Life on the "Farm"

Family life

#1 Grandson Tom turned 40 yesterday. For his 0th birthday, I remember buying him the newest novelty toy, the Teddy Ruxpin "talking" bear. I paid $50 for it. 

Today Tom is working in a job I cannot describe, but it has something to do with building and energy efficiency and compliance with government regulations, as near as I can tell. He researches, and writes papers, and presents them, I think. It's all very wonky, but he loves it and seems to be good at it. 

Assisted Living Life

I'm busy. Recently I posted a sign on the bulletin board in the mailroom saying that I would hem pants for free. Not long ago I bought a couple of pair of pants that needed hemming, and I discovered that I actually enjoyed doing it and that it was very simple. I got pleasure out of taking something that was frustrating to me and turning it into something that gave me great satisfaction. So I decided I would offer to shorten pants for anyone who wanted them. So far, only one person has showed up.

I'm enrolled in a bunch of OLLI (Oscher Lifelong Learning Institute) classes from UC Davis. I've been doing this for three quarters now and really like it. They are virtual classes on ZOOM with about 15 people in each class. Apparently, OLLI junkies (like me) turn up quarter after quarter in several classes. This time I'm taking classes on the Ocean, on AI, on Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt, on reading the New Yorker, and a memoir class. I love making connections in the larger Davis community with bright and stimulating people from outside Atria. 

Friday afternoons, I lead a writing workshop here within Atria. An essay I wrote has evolved into a project to improve food and conditions in the dining room. The food quality has deteriorated precipitously, and little accommodation is mad for low-sodium diets. Acoustics in the dining room are so bad that dinner table conversation is nearly impossible because some idiot painted over the acoustic ceiling tiles making them reflect rather than absorb sound. My essay about these conditions was so well received that we formed a committee to formally approach executive regional management. We seem to have been heard and I expect some action soon.

Tomorrow afternoon I will play bridge. A group ranging from 4 to 8 players meet three times a week. The games can only loosely be called bridge. We make so many allowances for our various enfeeblements that Charles Goren would surely not recognize the game. Some can't see and mix up the suits, some can't hear, some have memory issues and can never remember what trump is, what's the bid, whose lead it is, and what has been played, some with shaky hands frequently drop their cards and few retain the dexterity to pick them up. But we tolerate and compensate for each other and still manage to have a good time. 

Political Notes

Mariann Edgar Budde

Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde at the National Cathedral during the National Prayer Service attended by Trump, Vance, and their wives directly addressed the President and asked him to "have mercy on the people in our country who are scared right now." She mentioned immigrants and LGBTQIA. He later vilified her on Truth Social. Maybe she is our latter day MLK. She Shall Overcome.

Tuesday morning, I participated in a phone bank coordinated by Indivisible Yolo. I called Senators Padilla and Schiff as well as congressman Thompson to ask them to oppose cabinet appointments of Patel, Hegseth, Vught, and Noem. Not included was Bondi whom I can't stand simply for her steadfast refusal to say that Biden won the 2020 election.

 Trump pulled out of WHO and Paris Climate Accords.

 Around 10,000 refugees have had their flights cancelled after Trump signed an executive order suspending their entry.

The felon-in-chief rescinded Biden's executive order 14087 lowering the prices on several drugs.

Vivek Ramaswamy axed from "department of government efficiency" by Musk. VR went back to Ohio with his tail between his legs ostensibly to prep for a run for governor of Ohio.

#47 signed an unconstitutional executive order that aims to deny birthright citizenship to certain children born in the United States.

Oligarchs are buying up DC property.

All federal DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion) staff put on paid leave and all government publications and websites were ordered to remove all mention of DEI.

Topless Club Sandwich

You’ve probably heard of the sandwich generation, the group in the middle still raising kids while taking care of aging parents. Well, I was a club sandwich, taking care of two generations older than me and two generations younger.

My grandfather became homeless at the age of 92 when his house burned down in the Oakland fire of 1991. He lost everything. I was living alone in a four bedroom house, so he and his girlfriend moved in. Not only did he need someplace to live, but he needed help dealing with settling his insurance claims, replacing lost documents, building a new wardrobe, managing his health care, and buying a replacement car. Yes, he was still driving.

My mother, his only child, was suffering from dementia. She had gone downhill after the death of my father in 1984, so I took over managing her life and care in a nearby facility. I tried having her live with me, hiring people to assist, but she was insufferable. She refused to let caregivers do their job. She wouldn’t eat food they prepared, wouldn’t allow them to bathe and dress her, and wouldn’t go to doctor’s appointments without me. To preserve my sanity, I placed her in a care home in 1990, but still managed her affairs, took her to medical visits, and spent time with her.

Late 1992, my beloved brother was dying of AIDS in Issaquah, Washington. Providing respite to his partner by sharing caregiving, I flew to Washington from San Jose on Friday afternoons and returned Sunday evenings. Ken died in January, 1993 and I served as executor of his estate with all its concomitant duties.

Later in 1993, my younger daughter’s marriage failed.  Her ex-husband left the state and provided no support for her or their three kids. I could not bear to see them suffer; I needed to know they were safe. So the four of them moved into a house down the street from where I lived. I provided rent, transportation, baby-sitting, and pre-school tuition.

And I worked full time as a technical writer for IBM.

