It HAS been a while, hasn't it?

I guess updates are in order…

First off, my mom has recovered completely. She’s back to her feisty old self (which is not nearly as old as her 92 years would seem to indicate). Once she was treated for the UTI, she came back to herself very quickly. That said, having my brother living back in the old homestead with her has been an adjustment for both of them. I think it’s still in the working-the-bugs-out stage, and I hope they can learn to live together in relative respect and harmony. Fingers crossed.

As to the rest of the last few months? Well, it hasn’t been a bed of roses, but it IS looking up. Maybe replacing my lost Ganesh keychain with another, more garish image of Ganesh has resulted in the removal of some recent obstacles, or maybe it’s just the passage of time and the swells and troughs of life, but I’m in a hopeful place right now.

Despite a very shaky employment situation, I remain employed (for now) and Jeff has a contract gig that will last through the end of the year. We can take some nice deep breaths and do our best to plan ahead.

We’ve made some home improvements, both planned (our lovely new balcony railing, which has made the balcony an actual living space after all these years) and unplanned (a clogged and leaking pipe that ended up setting us back by four grand… yep, four GRAND). But here’s the balcony:

And I’m making yet another attempt at getting into better shape, which includes workouts on our new cross trainer (lordy, but is that thing big—and we chose that one specifically because it was “space-efficient,” sigh) and restarting my on-again-off-again running program. I realize that I will need new running shoes in the very near future.

Jeff and I are still practicing our jigs and reels and tin-pan-alley stuff every night, and we’re tossing what is in the process of becoming a novel outline back and forth, each adding something and shepherding it along…

So that’s where things stand now: who knows what the future will bring? It’s been such a crazy year on all fronts that I have given up trying to figure out what comes next. There’s a certain calmness and strength to taking life as it comes, isn’t there?

Still... I’m still hoping to snorkel off the Big Island sometime before I get too old to stay afloat!

And I'm really going to try to keep this blog updated a *tad* more often!

Mom Could Use Some Good Thoughts...

Here I was all ready to write a screed about how nearly impossible it is to find a nice, flattering dress when one is a) short and b) a *bit* stout, when I received news that my mom is in the local hospital in Virginia.

The prognosis is NOT dire: She has a bladder infection, and she's suffering from exhaustion. Apparently, she has not been eating well or sleeping well lately. From what I understand, they think they may keep her a week or so to build her strength back up. During that time we will start to sort out next steps.

I was worried this might happen.

She's a month and a half from her 92nd birthday, and up until earlier this year, she was doing amazingly well for a nonagenarian. Then came the big snow. Or rather, snows. One atop the other, making it impossible for her to get out on her own, and making her frightened to try to negotiate the front walk so that others could drive her places.

I don't know if that was the catalyst for her depression or if it simply exacerbated a bout of depression and anxiety that was already brewing, but...

When I went to visit her in March, she seemed a little down and a fair bit slower than usual. I took her out and about--shopping, dining, church... but her usual spark was simply not there. I offered to go to the doctor with her because she had just started taking some anti-depressants, and she didn't like the way they made her feel--she said she felt more anxious with them than without them. But, no--she didn't see the need. We also talked about the likelihood of my brother, who lives the next town over, coming to live with her and help her out. After all, she has not been up to keeping that house for years. It's much too big for her, and she doesn't climb steps well. It was either that, or move to an assisted living apartment. She really didn't want to do either--but, well, we all knew (me, Mom, and my brother John) that sooner rather than later if she didn't make the choice herself, one would be made for her. It looks as if we're at that point.

In the time between my visit and now, I began receiving messages via Facebook and phone from Mom's neighbors and friends--she seemed confused; she seemed afraid to leave the house; she seemed so sad and tired. John was planning on moving in this very week. He still plans to do so, but I'm not sure if he will become her caregiver or the caretaker of the house while she recovers at an assisted living facility.

So, spare a good thought or, if you are so inclined, a prayer for her tonight.

She's a game old bird. It takes a lot to bring her down. Now we need to build her back up again, if we can.

Namaste!

Happy Foolery Day!

But I swear, there are no April Fool's jokes embedded in this entry!

Once again, it’s been a long time since updates… sorry about that.

But let’s get going… here are some random thoughts and general updates, in no particular order:

It’s amazing how much money one can save by brown-bagging it for lunch. Most of the cash that was in my wallet on Monday is still in my wallet today (and I have tomorrow off…). Of course, one trip to Borders or Barnes and Noble and whoosh! Time for another trip to the ATM.

New job is coming along nicely. I like getting a nice stretch of the legs to and from the L, and I like having some time to read coming and going. Good to have a gig accessible by transit.

I can’t tell if the kitties actually like each other or not. They seem to fight a lot, and Mifune growls at Mingus when he pokes around her. But he does bother her a lot. They may have taken his cojones when he was 3 months old, but he’s still a tomcat who appreciates a lovely lady kitteh when he sees one. And he’s almost as big as she is now.

