Out To Coffee With The Girls

I was sitting in the coffee shop with four of my friends last week.  A man we all know, a business man and husband of another friend, stopped by the table for a minute.  "How are all you girls?" he asked politely.
I'm pretty sure if it had been Mark, he would have said 'ladies' and honestly, I'm not sure anyone else even noticed or cared.  Does it matter?
Mark's brother, who now lives in the South and has developed an accent to match, always talks about how he couldn't get along without the 'girl' who runs his office.  Every time he uses the word, my toes curl a little inside my shoes.  I want to ask how old she is, but I don't think he would get it and Mark would probably rather I just kept my mouth shut.
I suppose I could take it as a compliment to be called a girl but somehow it always feels a little demeaning. If we are girls, we must not be doing anything too important.  When we see a group of men, we don't call them boys, maybe guys but not boys.
Of course I wouldn't have said anything at the coffee shop.  That's the heck of it.  Who wants to be the crank that makes everyone uneasy over something as trivial as that?  I do write the script later in my mind.  It would be a great start to a short story.  I'll think about that for a while.

Thanksgiving Day Plus Two

We had a great Thanksgiving Day.  Drew and Em were here and although it sometimes seems like there should be a crowd around the table, we were OK this year with just the four of us.  Mark and I were just home for a short, lovely trip to New York City so we had plenty of hustle and bustle and were ready for a few quiet days.

While we were in NYC, we decided to visit the new Ground Zero Memorial.  It was kind of a whim.  On Monday, the museums are closed so we wandered down to the tip of Manhattan.  It turned out you needed a timed ticket, something we would have known if we had planned ahead but it was all improvised.  We walked over to the temporary headquarters and got a ticket without much trouble.  The 'Occupy Wallstreet' protester had been removed from a block right there the day before and the police were out in full force waiting for them to return.  Part of me wanted to hang around and watch the drama unfold but we didn't have time to get arrested so instead we spent the hour before we could enter the memorial in St Paul's Chapel, which has been continuously open since 1766.  We walked through the doors that George Washington walked through on the day of his inauguration, which seemed like a very American thing to do.

Once inside the Ground Zero Memorial we were struck by the beauty of the day and the fountains.  There really is a sense of shared grief and peace.  As we watched, a young woman, accompanied by an older couple, make a rubbing of a name. All of the 2,819 deaths are memorialized on the fountains.  We were glad to have made the time to visit.

Back home, it feels like a long way off and yet, a part of all our lives.  We ate our turkey and counted our blessings.  It's best not to be afraid of joy as the holidays begin.  Embrace it, I say, or maybe the theme this year should be 'Occupy Happiness.'

Knitting As Therapy

This week a dear friend of mine started chemotherapy for breast cancer.  It's a tough path to start down and those of us who have known her for a long time are trying to walk it with her, to offer what support we can, both practical and emotional.

She has scheduled an appointment to have her head shaved in the next few days.  We will go with her and then join our husbands for dinner to 'celebrate.'  It's a gutsy move but I think I might do the same.  It seems less depressing than watching your hair fall swirl down the drain one clump at a time.

It's probably in response to that thought, but I have been knitting hats like crazy in the past few weeks.  In general, I'm more of a mitten person.  My hands are always cold and I love all the beautiful color work in the mittens.  However, all of the hat patterns have been calling to me so I am knitting hats and giving them to my friend.  I just finished a soft cotton cap she can wear around the house or to bed if she needs something to keep her head cozy. One of the things I hadn't thought of until a nurse mentioned it while I was with her at the clinic is that her head might get cold at night.

When someone you love is sick or facing tough times, you look for just the right thing to do.  Mostly that is for them, but a little bit of it is, selfishly, for yourself.  It's easy to worry and fret.  The truth is that you can't make someone better.  You can only offer them your love and support.  You can walk with them, cry and laugh, and somehow, get through it together.

Just The Ordinary Days

We packed up and drove home yesterday.  Our lake year came to an end.  The last day is always a busy one.  There are lots of chores to do. Some of these can't be done until the very end and a few you put off or remember at the last minute, like Mark's act of 'eco-terrorism' as he called his harvesting of a small birch tree that he plans to use for a new frame-making endeavor next year.

I made time for a walk down to the point which is as close as you can get on foot to the little bay where I love to kayak.  I was hoping I might see a trumpeter swan.  On Monday we drove to Bemidji and along the way we saw some swans feeding in small ponds along the road.  I read up on them when we got back to the cabin.  After almost facing extinction, their numbers are now up and they often travel through Minnesota on their way to winter feeding grounds.  Some lake friends said they have been spotted on Ponto in the past several years.