When my brother and grandfather died in 1993, I came into a small amount of money. I knew I had to use some of it to bring a little fun into my life. Taking a long hard look at the way I spent my time and the towering responsibilities I still shouldered, I realized driving was the most fun I had during those dreary days. I loved driving: the isolation, the time to myself, singing out loud, drumming on the steering wheel, and forgetting about the difficult reality of my day-to-day life. I was still locked into taking care of my mother, my daughter, and my grandkids, so my escape would have to be limited to the time I spent in the car. But, I could make it a lot more fun. I could do it in a convertible.

At the age of 54, I walked into a Toyota dealership and plunked down cash for a white Celica GT convertible. It was sweet, with a big smile for a grill across the front of it, demure retracting headlights,  a sexy spoiler on the rear, grey leather seats, and a black rag top. The first few days I was afraid to think about what I had impetuously done. I continued driving my SUV while the convertible huddled in the garage. From time to time, I opened the door from the kitchen to the garage, saw that it was really there, and closed the door wondering what in hell had possessed me.

Before long, my daughter’s car died and I gave her my SUV. The convertible became my only car. I began to realize I could do more than just drive to and from work; I gradually worked up courage and took off on weekends. My favorite getaways involved driving the California coast, especially the Big Sur coast down to Morro Bay and back. I processed grief and solved many of the world’s problems on those solo trips. I had no desire for company. The freedom to stop, go, and meander with no consideration for anyone else and no one to take care of was so liberating. I never questioned whether the top would be up or down. It was down. Every weekend it wasn’t raining I took off. Cold weather didn’t stop me, top down, heater and radio blasting, I was free. Money bought me hours of happiness as I explored California topless.

During this time I was seeing a psychotherapist because I had so many tough issues to deal with. I couldn’t focus and sort out what I needed to do. My mind was a muddled mess. On the shrink’s suggestion, I took a month off work to get my head together. In retrospect, I know I resolved much more behind the wheel than I did in therapy. He expressed concern about my impulsive spending. I was worried about not having any fun.

Supporting my daughter in a separate household became unaffordable, so she and her three boys moved in with me. We were crowded in my 1500 square foot San Jose home and I began to consider other options. We decided to move from Silicon Valley to the Sierra Foothills, where I bought a large home with a huge yard and a swimming pool. I rented a room in Silicon Valley during the week and commuted to the hills on weekends. Again, driving became the best part of my week. I developed what I called Zen driving, where I effortlessly, but fully consciously, moved through the countryside on the 180 mile drive. Heavy traffic never bothered me. I saw as it as opportunity for more solitude and contemplation. As always, when in my magic convertible zone, I alternated meditation with singing, listening to classical music at a very high volume, and transporting myself in more ways than one.

One particular Sunday night, I was returning to Silicon Valley around 10:00 P.M.; there was virtually no traffic. A Strauss waltz blared from the speakers in the door while I waltzed down the highway, staying in my lane, but swinging from one side to the other as I counted out one-two-three, one-two-three. It took a while before I noticed the red light of a highway patrol car in my rear-view mirror. I pulled over and the patrolman approached my car. His first question was, “Have you been drinking?” I assured him I had not. He said he had observed me weaving within my lane, not crossing the line, so he wouldn’t cite me, but he wanted to know what was going on. He let me go with a recommendation that I restrict my waltzing to the dance floor.

During the time I owned my convertible, it suffered three injuries. The first was a sad encounter with a BMW driven by a distracted teenager. After a month in the repair shop and $13,000 worth of rehabilitation, it was nearly as good as new.

My beloved car suffered its second mishap on the morning of January 22, 1997, when my older daughter gave birth to her second son. I was so excited by the news, I backed into the garage door frame on my way to the hospital. The result was a small dent in the rear bumper which I left unrepaired. I thought of it as a birthmark.

My long distance commuting ended when I began telecommuting and anticipated retiring. Many days I didn’t even leave the home in the hills I shared with my younger daughter and her three boys. The convertible often stayed in the garage while my daughter drove our Suburban. My getaway drives became explorations of the Sierra mountain passes. I drove them all. My faithful wheels managed the 10,000 foot granite summits with ease. In the middle of October, 1999, golden Quaking Aspens shimmered, cowboys rounded up cattle grazing in high alpine meadows, and the first snowflakes fell on my unprotected head; it nourished my soul. 

By this time, my oldest grandson was 15, looking forward to getting his driver’s license, and hopeful that he would inherit my beautiful little car. He jumped the gun one day when he decided to take the convertible for an unauthorized spin. However, he was thwarted when, while still in the driveway, he banged the convertible into the Suburban. The damage to the Suburban was undetectable, but the Celica suffered a disfiguring blow to the right front quarter panel, and its left headlight could no longer retract. I couldn’t deal with it. The car had 120,000 miles on it, the threads on the rag top were showing signs of wear, and now this unsightly blemish. I decided to sell. I ran an ad and agreed to sell to the first respondent, a young man who planned to surprise his wife with a birthday gift. I sold it for about half what it was worth, but more important it went to another loving home.

Batteries Not Included

I’m old. Don’t argue with me, I’m proud of it. It took me a long time to get here. Why do people always want to disagree when you declare you’re old? “You’re only as old as you think you are;” “you don’t look near your age;” “you’re young at heart;” “age is a state of mind;” et cetera, ad nauseam.

 I don’t mind being old. It has some real advantages. I don’t menstruate; I can’t get pregnant; I won’t lose my job; I get to pre-board airplanes (when not in the middle of a pandemic); I get discounts; people make way and help me without being asked; and I can say nearly anything and people will forgive me because, well, I’m old.

 Don’t get me wrong, there are some inconveniences. Consider getting up in the morning...

