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We spent no more than 10 minutes at the tree lot. The day was bitter cold, inviting us to shop quickly. We know what we like and we keep it simple - Fraser fir, about 7 feet high. This one looked perfect, laying at the top of a small stack of trees at our regular pop-up sales site in a nearby parking lot. We didn't even ask the vendor to untie the tree; as I said, it was dang cold, but honestly it is more because we are easily pleased - the two of us subscribe a bit to the "Charlie Brown Christmas tree" school of thought, in that we trust we can beautify whatever tree awaits. We will love it. 'Tis the season to be content, to be joyful.
The vendor lifted the tree from the stack and lots of needles rained down. Here's where we really are a goofy twosome, Tony and I - we immediately assumed that those dropped needles had fallen from some other tree that had been stacked on top of ours, during its journey in the truck from who knows where (Canada?), and basically littering our tree. Our tree was just shaking these loose, now that it was able to stand up and apart, right? The vendor didn't dispel or challenge our thinking. They say humans can rationalize pretty much anything they want to believe; I suspect this is all the more true when questioning your beliefs means you must suffer out in the cold for longer.
As Tony paid the vendor, I pointed out the praying mantis egg sac on the tree, thinking this was a good luck sign; but my admiration wasn't understood by the dear vendor, who immediately grabbed the sac and hurled it out of the lot, apologizing. "Oh no! I thought it was good luck," I said, "Certainly, it's a sign that the tree was growing happily and healthily." The vendor looked at me with some confusion, and then helped us tie the tree onto the roof of our car.
Yes, I immediately got my pen out and started copying all my annotations and recipes into the new book.
Score one for nostalgia!
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A short while later, I stepped outside. Tony was working on the side porch, stringing lights along the banister, and there was a wild web of light strands on the front porch step. Hmm, I thought, where did that little pile of light chaos come from? I'll leave those for him and work with my new favorites, those easy "reel" lights. Last year we purchased some new lights that were packaged on a reel, making it very easy to wrap a shrub in holiday cheer by simply unwinding the container as you work, virtually eliminating tangles and knots in the wires.
Except, now I couldn't find them.
"Tony, where are the new lights we got last year? The ones on the reels?"
"They're right there, on the front steps."
"I don't see any reels here."
"Well I put those away after I took the lights off of them. The lights are right there at your feet - see?"
"Wait -you TOOK THEM OFF THE REELS and MADE A RAT'S NEST FOR ME, so that I might have the THRILL of untangling them!?"
He looked at me patiently and calmly asked, "Did I do something wrong?"
"Well, goodness, I thought the whole point of those strands was their ease! You simply hold them and unwind them onto the tree as you go."
"Oops. Sorry. I didn't know."
"Aiyiyi."
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I've been unable to shake an image from a recent walk along my favorite path in the park: a large buck trapped in the cold creek water, on a bitter cold day just before Thanksgiving, caught up somehow in broken branches, rocks, and vines, struggling unsuccessfully to get himself out. My friend and I were walking along, lost in conversation, when a young man interrupted us with a shout, "Excuse me! Please! Can you help? Look, look at this deer! Trapped in the creek!"
There the deer was. Dying before our eyes. How he looked at us, eyes searching, filled with pain! Those eyes, staring directly at me.
I felt so helpless. Useless. Inadequate.
I got out my phone and called for the county's animal control, and the phone just rang and rang. I called fire and rescue, explaining it was not an emergency, and shared the situation. They assured me that they would notify the proper authorities. The deer continued his struggle. Not knowing what more we could do, we walked on, hearts heavy, trying to imagine how the deer had ended up stuck like that in the creek - perhaps he'd been struck by a car on the roadway?
We have so many deer in this area, and honestly - they have frustrated me so! This past spring and summer, it seemed as if every new bloom in my garden was eaten and destroyed by hungry deer. Yes, I have been plenty impatient, cursing their existence. But seeing this large buck trapped in this way - oh my, this was something altogether new. My heart hurt.
