And more of the same...

It seems as though we were busy all day yesterday, but yet, nothing important happened...it was the same old, same old...or was it?

Andy left very early to do the Tour of Crawford, a 60 mile charity bike ride.  He left us THE RED JEEP.  Mark, Tony and I decided to head for the flea market.  We all had our agenda:  I wanted plants at killer prices, Tony wanted golf balls and Mark wanted to eat.

Mark had a hot dog and popcorn, Tony found a few golf balls at good, but not excellent, prices and I found a plant stand for the yard.  Mark, on the other hand, bought a Brinkman charcoal smoker.  For the rest of the morning, we wondered how to get it home.  I did suggest putting the plant stand on my head...but we managed.  Those jeeps hold more than you think!

 

 

obituary bingo

Add three sisters whose average age is 75+, a visitors' book from their father's funeral in 1960 and what do you get?  Obituary bingo!

Don't get me wrong, I am not being disrespectful, I am being joyful.  To witness such a thing was food for my starving heart.  I came away a renewed woman.

Quickly:  There were four cousins who grew up together.  Linda who is 2 years older than I, Peggy and Susan who are a year older, and me.  We were not the only cousins (there were probably 40 of them) but the ones closest in age. 

The relationships were strained.  Linda, Peggy and Susan's connection was that their mothers were sisters.  I was my father who connected me to the tribe.  My mother wasn't overly fond of the sisters, nor were they crazy about the woman who married their baby brother.

Fifty years later, after my father died, I felt my connection to the family was severed.

A week ago, when Susan called to ask me to bring my mother and Aunt Katy (the oldest living sibling of 12, she's 84) to her house, I agreed.  Susan and her husband John live 2 hours from me, on the Juniata River.

The ride there was ...  strange?  Ever see the movie, Driving Miss Daisy?

When we got there, Peggy and Linda and Linda's mother were there too as well as Aunt Helen, the baby of the family with her husband Bill, and Maria, their daughter.

We started slowly.  We come from the same place, but our lives were so different.  Susan and John have two grown kids and are semi retired, living on the river and traveling.  Linda and her husband Dick have been married forever and have no children.  Peggy married at 46 to a much younger man and has never had children.  Maria is young, skinny, gorgeous, smart, has wonderful kids (her daughter was there, she's about 12 and adorable)...but she's not part of the core group, so we can't let her inflate our scores.

Suddenly, I walked into the kitchen to hear Aunt Katie mention the name of a family friend - a name that I haven't heard in years.

"Dead," says Aunt Francie.

"Frank's sister, Phyllis," Aunt Katie goes on.

"Oh, dead too!" says Aunt Helen almost cheerfully.

What?  Have I stumbled onto our own family version of Arsinec and Old Lace?

Then I find the reason for the roll call:  the guest book from Grandpa's funeral.

In 1960, after the funeral,the book was given to my father, the youngest son.  Why?  We're not sure.  When my mother was cleaning out my father's belongings after his death last year, she decided to return it to the family.

I returned to the deck.  My cousins asked what the mothers were doing.  I explained.

"Obituary bingo!" Susan's husband John exclaimed.  When we're old we can play it too!

Can we?  I hope we'll have time...you never know!

After laughing so hard our sides hurt, eating so much our bellies ached, hugging...oh how we hugged...and me realizing I do have a family...we left.

It was one of the days I'll write about forever...five cousins, one much younger, walking along the Juniata river on a warm summer day...

Susan, thank you from the bottom of my hunky heart...I do have a family!

And to Aunt Katy:  Yes, I did nurse my son until he was four...but no, you are not too old to hear that...you are the perfect age.  Tomorrow you won't remember it!

I apologise for the quality of the photo...we were having too much fun to remember our cameras!

From left...mom, Aunt Katy, the eldest, Aunt Helen, the baby, Aunt Francie!

Race car and me

Meet the newest addition to our family:

Race Car!

Don't even ask.  Race Car came to us much the same way Princess, the male cat did.  Andy, my 18 year old softie found him. 

With Princess, someone dropped a litter off behind the bike shop, with Race Car, the owner's son and daughter-in-law were moving and couldn't take him with them.

Between Pincess, Arnie and Race Car...it was a long evening.

Sock Progress?  Check out Franklin the sock gnome:

When I first put the sock on his head this morning, it came down and covered his beard!  The knitting is hard on the hands (cotton ease), so the progress is slow.  I know that I'd never use this yarn again, but it's making Tony very happy and will be perfect for what he needs.