 I reach for my glasses on the nightstand and knock them to the floor. Retrieving them is not simple. First, I must detach myself from my Cpap. I turn off the wheezing machine, take off the head gear, and put it on the nightstand. I then remove the chin strap which prevents dry mouth by wrapping my head and chin in Lycra. I’m hoping the strap does double duty in mitigating the droop of my sagging chin(s). 

Back to picking up my glasses -- they are out of reach and my knees don’t function very well, so I hoist myself from bed to the wheelchair, I try to bend over to snag them but realize I am risking tumbling to the floor, so I wisely wheel myself out to the living room where I left my grabbers. Back to the bedroom, the glasses are retrieved, planted on my nose and the world is a brighter and clearer place. Somehow, being able to see magically improves my hearing a tad. Impaired vision easily solved.

Now that I can see what I'm doing, off to the shower I roll, after gathering towel, ensuring bath seat is in place, retrieving hospital-style walker, checking on supply of body wash and shampoo, and adjusting water temperature. Feels so good to have a clean start on another beautiful day. No need to blow dry my hair, I’m not going anywhere. After brushing my teeth, I insert my partial plate. No one can tell I don’t have a mouth full of pearly whites. 

 But the hearing problem still persists in considerable measure.  I retrieve the hearing aids from their overnight UV cleaning box, brush all their little nooks and crannies with the little brush that I, thankfully, have not dropped on the floor this time. It’s time to replace the batteries. I remove the paper tab and hold them in my hand for a minute to warm them up and thus extend their life. Do you have any idea how long a minute can be? Inserting the batteries, again grateful I did not drop them, I push them into my ear canals and loop them over the top. Having rather small ears, between glasses and hearing aids, it’s getting a bit crowded back there.

 I select and put on my underwear, with a panty shield, just in case...

 I choose pants with a leg wide enough to pull up over my knee to provide easier access to my lower legs for wrapping in Ace bandages. A pullover shirt that doesn’t require fiddling with buttons completes my outfit. I only add accessories if I’m going out – and that hasn’t happened in months. (Editor's note: She says that every few weeks whenever she goes out again.)

 Next steps require assistance. Because of venous stasis, my legs need compression wrapping. Ace bandages are wrapped around both legs from knee to ankle to foot.  When my pant leg is back in place my knee brace is attached to my right leg to add in stability and mobility. 

 Finally, a handful of pills regulate blood pressure, heart rhythm, and cholesterol, topped off with a cup of strong black coffee to jump start my day. My loins and all other parts are girded. Carpe diem!

 Total elapsed time: 90 minutes. 

 I am more of a puzzle than Ikea furniture. I’m thinking of getting a tattoo that says, “Batteries not included. Some assembly required.”

 

Omnivores Be Warned! This Post May Contain Triggers

February 1, 2020, was a day I planned to have Ben pick up the groceries on my list. And there was no meat on the list. I had eaten the last of the frozen meals containing chicken the night before and I just didn't feel like eating meat anymore. There is nothing remarkable about the date, that's just when it happened. And I feel like it happened to me, that something external to me had decided that Melody would no longer eat meat, not a personal choice. Kind of like it had been inscribed in the brushed stainless steel finish of the dual refrigerator doors, "No meat shall pass these portals".

I wish I could say it was because of some noble reason like realizing the inefficiency of meat as food for humans. I read Diet For a Small Planet years ago and kept eating meat. And I know cows contribute a lot to the environmental methane overload. All are solid reasons to avoid meat, but didn't sway me.

However, several other things over a long time had lead me to this point. I have always had a gut reaction to meat counters in grocery stores -- just so  much meat, and all of it raw and dead. But, the thought of a nice barbecued rib eye served up with twice-baked potatoes, roasted corn on the cob, and a good bold Cabernet Sauvignon painted over any fleeting thoughts of revulsion. Maybe it was really the thought of the Cab. Sadly, since meat has been off the menu, Cab has lost its allure.

I suppose another factor had been the several trips I had taken to Southern California during 2019, driving up and down the dullest road in America --Interstate 5. Between Sacramento and Bakersfield there is very little in the way of sensory stimulation, except. . .Harris Ranch! The miasma of the feed lots assaults the olfactory nerves for miles around and bring tears to the eyes. There is no escape, no matter how insulated the vehicle, the odor of Cowshwitz permeates. And do you know? There is a restaurant and a hotel there! I can't imagine how anyone could have an appetite, especially arriving from the north where the feed lots sprawl and the prevailing winds conspire to announce the presence of so many thousands of steers literally on their last legs. And who would want to spend the night? To better to soak in the glory (gory?) of it all? And yet, the label Harris Ranch Beef on a plastic-wrapped prime rib in a white Styrofoam tray conjured up visions of a Christmas feast, with mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, Brussels Sprouts (another olfactory assault) and the perfect Cabernet. So, is it the prime rib or the Cab? They are inseparable in my reverie.

And then there is the fact that I co-habit with my grandson, an avowed vegan (until February 1, 2020). He seemed to exist mainly on hummus, guacamole, and granola, with an occasional frozen Pad Thai meal. But, when I stopped eating meat and started cooking vegetarian meals with the possible inclusion of dairy or eggs, he suddenly broadened his food choices to include whatever I prepared. He never proselytized his culinary practices, but his disinterest in meat dishes I prepared had some influence on my conversion. I love to cook for an audience -- feeding the people has always given me joy. When the audience is limited to a single person who is not impressed with virtuosity in the kitchen, what had formerly brought joy, became tiresome. What was the point?

