Grasshopper Summer 2012

The hoppers have been pretty bad this season. Big as horses.. . . . . . Some of my cartoons may be published in the local paper soon! Stay cool, Ya’ll !!!!!!!

Read Full Post »

Cabinets and Clutter

Spring cleaning’s an excellent idea, but let’s face it; only the superior among us actually tackle this annual cleansing ritual. Consistent spring cleaners have my upmost admiration. Folks who move frequently needn’t bother. With each move comes a general purging, a realization that one definitely does not need that half packet of baking yeast at the back of the kitchen cabinet or the last few drops of hand lotion in the bottle.

Previously I’d attributed my pack rat tendencies to other origins. For instance, there was the depression mentality I’d inherited from my parents. They’d lived through that time, so it was an appropriate response for them. But why me? Zack is the same way, so I joke that the memory of extreme hardship might be passed along in genetic material. Then there’s the fact that I didn’t grow up having absolutely all I wanted or everything some of the other kids had. Mind you, most of these items weren’t necessary to sustain life. I was given richer gifts than material things.

I’ve hit upon yet another excuse for too much stuff, another rationalization. My kids will just love this. When a person settles into a place for the long haul and does NOT move about, items multiply like bunnies at the backs of dark cabinets, shelves and closets. This epiphany was driven home today in a big way. Bear with me for a little segue.

Zack’s woodworking talents have grown by leaps and bounds proportionate to his free time in retirement and improvements in motor skills post Guillain-Barre. If things continue in this vein, he might as well learn construction and build us another house. We don’t have enough room for all his creations. As he produces more and more wonderful pieces, many we previously used and enjoyed are pushed aside. I’ve been “asked” more than once, “Just put this in your art studio?” Only once have I put my foot down, flatly refused to allow displacement. In most cases, it’s been the push I needed to let go of something, the departure of which was long overdue. I’ll admit to hiding a couple of things in the barn. If they deteriorate, so be it. There was enough sentimental value that I couldn’t toss them to the curb like other items that have been quickly snapped up there in the past. Some things I’ve sold. I’ve given much and more to the Pot O’ Gold Thrift Shop at the Lutheran Sunset Home. This new Bosque County Buy, Sell page on Face Book is wonderful for recycling as well. I had yard sales in Florida, but refuse to do them here.

Zack’s latest spate of activity has involved all our bathroom cabinets and shelves. When we resurrected this poor, neglected, little farm house a decade ago, we purchased the bright, white medicine cabinet, shelves, and other pieces from a large home store. I thought they were horribly expensive at the time, though they were certainly only particle board beneath the shiny, new paint. They’ve served us well for years, and I would happily have kept them forever, refreshing with a new coat of paint if necessary. Zack had other ideas. It’s not as if we’re saving money by going “homemade by loving hands”. The lumber and vintage or restoration hardware Zack chooses are substantial. Our new pieces are solid wood and gorgeous, lovingly made and finished. There’s also a pride of workmanship which is priceless, especially to someone paralyzed from the neck down for most of a year and still on the road back.

During that same year, it was impossible for me to shop out-of-town for items unavailable locally. It was difficult enough to visit the grocery or pharmacy here for a long while. All my life I’ve been guilty of the “if one is good, two are better” mentality. I’ve purchased every recommended anti-frizz hair conditioner on the market, and most are still in this bathroom. But during that year, I found myself needing to be certain I had enough staples like toilet tissue, toothpaste, soap, prescription meds, aspirin, canned goods, things like that. I learned to shop online, sometimes in quantity. In short, I overstocked. Big time. I could have supplied a small army.

As I’ve removed shampoos and conditioners from the bathroom shelves, medications, cotton balls, swabs and first aid supplies from old cabinets, I’ve come to an astonishing conclusion. I probably didn’t need those seven containers of TIGI Extra Strong Hair Mousse after all.

Read Full Post »

The Zacharias Technique

Zack and I aren’t your typical family. I’ve admitted in print that we’re not “baby people”, which would certainly make us seem almost inhuman to many. (We like babies fine from afar, appreciate them and revel in your joy of children and grandchildren. We’ll adore and dote upon any presented to us by our own. We just don’t want to kiss, hug and squeeze every random infant we encounter like most true “baby people” I know. OK, so that’s one way we’re different.

We choose to live in an old, drafty farmhouse in the country, on a ranch that’s rather a work camp. That’s another difference. We’d rather make something or read than watch network television or reality TV. We’re opinionated, stubborn and discuss ideas.

Another difference will make us seem positively un-American. We don’t like sports on TV. Zack did previously, but with current filming techniques, he tunes in no longer. The cameramen pan the crowd for strangers cleaning fingernails, using cell phones, chewing gum. More reality TV. No thanks. Sportscasters impart useless fluff, attempt wit and fill air time. There are close-ups of players’ and coaches’ faces. Rarely do you view the whole field/court to follow the entire play. I never, ever enjoyed sports on TV, would rather watch paint dry.

