my backyard ~ yesterday
Tomorrow: Scattered snow showers in the morning will give way to a mixture of rain and snow for the afternoon hours. Some sleet may mix in.
Tomorrow night: Cloudy with rain and snow in the evening. Rain and snow will become intermittent in the overnight hours. Some sleet may mix in.
Snow, I love. Sleet and freezing rain, not so much.
Photo taken before our most recent snowfall. Today’s snow is falling on top of this.
Our trip home from Dad’s was not uneventful. We left here before 7 am yesterday because C’s mother had to be at the hospital by 9. Our entire area was under a winter storm warning, a monster that would dump copious amounts of white stuff all the way up to Philly. We were armed with a full tank of gas, warm jackets, a large pot of homemade chicken and rice soup for Dad, travel cups filled with water, and four-wheel drive.
We had a nice but abbreviated day with Dad. We were supposed to stay until six o’clock, but The Brother came over around 3:30 so we could return home before things turned too nasty. We were getting reports that the roads up here were still passable but perhaps wouldn’t be for long. We left Dad’s, and things didn’t get bad until we got closer to home. Suddenly everything turned to a treacherous icy slush. We saw four cars in ditches and ravines, and one was turned on its side. But for the grace of…
Everyone was driving slowly and cautiously and there wasn’t much traffic. Most reasonable people were heeding the warnings to stay home. Only fools and emergency personnel were on the roads. Can you guess which category we fell into?
Everything was going fine until I started to change lanes. Our car hydroplaned and went into a slow spin, sliding inexorably toward another car. I had no control. I turned the wheel, changing only slightly the direction of our slithering glide, and we began the long, sickening slide toward the ditch. I figured it was preferable to hitting another car.
I plowed into a snow bank, left by the ubiquitous work of the snowplows, as I simultaneously pulled the wheel back toward the road. We ended up in a ravine, facing (thankfully) in the correct direction – toward the road.
H got out of the car and kicked the snow away from the tires. A police officer arrived and blocked one lane. I moved to the passenger’s side, tail tucked between my legs, and H got behind the wheel. He rocked it back and forth until the tires grabbed terra firma and we were back in business – all within ten or fifteen minutes, of which only a couple of seconds had been mind-numbingly harrowing for one of us.
When we were once again in the peaceful cocoon of our own home, I mentioned to H how slowly it had all unfolded and how calm and peaceful I had felt during that completely uncontrollable moment. I was surprised how long and slow that spinning slide into the ditch had been, and how I never felt fear. It seemed like it took forever to make that short trip from the relative safety of the road to the ditch. H said that it had all happened in a split second, and that only in my mind had it been a protracted event.
This minor event, which could have ended so differently, reminded me of a video I saw a few weeks ago. It was the one year anniversary of Captain Sullenberger’s safe landing on the Hudson. He spoke about the distortion of time during stressful events. I had no idea when I viewed this tape that I would soon experience what he and the interviewer were describing. (it continues to snow at this time and isn’t suppose to stop until sometime tonight)
Why dinosaurs are extinct
We didn’t go to Dad’s yesterday as planned. It turns out that C’s mom was a little confused about the date of her procedure. She had the wrong day. It’s tomorrow.
This past week has been a comedy of errors – what with the (so-called) theft of Dad’s tractor manual and now this. It’s a good thing C’s mother remembered in time because her procedure is a colonoscopy. Can you imagine going through that prep only to find out you had the wrong date? Yikes!
So tomorrow is the day… unless there’s another movement in plans.
My daughter-in-law found these awe-inspiring photos by Nick Brandt.
~
His next book of work, “A Shadow Falls”, will be published in October 2009 by Abrams Books (English edition) and Editions de la Martiniere (French edition).
Early Model Farmall Tractor – Sharon Pedersen
Here I am again. Can’t sleep. What shall we talk about?
The snow is hanging around, and they’re saying we will get more tonight – mixed with ice. We’re going down to spend the day with Dad tomorrow. C has to take her mother in for a procedure. Between the procedure and recovery period, C will need to stay with her most of the day. I hope the roads aren’t very bad when we leave.
We had an ongoing mini drama last week. Dad told C that the manual to his antique tractor was missing. He then proceeded to imply that half the free world had “stolen” it. After all, it didn’t “have legs.” He started with C’s daughter and her husband, worked his way around to us, and then The Brother. He would have accused President Obama, but he’s been too busy – what with his speech and all.
Both H and I talked to him, and C said he seemed calmer after talking with H. He’s so patient with Dad. Dad said that the cover had a picture of a tractor on it and my uncle’s name and birth date written across it. It was the uncle who sold him the tractor. We thought Dad had settled down, and accepted the whole thing when it all started again a couple of days later. He couldn’t let it go.
Finally H went down to talk to him. He found a manual with the uncle’s name and he found another manual that had a picture of a tractor on the front, but there was no manual that had both the uncle’s name and a tractor on the front. I think Dad finally started to realize that he was mistaken but pride wouldn’t let him admit it. Poor Dad. Poor C. He still grumbled into the next day about it.