Then there was the time when a truckload of cattle was overturned and around 80 cows escaped. After a few hours they were rounded up and loaded into another truck, with all accounted for and no apparent injuries. The public reaction was bizarre. Everyone was worried about the well-being of the animals and relieved that none had gone missing and that none were hurt. Those creatures were on the way to the feed lots and eventual slaughter. Wouldn't a more compassionate person pray they made their escape?

 

The last straw was the dog. When Oreo was in the throes of her final illness and I became keenly aware of just how sweet, and trusting she was. I realized how all these years she had depended on us to take care of her. It was clear she had feelings. And since she did, doesn't a cow (or chicken, or pig)? Don't confuse me by the fact  that dogs are meat-eaters. A whole lot of what I came to feel has logic holes as big as a Florida sinkhole. 

Fish was kind of a separate issue. It took a while for me to make the mental leap to exclude it. I miss it far more than I miss meat. If I should ever fall off the vegetable wagon, I'm sure it would be for some harvest from the sea. I  miss shrimp, crab, and lobster from time to time, although not enough to buy and cook it. 

Pairings no longer play into my meal planning. I never wonder, does red wine go with brown rice and white wine with white rice? Consequently I'm spending a lot less money on wine. My bank account and my liver rejoice. Of course, as always, Champagne goes with everything.

And so, I simply could not eat meat anymore. I don't know if it's forever, but it is for today. 

Puzzled

During this time of  quarantine, Ben has been assembling jigsaw  puzzles. He's very good at it and enjoys challenging but interesting puzzles. The first one he worked kind of resembles a depiction of the COVID-19 molecule. Closer examination reveals satanic faces. Maybe it is the deadly molecule.

He moved on to a beautiful round dragonfly puzzle which was missing a piece.

This solid black circle within a rectangle challenged him next. It took longer than the others, but he did it.

Now he is working one that was just a box full of pieces. When he started, he had no idea what the finished product would look like. Of course, he now knows it is  Washington crossing the Delaware -- kind of an appropriate theme to begin on Independence Day. It's by far the easiest of the lot.

Let me know if you would like to have any of them. We'll gladly pass them along. We have no plans or place to keep them. In fact, the more stuff we get rid of, the easier it will be when it time for us to move. And that time is approaching rapidly.

Ben and I need to find someplace else to live by September 1. Matter of fact, Ben has found someplace. He will be moving to Davis into a shared apartment.

I have no idea what I will do. I'm in kind of a difficult "monkey in the middle" situation. My income is too low to qualify for a good rental, but too high to qualify for any kind of assistance. My physical condition is such that I cannot live alone, but not severe enough to draw on my Long Term insurance.

So, I really don't know what to do or where to go. I have faith that it will work out, I can't imagine that I will be  thrown to the curb, but I'm eager to find a solution. At the present, I am puzzled.

***

And masks are for sale -- speak up! $5 each, porch pick up or I will mail them.

Confessions of a Binge Reader

My friend, Jennifer D. Munro, responded to a Facebook challenge and listed books that had influenced her. Instead of passing on the challenge, Jennifer gently suggested she would like to see my list. So, I'm putting together today's version of that list.

I'm a binge reader and I tend to think of books in clumps linked by my craving at the time. Here are some of the most vivid clumps in my ever-dimming and cluttered memory;

• The Oz books. I obsessively collected, read, and wrote all over the original fourteen Oz books, in order, of course, from Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz through Glinda of Oz. Someone gave me one of the "pseudo Oz" books written by Ruth Plumly Thompson, but I wasn't taken in, only the L.Frank Baum originals make my list. When my younger brother Ken, was old enough to enjoy them, he read them and left his marks on the pages, and then younger sister Valery took her turn. As a young mother, I reclaimed the set and passed them on to my children who also read and wrote in the books. Just this year, my son Kevin asked if he could have them. I gathered those I could locate and shipped them off to him. Some of the books are missing and Valery has a couple of them she is not quite willing to part with yet. Kevin has just finished reading the first one to his foster children. 
  
  
  

• The Nancy ,Drew mysteries by Carolyn Keene, again collected and read in order from The Secret of the Old Clock through number 28, The Clue of the Black Keys. I guess I lost interest or aged out of the series by then. Nancy Drew was a wonderful role model for girls in the pre-women's lib days (if only she would dump Ned).
• Little Women, Little Men, Eight Cousins, and Jo's Boys by Louisa May Alcott. Oh, Jo, my hero, my role model. And why, oh why, did Beth have to die?
• Late in high school, my binge reading became even more serious. I wanted really big books that would satisfy a deep thirst for escape. In this group I lump Forever Amber, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Marjorie Morningstar, and Gone With the Wind. My mother thought Forever Amber was scandalous and nearly forbid me to read it, but I prevailed.
• Next came more Herman Wouk, James Michener, and Leon Uris. History in painless doses. 
• The holocaust. When I discovered the holocaust at about eight years old in 1947, I couldn't believe it and I still struggle to believe both the horror and how little we learned. I read everything about it I could get my hands on. And I still do. Irene Nemirovsky's Suite Francaise, an amazing novel/memoir, written in occupied France is a recent and powerful contribution.
• English Literature -- all the usual stuff from Shakespeare, through the Brontes, Thackarey, Dickens, and Trollope, to P. D. James and Ian McEwan.
• Russian Literature -- Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Turgenev, Bely (Petersburg), Chekhov. Interesting how English lit. is about human nature independent of place, but Russia is always a central character in Russian Lit.
• Twentieth century American men of letters -- Philip Roth, Saul Bellow, and John Updike. More important than Steinbeck and Hemingway to me. I think American writing opened up in the second half of the twentieth century; the first half suffered from inhibition. I like John Updike's book reviews in the New Yorker even better than his novels.
• Twentieth and twenty-first century American women -- Amy Tan, Anne LaMott, Barbara Kingsolver (Poisonwood Bible should have had the Pulitzer), Diana Gabaldon (yes! literate and full of great history, albeit a bit formulaic after a while), Ann Morrow Lindbergh, and Joan Didion. I know I'm leaving many important writers.
• The Mann Booker Short List -- whenever I'm at a loss for what to read next, I check out the Mann Booker Prize Short List for the past few years, I love British writers.

