routine

Routine is good, I am told.

As much a free spirit as I have been in this life, there still is some routine that is really dear to my troubled heart!

The galley (kitchen in a house) in the bus just has to have a certain amount of organization, some routine and a lot of discipline.

In the house we had a small pantry, as well as an actual pantry that held bulk foods, the flour grinding mill and our fruit jars, both full and empty.

The galley in the gus has no such riches. There is a 6” deep cabinet about 18” wide that is the main pantry, plus a little space over the small refer. There is a cabinet over the built in toaster and a long, very narrow space above the dinette. And, under the couch is a drawer that can hold some bulk items, as long as it is not too bulky.

So, rather than buying groceries for a month, once a month. Now I buy every week or so. I try to not buy cans of stuff I won’t use for a while, the can storage gets full very quickly.

And talk about routine. When we have a meal I jump up from the table and put all the stuff away that has a home, put the teakettle on the range to heat dishwashing water and clear and organize.

I found a plastic box that is sold as a shoe box. It is about 5” high, 6 or 7 wide and about 13 long. It is my dishpan. I some soap in the box, some cold water and add the hot water from the teakettle.

It is easy and fast to get the dishes all washed and stacked.

In this size space, there is no room for last meal’s dishes. Besides, probably I will need to use the same dishes for each meal!

It is fun though.

Charlie the fish scientist and fisherman.

memory keepers

I was watching Antique Roadshow.

I know, but there is not too much going on here in this evening, and I did read a book today.

Someone came to the Roadshow with a coat that they thought came from the Civil War. Turned out it was made just after the war for the Confederate Veterans.

Which got me to thinking of my great great grandfathers, who were alive during the civil war era.

One was an officer with the Union Army, one was a soldier in the Confederate Army, I don’t actually know what the third was doing during that time, but he probably was in the war somehow, and he was from the south and the right age.

But tonight I was thinking of my mother’s grandfather. There was a war going on between his country and the one next door. That is between Germany and Denmark, Grandpa Jens home.

Guess he was not really mad at the Germans. Any way, he copped the draft (I think there was one) and came to America. He sent for his girl friend later.

I remember Grandpa Jens. He came to live with my grandmother (his daughter) for a while when I was young. Earlier, during what Grandpa Howard (grandmother’s husband) would always call the “hard times” and what we would call “The Great Depression” Grandpa Jens came to Idaho, bought a few acres on the edge of Boise and seriously grew vegetables which Grandpa Howard sold door to door to the better homes in the area.

It wasn’t a big living, but it did keep the wolf away during those rough times.

My friend Charlie is a fish biologist. He has been invited to talk this week about what has happened in the fish farming industry in the last 50 years. Those are the years he was working in the fish business.

We are the old guys, the keepers of the memories, if they are kept at all.

I always admire these artists aerial views of perfect farmsteads.
Unlike my place, these are always perfect.

statements

Artists are frequently asked to provide an “artist statement.”

In it the artist describes his or her viewpoint or points about his art, how those points fit into his or her larger view of life and the world, and maybe touch a bit on the technical system used to produce the artwork.

Done well it is extremely enlightening, revealing the intellectual part of the art work, as well as a few hidden motives. Done poorly it can be full of nice words with little insight.

It seems such an “statement” would be good discipline for non-artists as well.

I don’t have an art show coming up any time soon, and I have not written a real “artist statement” in a while, but I need to write and rewrite my “life statement,” from time to time. Now seems to be the time. Done well it will help me in unmeasurable ways. Done wrong it still has merit!

Lately many of my values have come into question. Not the kind of question that will result in my abandoning those values, but maybe I can and should shuffle them a bit, raise a few in the bottom third of the list up a bit and demote a few that I thought were very important, but may have lived their useful lives.

One reason I keep a journal is to help put thoughts and ideas and concerns into words. That still is not easy.

My major professor in art school used to scold the sculptors. Get a bunch of us in a room together and it is not long before we are talking shop (the how’s of our work) rather than the big concepts of the why’s of our work.

Pat Robertson made some comments the other day about Alzheimer’s disease. Pat often says things that rattle others, and this time was no exception. He did, however, bring up some really important questions.

No answers, but good questions.

up with down

We did some tile work for my sister a few years ago.

She wanted ceramic tile on her office floor so we went over and spent a few days doing the job. Miriam helped. She would run the water saw (Ceramic tile is cut with a saw blade that has industrial diamonds imbedded in the steel. To keep it all cool, so those precious diamonds won’t wear out prematurely, water is constantly running over the blade, hence the name.)

I would mark where I wanted the cut to go, and I had to mark which piece I wanted returned. Often she made a nice cut and brought me back the wrong piece. It was a good system.