C is a saint. I was afraid she would leave when he accused her daughter, but she told me she would never leave him. Who made this woman? And what did we do to deserve her? We are so fortunate.
Tell me the truth. Did you take it?
Male Cardinal 1-31-2010
I couldn’t stop taking photos of the birds yesterday. The sun came out and they kept lighting on the bare limbs of the crêpe myrtle next to my window. I have a tip for you. You must always plant a tree that will grow next to a second story window, and if you can put yourself to the trouble, hang a bird feeder in it. It will bring you joy.
Don’t choose a tree that will outgrow its spot. You don’t want it to rub against your house, and you don’t want to be forced to ruin its natural shape by pruning it to death. Crepe myrtles are one of my favorite trees, but I realize they don’t grow everywhere. Ask your local nursery if you aren’t familiar with such things, or research online. If I never tell you anything worthwhile again, this makes up for it. Magical things happen in trees, and you will have a bird’s eye view. Ha!
Female Downy Woodpecker
We have a family of four bluebirds. They’re making a comeback, and H wants to build a few houses for them. Who can resist smiling at these pieces of fluttering candy. I have a lot to learn, but what fun I’ve had playing with my new camera.
This fellow (junco) was staring at me. At least it felt that way.
Let this little guy (goldfinch with winter coat) be a lesson to us all. You may not be the prettiest in the room, but a combination of personality and confidence can win the day.
This is the rarest bird of all, pursued for his handsome markings and exceptional nest-maintenance abilities. 
I woke at 1:30 this morning and it’s almost midnight now. Don’t ask why? I have no clue. It’s just that old insomnia thing. I did take an hour nap this afternoon, but that’s it.
My eating habits were blown to bits. I didn’t eat breakfast. I almost always eat breakfast. Then we braved the snow-covered streets to pick up some curtains that I bought last week for the living room. We had every intention of being home for lunch, but good intentions pave some road to somewhere or other and are not always based in reality.
So we got home around 3:30. I ate a bowl of black-eyed peas, but I didn’t even want them. I wasn’t hungry at all. Isn’t that strange? Couldn’t be good for blood sugar levels – going without food that long. I never do that.
Then I napped for an hour and I wasn’t hungry at all when dinnertime rolled around, but I ate tilapia, red potatoes and this cauliflower purée sort of thing . Now it’s almost midnight and I’m wide awake. This could not have been an odder day.
I’m going to try to go to sleep now. “Try” isn’t the right word is it? Sleep shouldn’t be something we work at. Fall to sleep, drift to sleep, lull yourself to sleep. They sound better.
Here I go. Good night.
Bluebird 1/30/2010
It’s cozy in here. A candle is burning, a hot cup of creamy coffee is steaming, and the CD player is slowly squeezing out those long, silky notes – the ones that roll slowly down your spine like a warm summer shower. It’s snowing big mesmerizing flakes outside my window. This is my favorite kind of day. I love torrential rains or relentlessly long, slow snows that take the entire day to spread their billowy quilt of ivory across the earth.
There’s something about this kind of day that requires surrender; it offers an excuse to slow down and give in to the comforts of home and hearth. On a day like this, even if the phone rings with urgent news, I can do nothing about it. The very air is thick with reprieve. Everything must wait till another day. The inner self must be paid attention while the world stands and waits. The universe says so.
So gather your boots and scarves and mittens, pull out your sleds and climb your hills; build your men and throw your snowballs and make your ephemeral angels. I leave this merry work to you. I will stay here with my warm liquids to drink and pots of hot concoctions to eat and an old movie to watch. These are my snow days now, and I relish them.
Do repetitive noises bother you? They drive me crazy. Of course, there are a few people around here who would tell you that wouldn’t be a long ride.
My next door neighbors have this dog that barks incessantly. He will go for what seems like hours. Bark, bark….pause…..bark….pause…..bark, bark… Every time you think he’s finished…..bark……bark….
He’s over there now, barking his fool head off. I’m not sure if they’re home. They don’t neglect him or anything like that. He was a mutt they saved from the animal shelter, and I know mutts are great. I’ve had a few, but I believe this poor dog is a bad mix. Too much of this, not enough of that.
I know he drives the husband part of the couple crazy because she’s told me. She loves the dog, though, and even with all the issues with neighbors (an incident with another dog in the neighborhood, persistent barking, and aggressive snarling, but he’s never bitten anyone), she has chosen to keep the dog.
Before Dad had the stroke and we moved in with him for a few years, that dog almost drove me to distraction. It was hard to have friends over in the warmer months. We would go outside on the deck and sure enough, he would start barking.
One evening I stepped out on the deck. It was dark. All I heard was gerrrrr. The aggression was palpable. Scared out of my wits, I slowly backed into the house and closed the door. He had gotten out of their fenced backyard and was in my backyard, which he obviously considered his territory.