I'm sure if I made a list tomorrow, it would look nothing like this. I've been blessed by having thousands of books in my reading past and an ever-diminishing memory.

Small Stuff

Logan has an ingrown toenail. He's had it since before he was injured. I pointed it out to the medical team in the ER. They said not to worry about it, that he would be receiving massive doses of antibiotics that would take care of it. But, I continued to worry about it and would point it out to various medical folks over the next three weeks. Everyone assured me they would take care of it. No one did. It really began to annoy me. Yesterday, Logan had a check up at the trauma clinic. I pointed out the infected, swollen, oozing toe. They said, go see his primary care physician. So today we went to the primary care physician who looked at it, prescribed antibiotics, Epsom salt soaks, and a return visit in four weeks. I was not especially pleased at deferring aggressive treatment four more weeks. Then, a twenty-five year old man who had broken his neck in a motorcycle accident wheeled into the waiting room in his very elaborate wheel chair. He had come from his nearby apartment home where he lived with his grandmother. He is a paraplegic, completely paralyzed from the waist down with some limited use of his upper limbs, an intact mind and charming smile. He wanted a referral to physical therapy. He said he could get there three times a week when his grandmother went in for her dialysis.
I had been feeling so overwhelmed and sorry for myself, but oh man, lessons like this are a real sock in the gut. Ingrown toenails really are small stuff.

Reporting In

Robin would have been 52 years old today, but instead, she is forever 39. Like sister Colleen said today on Facebook, I wish I could have seen her red hair turn gray. I still cannot believe she is gone and yet I can't imagine what it would be like if she were here. I want so much for her to know the joy her boys have brought to me. There are so different from each other, so unique, yet both are amazing, wonderful kids.

Ben has dreamed of being an entomologist for nearly as long as he has lived with me. I think he went straight from paleontologist to entomologist when he outgrew the dinosaur phase. His grit and determination in gaining admission to UC Davis were all his own doing. I had hoped he would stay close to home for a few more years. Only when I realized he would never forgive me if I thwarted him, did I give in. His getting to Davis is entirely due to his grit and persistence. His focus is amazing. And now as I see him unfold, I'm pretty sure he was right.

Never a kid who was interested in what he wore, he found REI in California and for the first time developed an interest in shopping for clothes. He learned to dress in a way that expresses who he is -- outdoors clothing for the field-bound research scientist. He attended the Entomology Club Fall Social and seems to be enjoying that small community within the huge campus population. I was so afraid to let him go and yet he has navigated with confidence since leaving home. He does laundry, buys textbooks, gets into programs and activities that are important to him, deals with roommate issues, seems to be eating, sleeping, getting places on time, and living like an independent adult (except the money part, although he is frugal). Most important, he seems to have a good sense of who he is and where he is going.

Ben is smart, funny, introverted, literal, kind, logical, intense, and honest. He's an exceptional person and I believe he will make an important contribution in the field of entomology.

Logan is loquacious. He can chat up anybody. He's interesting, interested, funny, smart, personable, sweet, and extroverted. He loves to dress in business clothes -- suit and tie. He recently upgraded his backpack to a brief case and uses it to carry his books and school supplies. He likes speech and debate and belongs to the Literature Club at school. He is participating in the International Baccalaureate program at his school. It is a rigorous and challenging program and he is working hard at it.  Just a couple of days ago, he asked me to get him a subscription to The Economist. He wants to be a lawyer. He will be a good one.

The differences between the two boys fascinate me. So different and yet both so wonderful. Thank you Robin.

And Yet My Heart Sings

The house deal is all but dead. The buyers failed to get the loan they had applied for and were unable to close. The "all but" part is they are still trying to get a loan and still want to buy the house. And I still want them to have it. I already rented the house I hoped to move to and if the deal collapses (which realistically speaking, it has) I will have to break the lease, move back the few things I had moved in, and lose a couple thousand dollars. That really sucks. I also moved a bunch of stuff to a storage facility which I won't need. And I really like the house I rented. That's the part I'm having a hard part shaking. I can envision living there and I want to!

So, I could be righteously depressed. But, I'm not. I had a phone call from Ben yesterday to let me know he has been accepted into UC Davis's BUSP program. BUSP is Biology Undergraduate Scholars Program. It is designed to track EOP kids for PhD programs in the biological sciences. So, as friend Sharon suggested, that makes it Ben's Uber Special Program. Yes, I'm very excited that he has been accepted into this program which will get him into some research-track classes including two special summer school classes at the end of his freshman year. These classes are FREE and he will be given a stipend to help defray living costs. During his sophomore year he will have the opportunity to work for PAY on a research project. And that is all very good news. But, the best part is knowing he is realizing his dream. And that makes my heart sing.