So, we did this job for my sister.

I wouldn’t take her money for the job, but she bought us a big down comforter for our bed. Actually she intended it to go in the Teardrop trailer, but it never quite made it that far.

Down is a wonderful material. We sleep under the comforter in the dead of summer, it is just barely there. In the NW we have cool temperatures every night, and even in winter, it is our primary covering -- until it gets pretty cold.

It was on our bed in Idaho, but last trip I took that bed apart, loaded up the drawer boxes under the bed and brought the comforter to the motor home.

Ahh, such joy. Such wonderful sleep and dreams!

It may not just because of the down, but I like the idea.

one forward one back and one cogitation

All of all of this was such a simple situation.

Maybe I just was going soft, I don’t know. I am not 70 any longer, for sure, but the house and the garden and all was taking a toll. I, of course, did not notice, but friends and family did.

Daughter one saw disaster coming and in consultation with her sisters, she stepped up and offered a simple solution. It was as beautiful as it was simple and it was generous to a fault.

It was like a big puzzle, and quite quickly piece after piece fell into place: there was a buyer for our house; a friend offered us the use of his vintage motorhome; the state of Washington was ready to do what they could; daughter was approved as a caregiver and it was possible for me to get a break from caregiving when things get a little tight.

So we all gathered at the house we have owned for 35 years. The only house we have ever really owned. We, about 11 friends and family, packed and decisioned and threw and gave. We were fast and we were efficient. Miriam and I were going to downsize dramatically and suddenly.

That happened as we had planned. All was going according to that big plan.

Then the buyer got cold feet and decided he wanted to back out, it was his right and he exercised it.

I suppose I could bemoan the “things” that were given or discarded, but I refuse. It was a good purge, I am glad it happened, but that did not solve all problems. It just made my head work better.

The reality is that we have both a borrowed motorhome in Washington, but we still own a house in Idaho, on an acre, with orchard and shop.

Now what do we do?

If it was too much for me at one point, how will it be to combine that with place with the garden here in Washington state. We are still thinking, and working on that one.

Nutty as it sounds, I think I can do both, be healthier for it.

It is possible that just because I am old and should be wiser that it actually happened.

loosing family

Miriam has 3 sibling, all with the same mother and father.

There are step brothers too, a total of 4 of them, but that is a different story.

This week we got news that her oldest half brother Wayne had died. He was one that was not recognized as part of the family until very recently, since his mother did not marry his father. One of those old family secrets that is not really a secret for as long as the principles had hoped. We only saw Wayne a couple of times.

Would we contact Miriam's other 3 siblings.

So I called her little sister. None of them are too good about keeping in touch, btw. The phone number was no longer in service. The last time we saw them she had obvious Dementia and her husband, who was older than her, had had by pass surgery, had lost a hundred pounds and looked really bad.

It is my fault I did not keep in touch with them. Sister's husband used to call me from time to time, but not recently. I will always regret that one.

So what do we do? I tried to get in touch with the next sister: Ellen. We had a couple of old phone numbers, but I looked her up on the white pages and found her address and phone number. The address was the same she had had for many years.

That number was not receiving calls, I was told. Sounded like it could be true, and I had no other number.

That leaves Miriam's only full brother. He does not have a phone. I will call the place where he used to work full time and now works a bit now and again and see if he can shed any light.

I am not optimistic.

So, Miriam has lost a big hunk of her family. Neither of the girls have children we can contact (only one son between them and he has been on the lam for decades.

Miriam cried tonight as we talked about it. I won't bring up the subject again.

My head is a like a loose pile of bricks. LOL

wealthy

I am wealthier than I ever thought.

Even though it does not belong to me, I live “full time” in a Newell motorhome (check the price of the new ones if you have enough nerve), and I “own” a beach house.” In Idaho yet.

When our buyer became a looker, things changed fast. Rather than having a little cash and no real estate, I have a bit of real estate and no cash. Wow!

There are no bad people in this tale. The buyer had the right to change his mind. Daughters had their parents best in mind. Everyone had good motives. But still it when it is over, my head is still spinning.

With that cash I didn’t get I was going to build a studio/shop complex inside a barn that belongs to daughter 1. Maybe I needed a big new project and maybe I didn’t, but I am also working on a merit badge in consummate laziness.

So now we have this beach house 4 hours from “our” motorhome. I have known people to have get away homes further from their usual resident than that. One friend has a nice “cabin” that is not too much closer, so I guess distance is relative.

Every once in a while I can come down and take advantage of the shop, and putter in the “beach house” garden and act like a british lord on a very small scale!