I crossed my fingers and pulled on my rubber boots.  Along the way I snapped a few photos.  Just the little bits of color left and the patterns found along a path I walk almost every day when I am in Minnesota.  Small changes happen everywhere.

There were no swans in our bay on Tuesday but that is OK.  Maybe they will come later.  Maybe we will see them next year.   In the meantime, we finished our chores while loons called to each other on the lake.

My thoughts are already turning toward my family and friends back in Omaha.  The holidays are ahead and there will be gatherings filled with laughter and talk.  Lots of knitting to do and books to read.  It reminds me of a favorite poem by William Stafford.

Notes For The Program

Just the ordinary days, please,
I wouldn't want them any better

About the pace of life, it seems best to have
slow, if-I-can-stand-them revelations.

And take this message about the inevitable,
I've decided it's all right if it comes.

It's So Nice To Have a Man Around the House

When I was growing up we 'hired it done' once we got past changing the light bulbs.  Imagine my surprise when Mark entered my life and I realized that people could fix things themselves.  I should have known.  My grandparents certainly had that type of household, but that's another story.
Mark's moto is that 'no job is too hard if you have the right tool.'  Of course it took me a while to realize that was a justification to keep buying tools but that's another story as well.

This story is about a project that Mark made, start to finish for our cabin.  When we had to take down a dead tree, he remarked on the size of it and one of the fellows said he could take it to someone who would saw it into boards.  They did that two years ago and then Mark and Em stacked the boards so they could age.  Early this year, Mark picked out a board, took it to another fellow he met and had it trimmed to the size he wanted for a small shelf.

He and Drew selected birch twigs and, after Mark figured out how to cut them, the they stained them.
During our September trip up, Mark finished staining the shelf and secured it (with my help!) to the kitchen wall.

I am always amazed when these projects work.  It's not that I don't have faith in Mark because I do.  It's just that I didn't grow up with anyone who planned or measured or took the time to do things thoughtfully.
I have had to learn, from painful experience with my knitting for example, that a little forethought is a very important thing.

Anyway, Mark has ideas for lots of projects which is a good thing.  It bodes well for retirement.  Always nice for a husband to stay busy.  It's worth the price of a few tools.

November

We drove to the lake yesterday under ever-changing skies.  We arrived after dark and found the gate to our lane, not unexpectedly, padlocked. While this discourages intruders during these quiet months, it also lends to the feeling of entering the set of a horror movie.  Opening a creaking gate and driving down a dark lane was a little eerie.

This morning all seemed well and instead of feeling lonely, the lake seemed peaceful.  Some sun helped and a yard filled with birds felt like enough company.

Mark and I took the dogs for a walk and found all sorts of marvels.  When we were here a month ago, the trees were bursting with color.  Now, most are bare of leaves.  What that reveals are the quiet treasures.  Mark spotted a paper wasp nest suspended by a slender branch.  A white tailed deer later streaked by me as I drove to town for a few groceries.  I almost missed her because she blended into the woods so completely.

You have to look harder now to find each bit of beauty but it is there.  The few remaining bits of red and yellow seem almost out of place among these subdued landscapes.  I understand why the kids love the bright oranges of Halloween but the soft tones of the world right now remind me to slow down and pay attention.  I'm trying.

One Wacky Bird

We hang bird feeders here in Omaha and at the lake.  Most days it is soothing to watch the finches, wrens and cardinal dart and swoop in between visits for seeds. But for the past three days, I have been visited by a Red-bellied woodpecker who seems intent on bashing his brains out against my window.
It's not unusual for a bird to bump the window once in a great while.  That is an unfortunate side effect of having a feeder close enough to really watch the birds.  But this guy is on a suicide mission.

The first few times I thought it was slightly amusing, in that odd sort of way.  Then I started to feel bad.  Yesterday, I finally took down the feeder, hoping he would go somewhere else.  He hung out in the tree right behind the house and kept flying along the window on the same endless loop. I have a window covered with bird poop to prove it.

It reminded me of how my mind loops back and back over something that is bothering me. I can't quite leave it alone, even when I know it is not doing me any good.  I become the Red-bellied woodpecker.  There is a look my husband and kids give me that says 'let it go' when I have been talking about whatever subject is worrying me, but more often than not, the loop just keeps playing in my head.

I thought he was gone so I re-hung the feeder this morning and he turned back up.  At least he is eating. And he seems to be hitting the window a few less times.  Either he is wearing out or he is slowly learning to find another way to cope.   Maybe if I watch him for a few more days, I will learn something.