Doing the Limbo

We are still in limbo, waiting to see whether the sale of our house will go through. It is exasperating and fattening. I spend my days wandering around the house wondering if I should continue packing or start unpacking. In the meanwhile, I dust the tops of the packed boxes lining the walls of every room.

I can't really clean, everything is topsy-turvy, so I am cooking instead -- trying to use up food in the cupboards and freezer. I'm really strapped for cash because of (non) moving costs and paying for two places. Using up food on hand helps conserve grocery money, but it also results in meals of marginal nutritional value: lots of carbs, tortillas, pasta, potatoes and low on fresh fruit and veggies.

I haven't packed my sewing machine, but some of my sewing stuff is already at the other house, so I can do a limited amount of sewing, but not the projects I really want to work on, ones that would make me happy.

Just one more week and I'll know. I will have to pull the plug on the deal if it doesn't close by next Friday.

Ben is also in limbo, but his is a happier place. He has completed his four-week STEP orientation program and is awaiting the official beginning of the fall quarter with first classes on September 26. He'll spend the intervening time at Valery's. Move in date for his new residence hall is September 22. This break required that he move completely out of the room he had been living in, pack up his stuff, shlepp it over to Valery's and then move it back to campus on the move-in date. I'm thankful Valery has been able to help him with this. He is more enthusiastic than ever about where he is and what he is doing and I am even more certain it is the right thing and the right place for him. I sense that he is happy and confident.

Logan's limbo is that zone between being sick and well. He missed two days of school this past week with a cold. He hates to miss school because perfect attendance exempts him from finals. But, he seems to be on the mend today.

I'll try to come up with a happy post next time. Fall is in the air and the weather is perfect, surely that will cheer me up!

Overwhelmed and Losing it, Loosely Wrapped and Unraveling

I have been on the edge of hysteria for at least a week now. Well, that's not entirely true, at least three times I've gone over the edge and plunged into the depths. Life is really complicated right now and it requires lots of planning, coordination, and physical work. I need lots of help and as always, I have a tough time asking for it.
So far, I have blown up at Logan, Steve Maples, and my car. If any of the rest of you come into the line of fire in the next few weeks, please know I appreciate you being there for whatever reason and please know that if I blow up, it's probably about me, not you.

 What's eating me?

• I have to be ready for the movers on Saturday.
• Logan is also overwhelmed with balancing the demands of a job and the rigorous IB program at school. He spends every waking moment he is at home working on his school computer or with his nose in a book.
• Danny's hours limit his availability to help.
• Both boys are never available at the same time, so the two-man jobs aren't getting done.
• Rachel is constantly on my mind and in my heart. Chemo is not easy and she and Kevin have way too many stresses in their lives. 
• My physical strength is very limited. I can do only a small amount of work and then must rest.
• The Maples clan is all absorbed in grieving the loss of Julia's father and attending his funeral on the other side of the state.
• It's been bloody hot.
• I still have tons of sorting, selling, storing, and tossing to do.
• I miss Ben.

On the other hand:

• I'm so looking forward to living in a smaller, more manageable house.
• I can't wait to reduce my inventory of stuff (by sorting, selling, and tossing).
• The weather is pleasant. I don't think I've ever moved when the weather is decent -- it's always been during a terrible storm or a killer heatwave. 
• People are helping me.
• Most of the people I've offended will forgive me.
• This too, will pass.

In the meanwhile, I will practice as many avoidance techniques as I can muster:

• Blogging
• Re-reading a book from my childhood
• Playing solitaire mindlessly

I'm open to suggestions for any other distractions. 

Some Sappy Sentimental Stuff

Fresh from the bath, they fell asleep in my bed one evening shortly after they came to live with me in El Dorado Hills.  Ben is on the left. A function of odd lighting, Logan's hair looks red in this picture. Ben is five years old, Logan is four. I'm struck by how Logan's hand still looks like a baby's.

 

 A trip to Legoland with cousin Danny for their first roller coaster ride. Ben is scared to death, but is determined to tough it out and then wants to ride again Logan is beyond scared and NEVER wants to come near a roller coaster ever again.

 A roar of victory by a nearly toothless Ben after being awarded his low green Tae Kwan Do belt by Paul Olsen in El Dorado Hills. He eventually earned a black belt just before we moved to Missouri. In Missouri he earned a second degree black belt (recommended) and then had to give up Tae Kwan Do when music began to take too much time (band. choir, and private drum lessons).

 Ben at Disney's California Adventure Theme Park in Anaheim, part of a three-day stay with brother Logan, Aunt Colleen, and cousin Robby.

Ben Franklin at Lake Forest Elementary School, 4th Grade.

Ben and Logan were blessed with wonderful compassionate teachers during their four years at Lake Forest School.  From the left of Logan is Amy Schulze, Kathy Miracle, Anita Garza, and Debby Valladon Hornsby. Missing is kindergarten teacher, Lisa Gardino. Yes, they are chewing bubble gum, blowing bubbles, and in general proving that teachers are normal crazy people. I love these women and am so grateful to them for allowing Ben and Logan to grieve in the mysterious way that children grieve.

Ben almost masters the surfboard on a trip to Maui in 2006. Friend Lisa Cardwell invited us to join their family on a week long stay at the Ritz Carlton on Maui. We had lousy weather and great fun!

Brothers share a chair in the city of brotherly love.  We took a very special trip to the east coast in June of 2006, spending a week on Cape Cod and then touring by train to Manhattan, Washington D.C., and Philadelphia. When Ben and Logan were young, they often shared a chair while they watched TV or played a video game. This photo captures what was probably the last time that happened.