I dealt with it. I’ve lived in one suburb or another my entire adult life. I figured out early on that when houses are fairly close, people do things that annoy one another. It’s best to ignore most things because you’re bound to do things that bug your neighbors, too. I became a pretty good neighbor, doing all those neighborly things: taking cakes over when someone got sick or died, giving out great candy on Halloween, never playing loud music unless I invited the neighbors, and I never complained about anything.
So we put up with the barking dog, and offered no opinion when another neighbor complained about him. As for the next door neighbor, we had always spoken across the fence or from her porch to mine, but we were not what you’d call buddies. We were friendly but not friends.
Then Dad had a stroke and life became very difficult. I drove back and forth to the nursing home every day. It was 140 miles round trip. That’s when the next door neighbor started doing little things that made my life easier.
She would show up with an entire dinner so I wouldn’t have to cook. She would gather our mail or get our packages. She would let me know when something was happening in the community that I should know. She kept me up on all the neighbors.
After four months, we took Dad out of long-term care and moved in with him. Our house stood vacant for over three years. She literally watched over it for us. She offered up her son to mow the lawn when H couldn’t keep up with it. When a huge tree died in our backyard, she took care of finding someone to take it down, hiring them, and interacting with the company. All I had to do was pay the bill. I can’t tell you all the things she did that made my life easier – good, practical, no-nonsense things. She just removed things from my plate. It was such a gift.
It’s funny how that damned dog doesn’t bother me so much anymore. I’m not kidding.
They had another dog when we first moved here. She died a few years later. She was the sweetest, friendliest dog you could imagine, and her name was Bella.
Tomorrow is Friday. I’ll be stepping on those scales at Weight Watchers – hopefully a few pounds lighter. I’ve moved my body and eaten the right foods this week. I’m looking forward to spring, when I’ll be a lighter and hopefully healthier version of myself.
It feels good to do something constructive. There are always benefits beyond the obvious when we do good things for ourselves. The weight loss is a given, and the health benefits are expected, but that added sense of well-being that comes along with a healthier lifestyle is a bonus. This always makes me wonder why I don’t stay on track all the time.
This week has found me pushing myself to the television, shoving Leslie Sansone’s Walk Away The Pounds into the DVD player, and moving my long dormant limbs to music and the sound of her optimistic cajoling. Her videos are just right for someone with my level of abilities. That would be someone who’s practiced neglect and lack of restraint at the altar of personal health for a prolonged time.
Okay, that’s enough self-flagellation. I’ve decided to be more optimistic. Yes, this is me being optimistic. By the way, Leslie makes a number of videos to accommodate different levels of physical ability. They’re not only for sedentary potatoes like me.
I’ve eaten more vegetables this week than the entire month of December. We all know they make great munchies. I turn to them during that difficult time of day. Late afternoon – a few hours before dinner – is a killer for me.
H has convinced me to pay less attention to the cost of food and more to the quality and health benefits. As I mentioned before, I’ve fallen in love with blackberries. God only knows what they spray on them, but I wash them within an inch of their lives. H hears them screaming all the way upstairs. I know we should eat seasonal and local fruits and veggies, but I can’t stop myself.
I’ve had two memorable encounters with cashiers at my grocery store recently. A few weeks ago, after placing my items on the conveyor belt, the cashier, a middle-aged woman, looked up at me with a puzzled expression and said, “Wow, real food!”
Me ~ What do you mean?
Cashier ~ You have real food here. I don’t usually see that.
Me ~ What do you mean by real food?
Cashier ~ You know, vegetables and fruits and meats and eggs and stuff that actually has to be cooked. You must be a real cook.
More of a reluctant-sort-of-dabble-at-it-kind-of-cook.
The cashier went on to explain to me that most of the food that arrived on her conveyor belt was processed, canned, frozen or boxed — the microwavable – add water and mix – remove plastic from the top before baking sort of stuff.
A couple of days ago I encountered another cashier, a physically fit young man in his mid twenties. Cryptically, he said, “Wow, I’m impressed.”
Me~ What?
Cashier ~ Look at all these fresh fruits and vegetables. I usually see mostly meat, potatoes and canned and frozen stuff coming through here.
I just stood there and took credit for my choices instead of confessing my most recent attempt at W/W to rein in my bad habits. Those two cashiers said a lot about the way we eat, though. When we’re busy or tired or stressed, something is sacrificed. As a nation, we’re eating on the run, in our cars, and at our desks. Good eating habits are among the first casualties of a busy life.
The ritual of dining at a table with someone you like and having good conversation is too often demoted to eating something in isolation that comes out of a cardboard or polystyrene plastic container. We’re a culture on the go; there’s no doubt, but giving ourselves the gift of quality and health and companionship is essential. It’s part of what makes life worth living.
Choose something that smooths your feathers and salves your hurts. Be good to yourself. That’s what I’m going to try to do.
Let’s all go eat some fruit out of a pretty bowl now.