Good grief, but is it a gorgeous day! Although true to Chicago form, we are being warned to expect cooler than seasonal temps by Sunday. Figures.

Guest room/office is painted and new (well, newly assembled!) bookcases are in place. It still is a receptacle for boxes of stuff that we hauled out of there in the first place (not as much, though, as we made a big donation run to the Salvo). We have yet to purchase a new futon and frame, and I’m looking for just the right sized filing cabinet for the room, and then we’ll be closer to finished with it. The new color looks nice. I still haven’t uploaded pictures, but I will soon. You’ll just have to trust me on this.

I’m a bit worried about Mom. She seems to be having a bit of a bad reaction to some antidepressant medicine her doctor prescribed a month or so ago. She’s become rather anxiety-prone and occasionally fearful to leave her house, and that’s not like her at all. Brother John and I are trying to alert her doctor to the problem, but he seems rather sanguine about it. We think it is time she consulted a gerontologist. After all, she is nearly 92. Send some good thoughts her way!

Finally got the tax info and receipts to the accountant. Hope there is a refund coming!

There seems to be a singular dearth of Cadbury Crème Eggs this year. What is up with that? Easy-peasy to find the Cadbury Caramel Eggs, but not the luscious Crème Eggs I so crave each Easter. I have found, purchased, and consumed one package—and that was at the local Aldi.

Speaking of Aldi, I finally shopped in one after all the years I’ve been living in Chicago. For those not in the know, Aldi is a discount supermarket that has knock-off brands for really cheap prices. They opened one up beside our local Pet Smart, so the last time I went to buy Mingus’s kitten food, I dropped into Aldi as well. I’d been waiting to check the store out, as Jeff told me that decades ago he found a whole chicken in a can—bones and all—at Aldi. Well, I saw no canned whole chickens there, but I DID find some gorgonzola crackers—a big box for $1.69—that were surprisingly tasty as well as the aforementioned 4-pack of Cadbury Crème Eggs. And a box of raisins that was also dirt cheap. And fine, except for the raisins are very sticky. Don’t think I’ll make shopping there a regular thing, though.

Oh! And I have a new uke! A concert uke made by Kala. It has a cedar top and Koa sides and back. Sounds lovely! Pictures to come.

An Old-Fashioned Tree

Remember a few days ago when I was waxing nostalgic about mid-twentieth century Christmas trees, dripping with tinsel icicles made of lead? Well, I've been looking through the family photos in my possession, trying to find a good example. And look! I did.

That is yours truly up there, all of five years old, ripping paper off what looks to be a rather large present.

See the way the icicles drape and shimmer? They are heavy, and so they weigh the boughs down a bit. I just love this look.

Here's the same tree on the same day back lo, those many years ago:



Look how sedate I am! But don't be fooled.

During my photo-hunt, I came across a lovely picture--one that warms my heart. It's my mom and dad on their first or second wedding anniversary, in front of their Christmas tree just dripping with tinsel. My dad, an amateur photographer, put the camera on a tripod and set the timer--and this was the result:



Aren't they a cute couple? This would have been in their apartment in Schenectady, NY, in either 1946 or 1947.

Anyway, I know that Christmas is over and that even Epiphany is a memory, but it's always nice to get all misty-eyed over a past that shimmers.

Fall Foliage and More

A couple of weeks ago Jeff and I took a brief road trip down to Waynesboro, VA to visit my mom and our pals there and to take in the glorious local Fall Foliage Festival. If you've been following this blog for more than a year, you know this is an annual pilgrimage for me, but Jeff hadn't been down to Virginia for this weekend for eleven years. It just never worked out, vacation-wise, for him. But this year--yea!

We started the festival off at the pancake breakfast, served in the social hall of Main Street Methodist Church. What memories that room has, as it was the venue for many a Junior Girls Choir practice. That's where I met Barb and Susan (aka, Chibby), who were to become my fast friends through the vicissitudes of junior high school, and beyond. And this year the pancake breakfast proved to be a reunion of sorts, with Susan and Laura--a fellow former Young Fool, now a psychologist--providing some of the entertainment.


That's Laura on the left, Susan on the right. They sang folky duets, including an old Girl Scout camp fave, "Walk, Shepherdess, Walk." I'd forgotten the song completely until they began singing it, and every word came back.

Barb met us there, and Susan's mom joined our merry band as well--we were the fun table.

That's my mom, of course, mugging for the camera.

After the breakfast, we headed down Main Street hill to the legendary art show.

There, at the fabulous Ed Brownlee booth, we met up with Beth and Cortney to check out the ceramics.



And check them out, we did:


Barb found a couple of kindred spirits and spirited them home with her.


