Gratitude #83 - Sweet Biddies!
11 years ago
Saturday, June 13, 2009
labels
You can’t trust the labels.
This is not about the food industry, it is about my refrigerator.
Most of the time I have a bottle in the refer that proudly says it is 100% maple syrup. And so it is, or actually was.
The bottles are small and fit nicely in the hand and look good on the table. But once the spendy good stuff is gone, it is substituted by my mix of unlikely ingredients. Well, maybe not too unlikely.
Any way, yesterday Miriam opened the refer door and my wonderful bottle of fake maple hit the tile floor and broke. The bottle was clear full, of course. And I am sure that my brand of the stuff is a LOT stickier than the original.
She got it on her shoe and she was worried about the glass. I found the mop bucket and a tile setter sponge to clean it up.
I triple washed the spot, and then did the whole kitchen floor. Being a tile setter, you should know how I mop floors: on my hands and knees with a bucket of water and a big sponge.
It turned out all right, except for my nice bottle. I’ll put that on the grocery list.
This is not about the food industry, it is about my refrigerator.
Most of the time I have a bottle in the refer that proudly says it is 100% maple syrup. And so it is, or actually was.
The bottles are small and fit nicely in the hand and look good on the table. But once the spendy good stuff is gone, it is substituted by my mix of unlikely ingredients. Well, maybe not too unlikely.
Any way, yesterday Miriam opened the refer door and my wonderful bottle of fake maple hit the tile floor and broke. The bottle was clear full, of course. And I am sure that my brand of the stuff is a LOT stickier than the original.
She got it on her shoe and she was worried about the glass. I found the mop bucket and a tile setter sponge to clean it up.
I triple washed the spot, and then did the whole kitchen floor. Being a tile setter, you should know how I mop floors: on my hands and knees with a bucket of water and a big sponge.
It turned out all right, except for my nice bottle. I’ll put that on the grocery list.
Friday, June 12, 2009
captain peter coffin
Miriam's ancestor.
Family legend is that Peter Coffin was a Nantucket fishing boat Captain who tired of the sea and moved west until he got to the nw corner of Oregon and stopped.
Herman Melville in Moby Dick talks about a Captain Peter Coffin. Could this have been the one.
Family legend does not cover that one.
rain
This morning it is raining.
There is something soothing about rain out here in the desert. We don’t get a lot of it and when it comes it changes our perspectives, those of us who have our hands in the dirt, any way.
Yesterday I dug a couple more beds, added horse compost, and planted a lot of bean seeds. Some will be eaten green and even preserved for next winter, some will be left to dry for soup. It was a good day to plant and this morning it is raining.
It won’t rain long, not here, it will be a decent day, 76 or so, cooler than we often have in June. I deep watered the ground I was planning to work today, it might be too wet to work well, we will see. There is always more work to do.
My emphasis this spring has been to work hard to reduce future work. I converted more of my garden from wide row open beds, to raised beds with wood borders.
The books and experts all say to use redwood or cypress or teak for the boxes, but I used plain old cheap Home Depot studs. I put on a coat of good house paint, and screwed them together.
My beds are about 8 feet long. Most are 4 feet wide, but two rows are 2’ wide and one row is just a foot wide (it is next to a 40 foot long trellis). Though it is a lot of work to get all of these beds in place and the grass and the bindweed in tow, it pays off long term.
Some of my bed boxes have been in place for 4 years. I expect to have to replace the 2 by 4’s occasionally, but so far they are doing well.
Beds with edges have a sharp dividing line. This is in the growing area, this is the aisle. One I carefully weed with my faithful trowel, the other I trim with my equally faithful Stihl string trimmer. I put lots of horse compost in the beds and I never walk on them.
My watering preference is drip irrigation. Like the beds, it is a bit of a pain to set up, but once inplace, it puts the water where I needs it, on the roots of the plants, with the turn of a valve or two.
Each year these beds are a tiny bit easier to maintain. This is hard work with the intent of eventually doing less work.
And then when it rains, after I have the seeds and plants in place, I can find comfort and rest.
There is something soothing about rain out here in the desert. We don’t get a lot of it and when it comes it changes our perspectives, those of us who have our hands in the dirt, any way.
Yesterday I dug a couple more beds, added horse compost, and planted a lot of bean seeds. Some will be eaten green and even preserved for next winter, some will be left to dry for soup. It was a good day to plant and this morning it is raining.
It won’t rain long, not here, it will be a decent day, 76 or so, cooler than we often have in June. I deep watered the ground I was planning to work today, it might be too wet to work well, we will see. There is always more work to do.
My emphasis this spring has been to work hard to reduce future work. I converted more of my garden from wide row open beds, to raised beds with wood borders.