Today's a quickie...I'm going on a mom-n-me adventure.  My cousin Susan called me last week and asked me to bring Mom and Aunt Kate (who is 84) to her house to visit with Aunt Helen.  Mind you, all these aunts are my father's sisters and I don't think there is much love lost between Mom and the two of them.  It's a two hour drive, Mom will certainly begin to feel stressed out, insecure, and that's when she lashes out and takes it all out on me. 

Short trip, loooooooong day.

If I"m not arrested for dropping two little old ladies off on the side of the road, I'll report in tomorrow.

 

Dinner is served!

Darn Gnomes...as soon as you do for one, the rest insist you do for them.  Meet Aubrey, Franklin's father...and while you're at it, check out my sock progress.  Keep in mind, Aubrey is the dad...he's much taller!!

Last night, everyone was busy.  Andy worked until 8, Tony went golfing and Mark just needed time to chill.  I decided to hand Mark cheese and crackers and hold off dinner until 8, when Andy would come home.

As soon as we were all in the same place (Andy worked 20 minutes late), I ran in to put on water for the pasta.  As soon as it was on, we got unexpected company.

One of Mark's friends from high school dropped by.  We sat down to visit and by time he left and I 'threw' dinner on the table, it was 10:25 PM!  We were so tired that Andy never made it to bed.  He dropped on the couch and was still there when I came down this morning.

I'm off to get a haircut.  Tomorrow is old hens' day.  I'm driving my mother and my 80+ year old aunt to Bedford to visit my cousin and another aunt.  This should be fun...Jill, want to come along???LOLOLOLOL

Be nice...

 

Why I gotta love him

In March, Mark and I celebrated our 20th anniversary.  It was a second marriage for both of us, I had two teenagers from my first marriage.  He had none.

I am seven years older than he is.  I was a baby when I had my first child, so probably the reason I didn't marry him first is that he was in kindergarten.

We came from opposite sides of the track.  His father was an executive, mine a blue collar worker.  Their six kids were pretty close, the three kids in our family were like three only children. 

I know his mother was not happy about it, just as my mother was so tickled that to this day, he can do no wrong.  As time went on, I fell in love with his parents and grandmother as much as I did with him.  When his mother lay dying, five years ago, caring for her was a true labor of love for me.

Mark's Dad was lost without his wife.  They were a close couple, he the main breadwinner, she the care taker.  A month or so after her death, Mark and his dad began taking computer classes one night a week, having dinner out, and then Mark would spend the night with him.  Guys' night out.

Two years ago, Dad's prostate cancer spread to his bones and bone marrow.  He had good days, bad days and pain.  Even though they no longer took classes, Mark would spend at least one night a week with his father.  It was their night, the highlight of their week.

Last summer, even though he felt good, his time was running low.  He said he would love to visit his sisters in upstate NY.  Mark made a few phone calls and arranged for them to meet at Aunt Ruth's house in Geneva, NY.  It was an eventful packed four days, Aunt Ruth is an organizer.  Dad and Mark, Ruth and Carl and Dad's other sister Anne and her husband, rode on a mail boat on one of the fingerlakes, saw an air show, a pagent about the Mormon Church and played cards until the week hours. 

Note:  Marks family is from Upstate NY.  Dad grew up in the Thousand Island's region, the same place we vacation every year.

Fast forward a year. Dad has had a rough year.  The cancer is spreading rapidly, he's in pain and is exhausted much of the time.  As usual, Mark spends his night with him, but occasionally, Dad feels too tired and sick to go out to eat.  Mark cooks for him at home.  Anne and Ruth have come to visit twice, more or less to say good bye, but he's done well enough that they planned yet another adventure north. 

Ruth, the planner, has arranged for them to meet at her house, with an additional guest:  Dad's Uncle John, who is 91, a world traveler and still going strong.  Mark and Dad were going to leave on Friday, the 15th and come home the following Monday.

Last week, when Dad was feeling perky, he asked if they could leave a day early and go farther north than Geneva, to LaFargeville, where he grew up.  He wants to see his grandmother's house, the islands and other places he never though he'd see again. 

Mark promised.  Then, this week, Dad was having a really rough time.  He doubted that he would get to make the trip.  Mark said it was his choice, but they could do as much, or as little, as he was able.  Last night, over dinner out, they decided to go for the whole thing.

Mark just called.  He made reservations for the two of them at Thousand Islands Inn in Clayton.  When Mark told the owner the reason for the trip, the owner said she was from LaFargeville and remembered both of Dad's uncles and their wives.