Jeff and I each bought our own ceramic jar. Mine has insane bunnies on it, as you can see:


And Jeff's has a sad ghost.


It didn't take long for us to walk off our pancakes and sausage among the many booths of photography, ceramics, pottery, watercolors, glassware... and I really should have taken a picture of the guitar-playin' dude in the purple suit. He had flowing curly blond locks that he threw back in ecstasy as he strummed, his long teeth bared in the rictus of what can only be called orgasmic pleasure. Or pride. Or pain? But anyway, before we knew it, we were lining up for some fried rice.


Alas, we did not partake of the sacred funnel cake at this festival, but it was available had we wanted to. As always, Barb, this snap's for you:


Notice the shorts on the dame in the picture above? Everyone was dressed for summer. It was well into the 70s--maybe even 80 degrees. As I noted last year, that seemed way too warm for early October in the Shenandoah Valley. In fact, I have a picture of myself about 20 years ago at the FFF, and I'm wearing a sweatshirt, jeans, and a thick corduroy jacket. And a hat! Times have changed, or at least, the climate has. Everyone was in shirtsleeves, including Beth, who also seems to have a spindle sticking out of her cranium.

In reality, it is the steeple of the aforementioned Main Street Methodist Church.

There were other, more troubling changes to the Big W... for example, I found this sign to be rather disconcerting for a returning ex-pat:


Yikes!

Well, the bulk of the fall foliage pictures (and there ARE more than the mere teaser at the top of this post) will have to wait for the next entry.

Time to get some shut-eye. I'll have more tomorrow or the next day...

A Couple of Things...

First, some astonishing and wonderful news!

The house next door to my mom's house has been sold!!!

Those of you who are savvy to the Waynesboro scene may know that our erstwhile next-door neighbors abandoned the property fifteen years ago or so. They just packed up their clothes and took off, leaving everything else behind (including, according to the new owner, a refrigerator and a big freezer full of food...ewwww). The house has been falling to ruin ever since then--a neighborhood eyesore and, as you might imagine, an attractive nuisance for less-than-law-abiding youths. Once, in fact, a group of kids broke into the house and lit a fire in the living room; fortunately, the daughter of the owners was driving by, saw that someone was in the house, and called the police.

The city has been cutting the grass in the front yard at the beginning and end of every summer. They would get around to clearing the jungle that took root in the back yard only every other year or so. Saplings were growing out of the gutters. Windows were rotting. Trees and shrubs were obscuring most of the property. There was a mound of dirt on the porch near the front door that was growing weeds and such; the new owner said that most of it was old newspapers that had piled up, somehow gotten covered in dirt (squirrels? pesky kids?), and sprouted foliage.

Now, you may picture my mom's neighborhood as some run-down shanty town, but you would be wrong. It's not an overly affluent street, certainly, but it's solidly middle class. Large lawns, mostly four-bedroom homes, near the local park. Only this house, once a modest but cute Cape Cod, could claim the moniker of "shanty."

And the neighborhood folks, well, they tried to get the city to seize and condemn the property. However the city claimed that the owners were paying their taxes and all the fees and fines associated with cutting the grass, clearing the backyard, etc., so their hands were tied. Go figure. The owners remained (and remain) in the area, staying in motels here and renting apartments or other houses there. There were lots of rumors as to why they left the way they did and why they didn't just sell the place, but until they reveal the truth (and I don't think they ever will), speculation is all anyone has to go on.

Anyway, according to my mom, who heard this from the new owner, the wife of the couple is now in a nursing home, suffering from Alzheimer's Disease. Apparently they sold the house to help defray the cost of her treatment. Now, no matter how bad these folks were as neighbors, no one deserves the suffering they are no doubt going through. I hope the monies from the sale help make her comfortable and keep her well cared for.

I would be lying, though, if I didn't admit to being overjoyed that this house, so long neglected, is going to be brought back to livability. Sometimes, indeed, good things come to those who wait. And wait. And wait.

Second, it's nearly that month again: National Novel Writing Month. Some of you may recall that, although I did not sign up to write a novel last year, I did my OWN personal version of NaNoWriMo to try to FINISH the novel I've been writing on and off for lo, these many, many, many, many years.

My goal was to write 30,000 words in November: 1,000 words a day. And I succeeded. But I was still about, well, 15,000-20,000 words or so short of having that first draft. I figured I could do that by the end of the year. But no. I skived off of it yet AGAIN, only picking at it a little here, a little there... until here we are a year later, and I still have those last few thousand words to go.

And to add insult to injury, in the time between then and now, Jeff not only finished one novel, he's closing in on the last few chapters of a second novel and outlining a third.

So I really need to get on the stick.

Here's my pledge: I will write 20,000 words on the novel this month, or as many as it takes to finish a first draft.

That's only about 666 words a day. Hmmm. Maybe I should change that to 700 words a day! Heh!