By the time my friend and I circled back on our walk, some 30 minutes later, there was no sign of the trapped deer - and for one brief, spectacular moment, we thought he had broken free. However, with a more studied look, we saw that it lay nearby, its now dead body mostly submerged in the creek, its round midsection and antlers protruding above the water.
We stopped for a quiet moment, and stared, taking it all in.
Nearby, along the road, was a park police cruiser; we walked over to talk to the officer, to be sure that they knew about the dead deer in the water. The officer shared that they had come to investigate, having received a couple different phone calls, and they had found the deer with its leg broken. They shot the deer to put it out of its misery. The officer was waiting for animal control, to dispose of the remains.
Shooting the deer, oh my - this was both necessary and horrible. So many deer, so many humans, all of us mixed up together, sharing the world.
I've tried to capture my mixed emotions in this poem:
what of this deer
what of this deer
laying writhing dying
in the cold creek water
trapped amongst branches
leg broken mangled hurt
he cant get up, get out, get going
what of this deer
leads me to compassion
calling out soothing words of encouragement and concern
calling out for help from passersby
calling out for county assistance, proper authorities, animal rescue?
what of this deer
in my own yard
eating all the blossoms of the garden
leaving them mashed mangled bits of brokenness
upon the surface of the soil
severing their futures
what of this deer
leads me to anger and frustration and shouting
what of this deer?
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Three year old granddaughter Frog was quietly engrossed with my doll collection, nestled on the hope chest in the hallway near our kitchen, happily ignoring the gathering crowd. There were too many new faces for her to feel comfortable, but she is social and curious enough to want to be on the periphery, listening in and watching. The hope chest and the doll collection were the perfect remedy.
My oldest brother and wife (her great uncle and aunt) were visiting from Maine - our first overnight guests since sometime before March 2020. How to describe the joy we felt to have overnight company? To have this sense of normalcy? I suggested a Saturday brunch for all my local family/relatives - my sons, my daughter-in-law, the granddaughters, a nephew, a niece, my younger brother and his wife. It was awesome! With all of us vaccinated (and many of the older folks with boosters, too), I had no issues with hosting an indoor brunch.
"Nana! Nana! Nana!"
We had forgotten about Frog. Entirely. She had watched this frenzied fruit salad melee from her odd vantage point on the side, probably seeing little more than rapid, impulsive movement of unknown thighs and bottoms alongside a variety of equally unknown loud voices - leaving her completely surprised and confused. She couldn't see her parents, she couldn't see her grandparents, what was going on?
I rushed to her - she was now in child's pose on the hope chest, hands over her ears, trying to melt into the furniture and disappear, while big sobs wracked her body. I scooped her into my arms, and we moved to a quiet corner in the back of the house, away from the others, where I calmed her fears and explained the craziness. She was quickly soothed, and later charmed my nephew by calling him "the fruit salad cousin." So adorable!
Frog delighted in the rest of the party, as did all of us. Imagine, three years into life, and unaccustomed to the high and unexpected energy of large get-togethers. All of us have a lot of catching up to do!
To good health and gathering together!!
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| The view from a three year old's perspective |
On Tuesdays, before the sun, I run.
I repeated this little ditty as I crawled from my warm bed this morning, found my exercise clothes, pulled back my hair into a ponytail.
On Tuesdays, before the sun, I run.
I run three times a week, and once a week it is in the dark of morning.
On Tuesdays, before the sun, I run.
Lace up my shoes, get out the door...don't forget the reflective vest, the bright white sweatshirt. Running in the dark! It makes me feel, all at once, both adult and child - giddy and yet responsible, alert, aware.
On Tuesdays, before the sun, I run.
Today it is cold, it is cold, it is cold...I am running before I even leave my driveway... only in the low 40s, my first cold running day in a long while... thin gloves and fleece headband much-needed...I try to convince myself: it's not bad, not bad, not bad. Maybe even invigorating?
On Tuesdays, before the sun, I run.
I am grateful for my quiet neighborhood, though I would love to see a few more folks out. Where are all the dog-walkers? I suppose they are dog-backyarders at this hour?
On Tuesdays, before the sun, I run.