Ben's visit to the Bohart Entomology Museum on the UC Davis campus cemented his determination to attend school on that campus. That resolve will become reality this fall. Next week he departs to begin his new life in California. Getting ready for his departure entails combing through everything he has collected in his room during the past eight years and a long meandering trip down memory lane for me.

Ben studies a caterpillar while at GLADE last year. He spent a week at a nature camp (Green Leadership Academy for Diverse Ecosystems) and had many opportunities to observe nature and its inhabitants up close and personal.

I straighten up the cap and collar of his graduation outfit just before we head out for the ceremony on May 10.

Rites of Passage

You know how your write down all the "firsts" of your first-born child for a couple of years? I think the years 16-18 are filled with just as many firsts. As Ben and Logan hit these milestones, I try to celebrate them with the same sense of joy and liberation the boys feel. Sometimes, it's challenging. And I'll try to record some of them here -- at least those the don't violate their privacy too much.

In the last couple of years, I've taught two teen-agers to drive -- one of the toughest tests of the parent/child relationship. God willing, I won't ever have to do that again. Ben and Logan have such completely different learning styles, different approaches to driving, and different relationships to cars; it's hard to believe they grew up in the same household. Where Ben was tentative and cautious, Logan was filled with self-confidence (not always a good thing) and daring. Logan looks for any excuse to get behind the wheel and wouldn't think of riding the school bus. Ben doesn't mind riding the bus at all. Logan bought a car before he had a driver's license (and thought he had waited almost too long). Ben bought a bicycle on his 16th birthday.

And now, I'm getting ready to send a kid off to college. Planning, paper work, packing. So much to consider logistically. And then there's all the emotional stuff. Is he ready? Will he adapt to dorm life? Will he remember to go to class? to eat? to call his grandmother? to shower? to brush his teeth? Should I leave his room ready at home? move to a smaller house? how often will he come home? how often will I go to California to visit him? How can I stand to let him go? How could I stand to keep him from pursuing a dream. This is tough!

What if . . .

I've heard that the estimated value of a West Point education is $500,000 -- cadets pay nothing and receive a monthly stipend. Like all the other service academies, Coast Guard, Air Force, and Naval, it is entirely funded by the Federal government. Collectively, they turn out approximately 5,000 top-notch warriors every year. The graduates spend at least five years in service to the nation after graduation. Many choose a military career.

What if we established a new National Service Academy dedicated to waging war against the destruction of our planet? Yes, a Green Academy. Talented high school graduates would spend four years in intense study, and perhaps would be required to present a "solution" to a major issue as a graduation requirement. They would then serve five more years in graduate work continuing to study and work on applying their "solution." They could opt for a career in the field. 

Precious Moments

Sometimes I worry that the boys are missing out because I don't have the stamina or the money to take them on an exotic vacation over spring break. A ski trip for instance. I was able to do that when my older grandkids were growing up. But this week we are staying home and Ben and Logan have never been skiing.

However, a couple of nights ago, I went to bed early, curled up with a book (the last chapters of Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver). Logan lay on the bed next to me using my Kindle Fire to watch a movie. We didn't talk, but we lay side by side for an hour or so, just breathing the same air and feeling the warmth of our nearness.

This morning, Ben woke me up at 6:45, turned the light on dimly, sat on the bed by me and gave me a fifteen minute detailed description of the dream that had awakened him. I lay there quietly as he threaded his way through his recollection. Somehow, I felt honored that he would awaken me to share his dream. It was a wonderful way to start the day.

I am grateful for the stillness these older years give me -- that I don't have the need to be constantly in motion and that I do have time to lie still and just be. It is a joy.

Farewell, Dolly

I call her Christine. She first belonged to Minnie Pauline Nichols when she was a little girl living on Figueroa Street in Folsom, California. Minnie was born September 9, 1886 and I'm guessing she got the doll sometime before her tenth birthday in 1896. I'm also guessing Minnie's mother Christine Wagner Nichols gave the doll to her youngest daughter (Minnie was the seventh born of eight children to William and Christine -- one, Loren, died in infancy). Christine died of pneumonia just after Minnie's twelfth birthday. I like to think the doll was a comfort to my grandmother while she grieved.

The doll wears several layers of handmade petticoats and a pair of pantaloons covering her kid body which is in remarkably good condition, given that it is around 116 years old. Her bisque head and hands are likewise in great condition. Her eyes still open and shut and her opened mouth shows her carefully formed teeth. Her feet are covered with knit stockings which remain in perfect condition. Her hair has been loved a bit too much. It is rather bedraggled and is trying to separate from her scalp. There are a few stains down the front of her dress. Did the little girl who first owned her try to feed her? Was it a tea party mishap? I must admit there is something overall scarey or creepy looking about the doll. I'm not sure how she will be received by a young girl today. But, I guess I'll soon find out.

I was honored when my grandmother chose to give her to me sometime after the birth of my first daughter, Robin. But, I must admit I did nothing to add to her character. She passed her years with me wrapped in a plastic bag, languishing in a dresser drawer. I took her out from time to time, tried to love her and imagined my grandmother holding her, feeling the love across the years. The doll is in good condition, but not pristine, so I assume she was actively loved, yet respected.

It's hard to pass down something like this: I have wonderful memories of my grandmother whom I idolize to this day. The next recipient will not have that history. She will only know she is receiving a family heirloom and it will be many years, if ever, before she grasps the significance of the doll. But, I am too old to hang on to it. It's time to try to pass it and all the love attached along to another generation. Mallaika Louise Paine will be the next owner. Mallaika was born October 15, 2005, 119 years after Minnie Pauline Nichols. Mallaika is the great-great-great-great granddaughter of Christine Wagner Nichols. Wouldn't it be wonderful if Mallaika could pass it on to her own great-granddaughter?