Here's the counter:



Let the writing begin!

The Waynesboro Y, or Why the Hell Did I Think I Was Fat?

One of the events my mom had planned for us to attend during my recent visit to the old homestead was a reception and fundraising kick-off for the local family YMCA. My dad was a big supporter of the Y back in the day. He was an avid swimmer (having taught himself to swim as a lad in what I'm sure were the o, so healthful and safe waters of the Mohawk River in upstate New York), and he made certain that my brother and I were enrolled in swimming lessons as early as allowed. Which, back in the day, was around 4 years old, or when you were tall enough to stand in the shallow end of the municipal pool (3 feet deep) with your head above water. None of this infant swim program stuff back then! The municipal pool was fine in the summertime, but once Labor Day rolled around and school started, the Y was the only option.

Except, they didn't have a pool. Or a gym. Or a weight room. Or a facility at all. They did have a swim team which, after I had worked my way through lessons from "Minnow" through "Fish" through "Flying Fish" and, finally, through "Shark," I joined.

How, you may well ask, did they give year-round swimming lessons and field a swim team without a pool? Well, mostly they used the pool at the local girls' boarding school, Fairfax Hall. And sometimes they used the pool at the local boys' military academy, Fishburne. (I think that school was named for the same family who owned the famous local pharmacy.) In 1967, the final year I swam on the team (at the ripe old age of 12), the Y moved into a brand spanking new facility, thanks to donations from my dad and others who felt the town needed such a place.

In honor of those who donated a certain amount or more, the Y put up a wall of tiles with donors' signatures on them, but apparently, over years of renovations, expansions, etc., the wall of donors was removed. Someone had the forethought to save the tiles, though, and, as the facility prepares for yet another expansion and renovation (dag! it is now 40 years old!!), the tiles were discovered. The management of the Y called the families of as many donors as they could track down to invite them to the reception and thank them personally. My mom got the call (my dad passed away nearly 10 years ago), and she wanted to go--mainly, I think, to see the tiles that were going to be on display.



That's my dad's distinctive signature, all right! It made me happy to see it, but wistful as well. I sure do miss him, and will to the day I shuffle off this mortal coil.

There were other items on display as well. Here is the one that caught my eye:



That is the YMCA swim team--the first team to practice in the brand new YMCA pool. And there I am! Can you pick me out? Let's pull in a bit closer...



NOW can you see me?

Here, I'll make it really easy.



I'm the one in the middle of this picture, the gal with the lovely headband.

And here's the thing: I thought I was fat. In fact, the surety that I was fat drove me to start yo-yo dieting from the time I was probably seven or eight years old, which has, in turn, led to a lifetime of weight issues (a situation I'm trying to turn around now, in middle age, for good).

But DAMN! I look at this picture and I see a kind of chubby face (the stupid headband really doesn't help, does it?) that hasn't yet lost its baby fat, and a fairly fit young woman's body. My big issue has always been my belly (although it took me many years to realize that, whether fat or thin, I can guarantee that my legs will remain shapely), but I'm hard pressed to find a gut on the little girl/young woman in that picture.

One thing I kind of regret (kind of) is that I did quit the team after this year. There were several reasons. I was a strong swimmer but not a fast swimmer. I could swim for hours, literally, but I wasn't going to break any speed records. As with running now, I had great form (still do, when I get a chance to swim), even on the butterfly--a stroke I hated. HATED! But, because I could do it properly (and so many of the kids on the team couldn't), I was stuck swimming the butterfly leg on a lot of mixed medley relays. When we got into the new pool, I was determined to work on my times for breast and backstroke so that they would stop making me swim butterfly. It never occurred to me that I could refuse to swim it... but then, that would have pegged me as less than a team player, huh?

The thing was, junior high was harder than elementary school, and, what with the new pool and all, our team practices were four or five nights a week instead of one. I was having a hard time juggling team practice and homework and that all-important TV-viewing time. Then I came down with the flu. When I returned to practice, we were getting ready for the regional Jr. Olympics swim meet, and I really wanted to qualify for breaststroke. So... my first day back, I found myself racing timed laps of breast against someone swimming freestyle--the idea was that I would push myself to a better--maybe even a qualifying--time. But instead, I exhausted myself and passed out in the middle of the pool. For the only time in my life, I had to be "rescued." Literally, they used a hook.

I decided that I'd never be free of the butterfly, and I'd always be a second or third stringer, swimming relays and nothing else... so I quit. But now I look back and wonder if I had stuck it out, would I have made that breakthrough? Would I have gotten to swim breaststroke or backstroke or ANY stroke at the Jr. Olympics?

Oh well...some lessons you learn a bit too late to take optimum advantage of, huh?

Well, I guess I'll just have to be kinder in my assessment and treatment of the aging chassis now!