The books and experts all say to use redwood or cypress or teak for the boxes, but I used plain old cheap Home Depot studs. I put on a coat of good house paint, and screwed them together.
My beds are about 8 feet long. Most are 4 feet wide, but two rows are 2’ wide and one row is just a foot wide (it is next to a 40 foot long trellis). Though it is a lot of work to get all of these beds in place and the grass and the bindweed in tow, it pays off long term.
Some of my bed boxes have been in place for 4 years. I expect to have to replace the 2 by 4’s occasionally, but so far they are doing well.
Beds with edges have a sharp dividing line. This is in the growing area, this is the aisle. One I carefully weed with my faithful trowel, the other I trim with my equally faithful Stihl string trimmer. I put lots of horse compost in the beds and I never walk on them.
My watering preference is drip irrigation. Like the beds, it is a bit of a pain to set up, but once inplace, it puts the water where I needs it, on the roots of the plants, with the turn of a valve or two.
Each year these beds are a tiny bit easier to maintain. This is hard work with the intent of eventually doing less work.
And then when it rains, after I have the seeds and plants in place, I can find comfort and rest.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
me? depressed?
A man walks into a museum and starts shooting.
He is angry with a whole race of people. In his anger he does his case no good, and we all loose a bit of our freedom.
A deacon is standing in the foyer of his church, I have been a deacon a lot, and have stood in the foyer a lot too. He is shot and killed by a man who says he is “pro life.”
Whose life? What in the world does that mean? We all lost a bit of freedom in this insanity.
I get an email from a friend that claims to show that the first lady of our country is evil, and that an air head politician is somehow good for reasons that have nothing to do with either of them, and I loose again.
I went to a graduation the other day, one of the students praised his teachers for teaching them the evils of socialism. This was a bible school, and all of that is political code. Is that what our bible says?
My church refuses to help some one because they don’t attend church “enough.” What is that all about? We only help saints now? I am angry.
My daughter tells me she has a lump where there should be none. Of course I am stunned. Daughters are supposed to be models of health, and this one is, it would seem, except for that lump.
I am 72 now, and all I can see is that my generation has really screwed this world up, maybe beyond redemption. I cannot be proud.
My precious wife and friend has an incurable disease, and a family member promises he can “cure” her. He is an idiot, but I am not much better. And Miriam continues to deteriorate.
Am I depressed? Of course not, why do you ask? Why would I be?
He is angry with a whole race of people. In his anger he does his case no good, and we all loose a bit of our freedom.
A deacon is standing in the foyer of his church, I have been a deacon a lot, and have stood in the foyer a lot too. He is shot and killed by a man who says he is “pro life.”
Whose life? What in the world does that mean? We all lost a bit of freedom in this insanity.
I get an email from a friend that claims to show that the first lady of our country is evil, and that an air head politician is somehow good for reasons that have nothing to do with either of them, and I loose again.
I went to a graduation the other day, one of the students praised his teachers for teaching them the evils of socialism. This was a bible school, and all of that is political code. Is that what our bible says?
My church refuses to help some one because they don’t attend church “enough.” What is that all about? We only help saints now? I am angry.
My daughter tells me she has a lump where there should be none. Of course I am stunned. Daughters are supposed to be models of health, and this one is, it would seem, except for that lump.
I am 72 now, and all I can see is that my generation has really screwed this world up, maybe beyond redemption. I cannot be proud.
My precious wife and friend has an incurable disease, and a family member promises he can “cure” her. He is an idiot, but I am not much better. And Miriam continues to deteriorate.
Am I depressed? Of course not, why do you ask? Why would I be?
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
tired?
Who me? Do I look tired? You could get a quart of blood out of each of those eyeballs.
Today another friend made that comment: Dave you don't look so good.
the elephant
We had a good, mostly quiet anniversary.
I went to my support meeting and left Miriam a note (I gave it to her so she can remember better) that I was taking her out to eat and to change into nicer clothes. When I returned she was wearing a nice blue sweater and black pants.
We had a good time.
My sister came down with a huge cake for us (she does that kind of thing a lot!).
Deanna called: “Have you read the email from Lora?”
I just saw it but I have not read it.
“Let me tell you the main point so you can process it gently. Lora has breast cancer.”
That horrid C word. Not one of my beloved daughters.
It is very small and she will do all right I am sure, and she will live a very long time, but it still scares the dickens out of an old fool.
The course of action is ahead. She is a super nurse who has a good support group in her medical community. She will get the best care there is. I know all of that, but I hope I can be forgiven for shedding a daddy tear here.
Then I read the email. She talks about having an Elephant in her house, and that she does not like elephants and that this one is here any how. She hints at lowering stress and making changes, but it is too soon for anything but a bit of shocked retrospection.