Giving

I am by nature a giver. There is nothing heroic about it. Psychologically, I am probably seeking approval or love because I don't feel I got it from my mother (she had her own burden). It is not in me to solicit gifts. I married a man who was incapable of giving because he too, was so needy. That's not to say I do without -- I am also very generous to myself, gifting myself abundantly and frequently. But I love to give. I love to feed people, sitting them down to a pretty table with delicious food. Lately, I have enjoyed giving people quilts (whether they want them or not!). I enjoy giving things that are a part of me -- something I have made -- put my hands on. It gives me a feeling of connection. None of this is noble or unselfish, it just is.

Today is Valentine's Day. I bought a small box of chocolates for each of the three young men living in my house and left them at their places at the kitchen table. Ben was the first to survey the scene and he quickly concluded the three boxes were for him, Logan, and Danny. But, the first thing he said was, "Grandma, you didn't get any." I don't know if I can write this in a way that lets you know how touched I was. Just the fact of his noticing meant more than a five pound box of chocolates, a dozen roses, and a gallon of perfume.

Happy Valentine's Day. 

New Love

Some things change and some things are immutable. The wheels are now larger, swivel effectively, and roll smoothly. Two of the shelves have morphed into baskets and they are made of wire. 

I

It's not my mother's kitchen utility cart, neither the one in my kitchen nor the blue one in the photo above. I borrowed the photo above because I don't have a photo of my mother's green version. I much prefer the newer version. My mother's sat immobile near the kitchen stove in my childhood home. The kitchen was large, dilapidated, and had very little usable space like counter, and cupboards. I think the cart was intended to compensate in some degree for those deficiencies, but as near as I can recall it was only used to hold dish towels (our version had a handle or rack on the top level).

My new cart serves me as a laundry cart when I move clothes from the hamper to the washer, the washer to the dryer, and the dryer back to my bedroom where I fold them. It saves my back and many steps. It also serves as an auxiliary walker. I leave my walker in the car and push the cart around the house. It's useful when I'm using the dining room for meals and need to carry food and dirty dishes to and fro. I love it!

And here are three of my new loves all in one! Watching and listening to Downton Abbey on my new Kindle Fire with my new headset has given me enormous pleasure. I wondered what all the buzz was about Downton Abbey and now I know: my dears, the costumes, the scenery, the characters, the setting, the story, and Maggie Smith! I'm also delighted with the Kindle cover which doubles as a stand. Buying all this seemed so indulgent and as I grow older, the acquisition of things often seems burdensome. This is different -- I am enthralled!

I still take time out from new addiction to practice the old -- I've completed two more table runners, only one more to go and I will have a complete set of twelve. And I keep on quilting on other projects.

Aft and Fore

In 2012, Logan:

• Turned 15, got his driver's permit, and learned to drive forward. We'll work on backing up as the weather allows.
• Finished his Freshman year and got half way through his sophomore year.
• Pursued speech and debate, "finalling" for the first time.
• Played football. His team had an outstanding season, finishing third state-wide for their division. He was thrilled to be able to play a few plays after the varsity had established a significant lead.
• Kept busy all summer at summer school, football camp, and visiting Massachusetts.

In 2012, Ben:

• Got his driver's license. He still doesn't drive much, takes the car to school when I don't need it. Sometimes he brings it home again. (He forgot one day and rode the bus home, leaving the car in the school parking lot.) Another time he called and asked me to come pick him up -- I had to inform him he had driven to school.
• Did very well in math competition and will compete at the state level.
• Got a "Bright Flight" scholarship in recognition of his outstanding ACT score. 
• Marched for his last high school season.
• Finished his Junior year and got half way through his senior year.
• Kept busy all summer at summer school, band camp, and GLADE (a nature-based summer camp).

In 2012, I did very few of the things I thought in January, 2011 that I would do.

• I didn't have a second knee replacement.
• No relatives came to claim any household goods.
• Didn't sell the house.
• Didn't go to Massachusetts.
• I did go to the reunion of my high school friends and had a fabulous time -- much better than I had dreamed of.
• Did enjoy a nice visit when Valery came.
• Held true to my vow to relinquish hosting Christmas.

Plans for this year include:

• Ben's graduation.
• A special trip for Ben's graduation (TBA).
• More dental work (ugh!).
• Replace knee #2.
• Sell the house and move.
• Logan to get his driver's license.
• Keep on quilting.
• More football for Logan.
• Add at least one new car to the family fleet.
• Send Ben off to college to an as yet undetermined school.

Tah Done!

Setting the table is not a big deal. Cleaning up my sewing mess is! Can't wait to start in on a new mess next week.

The tree is decorated with all the ornaments I own. Everything that didn't end up on the tree was given to local women's shelters.

Fake holly replaces dead mums on the back deck. Takes much less water.

This table runner is made from a yard of material provided by one of my quilt club members. I made it into this table runner and set of coasters and will give it back to her at our Christmas luncheon tomorrow.

This quilt block is part of a round robin quilt project by our group. We each do a block a month for one of the participating members. When we have completed a block for each member, we will each have an assortment of blocks to make into a quilt of our own choosing.

I actually finished all the items on my to do list from the other day, except one -- I didn't do any reading in Consilience. So, I think I'll go do that now.