this week. Hold onto your hats!

1. Three days of steady rain made my salad garden off the patio surge with new growth resulting in a spectacular salad containing fresh lettuce leaves, baby spinach, chives, basil, oregano, parsley and radishes, all picked, tossed with chopped egg, some pickled beets, a bit of shredded bacon left over from breakfast, sprinkled with balsamic vinegar and eaten within minutes of picking.

2. The kids at school were little bundles of sympathy and concern for my injured finger. The girls blew kisses at it and the boys offered to sort homework papers and clean the chalkboard so I could "rest' my hand.

3. The prescription reading glasses I had to break down and buy allow me to read fine print anywhere.

4. My daughter has asked me to make her wedding dress!

5. Sunshine is abundant now the rain has stopped, the local nursery is having a giant plant sale to which I am headed as soon as I press Update and the Transfer Station is holding bulky waste weekend so there are sure to be lots of treasures.

6. The irises in the front flower garden are making a fabulous showing.

7. The hummingbirds have found the new feeder I put up yesterday and have frequented it both last night and this morning.

8. I am wakened each morning by a cardinal's song. Much better than any alarm clock!

9. We have four (count them, four!) pairs of Baltimore Orioles nesting around the yard and the meadow. They are such beautiful birds.

10. I may have lost my knuckle; my neighbor lost his entire arm to cancer. I may have broken a glass; one child's family in my second grade lost her home to bankruptcy. I may have misread and fretted over my registration renewal; a friend lost her life in a car accident. I am blessed beyond measure every day.

Brave Bean

 The natural world has always been my milieu. I was forever out of doors as a child, coming in only to forage for something to eat and to sleep. My little Bean was here with me this weekend and when she wasn't out of doors with one of us, she was at the door asking to go out.

She and her Ma and Da and I went for a hike in the warm spring sunshine. She walked nearly half a mile on her own, stopping often to examine rocks and bugs and puddles. We followed a carefully mowed path through the Cobble where I take my write/hike groups, but the lure of the tall grasses was too much for Bean. She deliberately walked among them, her face open with delight, and could hardly be coaxed back to the open path. She is surely a child of my heart!

Looking Ahead, Looking Back

Three years ago I wrote a post about aging and all that has and hasn't changed for me over the years. I also mentioned (in a subsequent response to a comment) that retirement was three years in the offing. Now I'm three years older and retirement is a mere five weeks away. I am tremendously excited about having free time, about not having to get up every morning and hurry off to work, about spending more time with my grandchildren without having to rush home at the beginning of the work week. I have a bucket list three miles long and can't wait to get started on it. There are some things about working (besides the regular paycheck) I will miss, though.

First and foremost I will miss daily contact with children. I've been working in the public school system for almost twenty years and find that being around young people is both immensely satisfying and outright challenging. Though they can be as opinionated as the adults that surround them, most children are more willing to open up to new ideas, to be fascinated by conflicting information, to make an attempt to learn a new skill or be beguiled by a new concept. They are quick to dispense hugs and they love to share.

It's a lesson in human resilience to watch these little beings grow and change over the course of a school year. I've worked at every grade level but the last few years have been focused on second grade. Second graders arrive in September at age seven little, scared, and excited, still carrying first grade anxieties about being full time students but ready to be "big kids" if given half the chance. They come equipped with already strong personalities that suggest nature as well as nurture plays a huge part in who and what they will become. By the end of second grade they read more confidently, write in complete sentences (hopefully), have mastered addition and subtraction, swagger a bit on the playground and speak up more in the classroom.

Their takes on life are often much more concrete than mine. They restate with confidence the things they hear at home or church or from other teachers and sometimes older schoolmates. I'm impressed with what they understand of modern technology and often amazed at what they think they understand about politics. A brash young fellow told me he would vote Republican in November if he could because the Democrats were taking soda out of schools and, as he liked to drink soda every day, he would be forced to drink "plain old water, yuk!" if President Obama were to be reelected. Another little tyke asked me if I thought her "ass was sexy. My mother said it is."

I will miss the insider camaraderie that exists between my co-workers though I will not miss the frustrations that come with the job. I will most definitely not miss supervising 48 of someone else's little darlings in the cafeteria or the cacophony of slamming lockers and end of day confusion as I herd them off to the open maws of the waiting buses.

What I look forward to most about retirement are the hours I get to reconfigure, the daylight hours I can spend out of doors instead of locked up in a building. As a first grader I ran away from school twice before the teachers assigned me a personal watchdog. The idea of staying all day in a stuffy building, no matter how many books it held, was abhorrent. I still feel the same way almost 60 years later! A meager social security stipend will necessitate returning a few days a month to sub. I will bite the bullet and do it (and probably enjoy it), but the time I spend hiking and biking and gardening and exploring and traveling and drawing and painting and dreaming and playing with the grandchildren and reading and napping will overshadow any days spent holed up in a classroom.

An Evening in Early May

One day last week, before the steady rain moved in, the air was mild and deliriously scented with lilac and lily-of-the-valley. Birds soared and sailed and sang. I could not be indoors on such an evening so I left the supper dishes to soak in the sink and went for a walk.

The lettuce fields were newly plowed and killdeer flew low over the turned earth, shrieking and calling. Often they lay their eggs in the furrows. I can't imagine many survive, but year after year they repeat their folly. In a few weeks, this field will be green with baby lettuce leaves ready for harvest. The farmer sells them to the local restaurants and to private customers. They are delectable but I prefer to grow my own. The pots on my patio already sport their own baby lettuce leaves along with spinach, peas, and little potato shoots.

The water in the mill pond looked like a mirror. Swallows swooped and dove over the surface, seining the air for bugs, of which there were millions upon millions dancing in the sun-beams. The air was so sweet I could almost taste it. The sun set in a swirl of pink and pure gold.

Time to turn back toward home and those dishes.

Be Right back

May 1st. Whew! (Wiping brow.) Off to recite some of those April poems tonight and then plan to snooze under some prose for a while.

Like Writing Your own Obit!

Look back over the poems you have written this month. Pretend that they, even in their rough-draft imperfection, comprise a chapbook.  The prompt is to write cover blurbs or a short review of your supposed chapbook in the form of a poem.   Separate blurbs might become stanzas, or a longer review might fill a number of stanzas. 

The blurbs or review, if credited, can be credited to “anonymous” or to your own aliases or perhaps to obviously imagined or long deceased poets or critics.  I suggest not making up blurbs and crediting them to living individuals due to obvious potential for confusions and legal repercussions.  Your poem commenting on your other April poems can be earnest and sincere or over-the-top and tongue-in-cheek.  The poem can be a joke, an apology, or a careful analysis of your April poems’ strengths and weaknesses.  The trick here is that whatever you write has to become somehow a poem in its own right.

Each poem is as 

protean as its author;

each one written on a whim.