Now Dad thinks he knows her family. He thinks her father was the town doctor.  Sick or not, he's making this trip.  Mark said Dad pulled out his original birth certificate to take along, just in case they could go to Ganonoque to see the houseboats we rent each September. 

They will discuss this trip many times over the next few days.  Each morning at 7:30, Mark calls his dad.  Each night on his way home, he calls again to talk about the day.  Amost every night, Dad calls us to remind us about educational shows in the history channel, and Mark calls to remind him that all he has to do is call and he'll be there.

I can only hope that my boys inherit some of these genes...I'm sure they can see why I gotta love this man...even though there are days when I'm not sure I like him!

Dad and Aunt Ruth, Mail boat on Lake Skaneateles, July 2004

prozac for socks?

I"ll admit...I've viewed those other bloggers' sock adventures and sighed...my socks have no adventure to share...no excitement in their lives.  I felt their pain.  I could understand why they were depressed. 

When you are a sock, you are on the bottom of the heap. The excitement in your life depends on others.  You cannot make your own.  I felt bad.  Consider...the only excitement in my life, or my sock's life is downright dirty:

Last night, I went to bed with tears in my eyes.  I wished there were something I could do to brighten up my sock's day.

This morning, when I came downstairs, Franklin, my gnome, was looking depressed as well.  He hasn't had an adventure for quite some time...(do you think I"m living with a bunch of whiners???).

I killed two birds with one stone:

Yes, this is a different sock than the one in previous days.  I have TWO (yes, two, dammit) different socks going at one.  It is rare, but the first pair, at 12 spi, 15 rpi, was taking forever and I wanted to get to the good part of this pattern...completion!

So bite me!

The big difference!

As previously stated, you'd think that for a person who has been journaling forever, the transition to blogging should be easy.  My absense of days should prove that it is not.  I have been consumed with turmoil.  I was not sure how to proceed.  I began to admire those whose lives were open books...

As you can see, Arnie and I are down in the dumps...bummed waaaaaaaaaay out

The problem?  We are not men.

Oh, that's not to say that Arnie wasn't born a man, but his problems are similar. I was born without cohones, he was born without opposable thumbs.  Translation:  when life demands, we cannot A) Go golfing, B) Start the tractor and pretend you are working, C) Jump in your car and go to the lake and sail.

The problem:  Our home, as beloved as it may be, is on top of a hill.  All points are down.  I'm beginning to think that the entire farm must have been a pig farm, since the soil is fertile and lush.  All things, with the exception of these: 

Mark's tomatoes, grow and produce so quickly you can hear them grow. 

Thus the weeds on the shady perennial garden quickly overtook the perennials.  Mark decided that all plants should be removed and river rock substituted.  He got an estimate for the retaining wall and river rock:  $3,000.

Now, I have not been penny pinching for years only to spend the proceeds on a truck load of rocks, darn it.  I had no alternative solution, so I begged a little time to think while I pulled weeds and transplanted the perennials to other places on our property. 

Permission granted.

First I got one of these:

Mine is a knock-off of the Weasel.  It was only $19.99 at Home Depot and I was amazed at how nicely it worked.  Since the heat was oppressive and the garden is about 750 square feet, like Rome, it wasn't completed in a day.  I worked a few hours before the heat and a few hours in the evening, after the heat.  I would say that I worked my buns off, but at last glimpse, they were still there!

On Thursday, Mark pretended that he saw nothing.  On Friday, when I was out working before he left for work, he just got in his car and left without a word.  That night, instead of helping me, he jumped on the tractor and cut grass up to the edge of the flower bed.

Saturday, it was much too hot to watch me work, so he jumped in his car and went sailing. 

Sunday morning, just before the heat, he dragged Tony out of bed (6:30 AM) and they escaped by going golfing.  Since this is a gardening entry, I will say that was the last straw.

I headed for the flea market, where I found a few more plants to add to the new beds (where I wrestled with ivy and replaced the soil).  Coming home at noon, I planted as soon as the beds were in the shade and then went to my room for a healthy nap. 

That night, I tendered my resignation as gardner.  I no longer care what he does, as long as I get to golf while he does it.

Now...the big quandry, do I tell all my cyber friends and family about this?  Hmmmm

Onward and upward, life does go on.  Andy has nearly polished the paint off his new (to him - it's a '92) jeep:  It does look wonderful:

The orange blotches are reflections...the paint looks magnificent.  Here's another view:

On their way to work...together...

Yes, they work at the same bike shop.  Oh and yes, that 'thing' getting dressed in the passenger seat is Tony, my baby.  And yes, that is hair...and double yes, it's naturally curly.