Miriam had a lump in her breast once. She knew but did not tell me. My mom was dying of cancer and Miriam did not want to alarm me further. After we buried Mom, she went in for a biopsy.
I waited in the lobby while our good friend Doctor Kent, did the biopsy. He came back to where I was, with a big smile. “She is ok, dave.”
“I am so glad" I said, " I do not know how much more sadness I could handle.”
I went to my support meeting and left Miriam a note (I gave it to her so she can remember better) that I was taking her out to eat and to change into nicer clothes. When I returned she was wearing a nice blue sweater and black pants.
We had a good time.
My sister came down with a huge cake for us (she does that kind of thing a lot!).
Deanna called: “Have you read the email from Lora?”
I just saw it but I have not read it.
“Let me tell you the main point so you can process it gently. Lora has breast cancer.”
That horrid C word. Not one of my beloved daughters.
It is very small and she will do all right I am sure, and she will live a very long time, but it still scares the dickens out of an old fool.
The course of action is ahead. She is a super nurse who has a good support group in her medical community. She will get the best care there is. I know all of that, but I hope I can be forgiven for shedding a daddy tear here.
Then I read the email. She talks about having an Elephant in her house, and that she does not like elephants and that this one is here any how. She hints at lowering stress and making changes, but it is too soon for anything but a bit of shocked retrospection.
Miriam had a lump in her breast once. She knew but did not tell me. My mom was dying of cancer and Miriam did not want to alarm me further. After we buried Mom, she went in for a biopsy.
I waited in the lobby while our good friend Doctor Kent, did the biopsy. He came back to where I was, with a big smile. “She is ok, dave.”
“I am so glad" I said, " I do not know how much more sadness I could handle.”
how long?
Fifty three years.
The groom was tall and exceedingly skinny. The bride glowed as brides are should.
The whole thing was an exercise in irrational exuberance. Some, no doubt, while chuckling about the “cute bride” also wrote the couple off: “They won’t make it.”
They had little but their love for each other.
Now, 53 years later, it is pretty much the same thing! “All” they have is their love, but it has been a glowing success.
It was good to see the President romance his wife. Grand leaders don’t do that very often, it seems. I liked the images of two people madly in love.
We will celebrate together quietly. I have an Alzheimer’s support group this afternoon, a reminder that even strong good marriages have real problems. After that I will take her to Olive Garden for dinner.
It will be a simple meal of Minestrone soup, salad and bread. With the tip, the total will be the same as we paid for a month’s rent for our tiny apartment when they were first married.
I tease her sometimes. “If you wanted a husband who adores you, you got your wish.”
I love you Miriam. You have been a wonderful wife.
The groom was tall and exceedingly skinny. The bride glowed as brides are should.
The whole thing was an exercise in irrational exuberance. Some, no doubt, while chuckling about the “cute bride” also wrote the couple off: “They won’t make it.”
They had little but their love for each other.
Now, 53 years later, it is pretty much the same thing! “All” they have is their love, but it has been a glowing success.
It was good to see the President romance his wife. Grand leaders don’t do that very often, it seems. I liked the images of two people madly in love.
We will celebrate together quietly. I have an Alzheimer’s support group this afternoon, a reminder that even strong good marriages have real problems. After that I will take her to Olive Garden for dinner.
It will be a simple meal of Minestrone soup, salad and bread. With the tip, the total will be the same as we paid for a month’s rent for our tiny apartment when they were first married.
I tease her sometimes. “If you wanted a husband who adores you, you got your wish.”
I love you Miriam. You have been a wonderful wife.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Mary
Yesterday I was told that Mary had died.
The funeral was this weekend and I missed it all. Usually I get an email from someone about these things, but nothing.
I met Mary some years ago. She was probably in her late 60’s. She was smart, talkative and had just taken up snow skiing. At one point in her life, she and her husband ( who was quite a bit younger than she) had sold their house and bought a nice motor-home.
They traveled a bit in it, but mostly they lived in it.
When I was in charge of church camp-outs Mary and Doug would show up, driving their house. She would sit by the campfire and laugh. More than anything she was good company and a reminder to all of us of what we might wish to be like when we were that age.
We did that church camp-out several times and more than once Mary and Doug were there.
I remember playing a table game with Mary and some other women once on a church trip to bible camp. I figured out how to game the game quite quickly, at least the way we were playing the game, so I could win more than my share (I did not cheat, but I did figure the game out.)
Mary could not for the life of herself figure out what I was doing, and now I have forgotten. She was just a bit ditzy about it all, but in a wonderfully naive way.
One evening I went into their motor-home and talked about Miriam and Alzheimer’s. She was a wonderful listener.