Where are the stars? My last early morning run, the sky was awash in stars, clear with constellations, bright and comforting. Today, ah, nothing but clouds, yet still comforting - the sky is a blanket of grey-white-blue-black.
On Tuesdays, before the sun, I run.
On Tuesdays, before the sun, I run.
These past few months, we've been living in a rather sad version of If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, with one simple home improvement idea (hey, honey, let's get our wood floors refinished!) leading to - unearthing, really - a host of other issues. Isn't this always true of houses? Of teaching? Of any work? One sweet idea and the next thing you know, you are immersed in something tangential, then something else, and else again, on and on.
I've been surprised at how sad I am about the discovery that we have major repairs to make to the existing structure of our home. Yes, truly sad. Quite unexpectedly.
Here's how I know: when the contractor shared impressive, clear, careful details of the work we must do, I burst into tears as soon as he left our house.
A good friend suggested that I am perhaps feeling a sense of grief, a sense of loss. The more I think about it, I think she is right.
We have an older home (1938). I like to say - "old enough to have problems, not old enough to be anything extraordinary." But, we have loved this home. It's been my home throughout our marriage (my husband bought it before we married) - some 33 years now. It's full of our fixes, our repairs, our "make do's." As one little example, let me share a photo of the kitchen "backsplash" that I painted 25 years ago, because we couldn't afford tile:
I have been so content with this painted backsplash through the years! Ha! It makes me smile.
Our remodeling will begin any day now (we are waiting on blueprints...). I feel like a young child on the verge of a tantrum when I say: I really don't want to think about the innumerable details of this new work!
But it is work that must be done.
These structural repairs mean that a lot of the little, personal touches we labored on through the years will vanish. (Yes, the backsplash, too. I know - the time is past due. I hear you.) This is why I am feeling such a sense of grief - it feels as if we're tossing aside memories, erasing our life.
Breathe in, breathe out.
I am making peace with the reality that the timeline will be long, inconsistent, unpredictable - as is true with most remodeling projects, but especially during this time of pandemic when every contractor is in hot demand and working on several things at once.
Breathe in, breathe out.
I remind myself, it's a good life, right? We are so blessed. Change is always, change is constant, change is needed.
Of all the unforeseen and unfortunate problems in the world, this is a good problem to have. Quit my bellyaching!
Breathe in, breathe out.
Realizing I am feeling grief, I decided to work my way out of my blues. Action is needed! We "popcorned" ideas about things that need to be done around the house that are NOT this structural issue, that do not require a professional, that we can do ourselves. We came up with quite a list, big and small things. (Think - painting projects, culling belongings/extras, donating furniture and other items we no longer need.) Now, we are chipping away at these - and it feels WONDERFUL. Seriously. It helps to be accomplishing something.
This past week, we repainted four radiators (before the onset of cold weather). Here's a 'before and after':
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| BEFORE |
It also helps to write poetry - ha! Just yesterday, EthicalELA offered the inspiration to write an "Abecedarian" poem. I thought about our house and its overwhelming but necessary repairs, and an A-Z poem just flowed out of me. I love it when writing just tumbles forth, as if a release valve has been opened. Yes, it was truly a release.
I guess the truth of it is, remodeling doesn't soothe my soul...I'd rather be writing.
Falling Apart Alphabetically
Absolutely excited to
begin home improvements, the
contractor was summoned to
develop a plan of action.
Emotionally unprepared I was
for his first question,
Goodness, why is your ceiling sagging?
How is it that we never noticed?
I have asked this many times since.
Jarringly, it is all we see now.
Knowledge is sight, I suppose.
Lamentations aside, we have
mustered courage (though
nerves and tears still rule on many days) and we’re
opening ceilings
paying for blueprints
querying engineers contractors designers websites friends
rapidly learning about beams and
structures and foundations.
Things fall apart. Yes, indeed.
Unexpected challenges and loss, it is said, may also reap
very real opportunities, silver linings, transformation -
wisdom I should print on index cards or
xerox and post everywhere, reminding, as we
yearn for this work to be done, it simply
zigs and zags, ebbs and flows, starts and stalls.
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| Today's bouquet |
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