But age catches up to all of us. She fell a few years ago and has not been quite so snappy since. I saw her a couple of weeks back in church. I walked up beside her and held her hand as we walked, her patent wonderful Doug on the other side.
I really did know she would go, she was too tired to last, but it still is not easy to let go.
Some one suggested that I seemed a lot sadder and more depressed lately. Maybe so.
Maybe so.
The funeral was this weekend and I missed it all. Usually I get an email from someone about these things, but nothing.
I met Mary some years ago. She was probably in her late 60’s. She was smart, talkative and had just taken up snow skiing. At one point in her life, she and her husband ( who was quite a bit younger than she) had sold their house and bought a nice motor-home.
They traveled a bit in it, but mostly they lived in it.
When I was in charge of church camp-outs Mary and Doug would show up, driving their house. She would sit by the campfire and laugh. More than anything she was good company and a reminder to all of us of what we might wish to be like when we were that age.
We did that church camp-out several times and more than once Mary and Doug were there.
I remember playing a table game with Mary and some other women once on a church trip to bible camp. I figured out how to game the game quite quickly, at least the way we were playing the game, so I could win more than my share (I did not cheat, but I did figure the game out.)
Mary could not for the life of herself figure out what I was doing, and now I have forgotten. She was just a bit ditzy about it all, but in a wonderfully naive way.
One evening I went into their motor-home and talked about Miriam and Alzheimer’s. She was a wonderful listener.
But age catches up to all of us. She fell a few years ago and has not been quite so snappy since. I saw her a couple of weeks back in church. I walked up beside her and held her hand as we walked, her patent wonderful Doug on the other side.
I really did know she would go, she was too tired to last, but it still is not easy to let go.
Some one suggested that I seemed a lot sadder and more depressed lately. Maybe so.
Maybe so.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
I can cure
I met an unpleasant little man this weekend.
He pushed his pinched face deep into my space and said: “I can cure Miriam.”
“No you can’t.” I have an aversion to secret cures. The real professionals rarely use that word. I
He insisted, and I resisted a tad louder than his insistence. I put both hands up. “Stop, I do not want to hear any cure. I do not want to hear any cure.”
But he did not leave my space, but burrowed in deeper and deeper. Each time he burrowed I answered that I did not want to hear and I increased my volume a tad until finally I was right in his face and very loud, and the house was full of family.
“I do not want to hear your cure, SHUT UP.”
Daughter one arrived and drug me off before I did violence to the unpleasant little man. I was full of adrenaline and ready to leave. “Go for a walk daddy, but don’t be gone too long.”
I cooled down and I understand the little pinched face man said to some one later: “What did I do to irritate Dave, we were just visiting?”
I sat on a lawn chair and my wonderful daughters brought me two plates of food and 5 of deserts, but it will still take a few days for the adrenaline to seep out.
These People who prey on families of the ill and infirmed and insist that they have a secret (always not from “regular doctors”) way to cure disease, providing you would pass a bit of green their way really anger me. I don’t want to hear any cures just now, particularly private ones, herbs or otherwise. Help me cope but don’t offer way out cures, please.
A good friend’s wife had MS. People came out of the wood work with all sorts of cures (all involving exchange of cash and trinkets). “I hate it when people try to pray on my misfortune,” she declared.
I am with her.
He pushed his pinched face deep into my space and said: “I can cure Miriam.”
“No you can’t.” I have an aversion to secret cures. The real professionals rarely use that word. I
He insisted, and I resisted a tad louder than his insistence. I put both hands up. “Stop, I do not want to hear any cure. I do not want to hear any cure.”
But he did not leave my space, but burrowed in deeper and deeper. Each time he burrowed I answered that I did not want to hear and I increased my volume a tad until finally I was right in his face and very loud, and the house was full of family.
“I do not want to hear your cure, SHUT UP.”
Daughter one arrived and drug me off before I did violence to the unpleasant little man. I was full of adrenaline and ready to leave. “Go for a walk daddy, but don’t be gone too long.”
I cooled down and I understand the little pinched face man said to some one later: “What did I do to irritate Dave, we were just visiting?”
I sat on a lawn chair and my wonderful daughters brought me two plates of food and 5 of deserts, but it will still take a few days for the adrenaline to seep out.
These People who prey on families of the ill and infirmed and insist that they have a secret (always not from “regular doctors”) way to cure disease, providing you would pass a bit of green their way really anger me. I don’t want to hear any cures just now, particularly private ones, herbs or otherwise. Help me cope but don’t offer way out cures, please.
A good friend’s wife had MS. People came out of the wood work with all sorts of cures (all involving exchange of cash and trinkets). “I hate it when people try to pray on my misfortune,” she declared.
I am with her.
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