As far as driving to a stadium in heavy traffic and paying good money to park one’s car in what will later become grid lock; it’s a joy we avoid, having both previously experienced that pleasure.  This must be why God invented beer and tailgating, like scopolamine for childbirth decades ago. (Google it). After the substance hits the system, the patient remembers no pain.  Beer makes sporting events possible. Even in the comfort of one’s own home, it dulls the senses enough to survive the down times.  This isn’t the only beneficial effect of beer, but without it, where would sports be?

Stadium sticker shock is enough to send one back to the couch, chips and cooler. Prices of tickets, drinks and food have risen to the point that the average American family (if there are any left) is unable to enjoy a day at the ballpark/ stadium for under several hundred dollars. This is no less than a national tragedy. Saving enough money to take the kids to a game (or likely putting it on credit cards and agonizing later) is now akin to saving for vacation. Folks wish to share a happy childhood memory with their children. It’s not right that a parent must mortgage the farm to make it happen or sit in the nosebleed section.

Zack and I were discussing the taxes people pay in certain cities to build large sports stadiums and arenas. Does this benefit the actual tax-paying resident who can’t afford a ticket every week? Does the renown of a major sports team (when winning) in one’s own fair city put money back into this guy’s pocket? Is it worth it?  I say no. It may bring business to the municipality and money to other pockets, but it will never find its way back to the average citizen. Are bragging rights for “your team” (a bunch of sometimes fairly otherwise worthless guys you’ll never know) worth it? How many big teams (or their multi-millionaire player/ heroes) pitch in to help build “their new house”?

The die-hard, inveterate football fan might reverse our own preferred Zacharias Process described at the end; use the wonders of modern technology to watch ONLY football. This means no commentary or cheap filler/ banter during time-outs and injuries. Just pure football; athletics the way sports was meant to be. Zack did a quasi-scientific study.  Each play takes an average of approximately 8 seconds. Say there are 30 plays a quarter. This would be 240 seconds x 4 quarters =almost 1000 seconds. Divided by 60 that’s about 15 minutes of real action. Using the Zacharias Technique, one might distill the entire game viewing down to fifteen minutes, leaving the remainder of the afternoon for other activities including more enjoyment of refreshments and the company of any guests who shared the vision.

OK, enough ranting. Bottom line is that the DVR that Zack never wanted but now loves paid for itself during the Super Bowl. We weren’t inside glued to the game or Madonna’s halftime show, but we did save it all to fast forward for the commercials. Not having to watch the pregame show or actual football; satisfying. Not suffering Madonna; awesome. Viewing only commercials in about ten minutes; priceless.

Read Full Post »

The Smoky Eye

I’m on the verge of cancelling my subscription to my last fashion magazine. All these years I’ve perpetuated the myth in my own mind that it’s possible to be fashionable in my current lifestyle. Maybe not so much. Perhaps it’s time I accept reality. I spend most of my time in well-worn jeans and patched, ripped and perpetually stained work clothes. This is real life, my life. I get really dirty on a regular basis.  Still, I continue to buy “good clothes” as if I need them, as if I frequent really nice places on a regular basis. I don’t. But hope apparently springs eternal. Or delusion simply persists. I don’t live in New Orleans, New York or Miami any longer. I’m ready to accept this reality.

Even at this age, in this place, I’ve tried to stay current with whatever Madison Avenue has shoved down our throats as “must have”, au currant fashion. A piece here, a piece there. A little lace when lace is in style. Recently I read about the popularity of “the smoky eye”. For pity’s sake, I’ve been doing the smoky eye for over thirty years and never stopped. Why mess with success? It’s simple, fast, and easy. You don’t need expensive cosmetics to produce the desired result. It makes eyes look bigger and better. The smoky eye is a can’t-fail technique, tried and true. And it’s in magazines yet again. Everything comes back around with time. It finally dawned on me that for younger women who buy these magazines, these styles, ideas and techniques are new. Well, duhhhh. This was a rather startling, if glaringly obvious revelation.

When a woman reaches a certain age, she’s likely gone through several permutations of smoky eyes, straight, curly, long, bobbed, big hair, and iterations of metallics, bell bottoms, straight, skinny, cropped pants, previously called pedal pushers or Capri’s. The more mature among us remember when flip flops were called thongs which are now something else entirely. We’ve been through high, low, kitten and weirdly shaped heels, ballet slippers, pointed, round, square, and peep toes.  Live a few decades and see skirt lengths, widths and styles rise, fall, and change. Bags have been horizontal, vertical, shoulder strap, hand held, satchel, small, large and huge. I prefer huge.  We’ve gone through rustic, preppy, frilly, nautical and masculine fashion trends, to name a few. Where once it was necessary to stick to one look each season to remain in style, it seems now that anything goes. Why do I need a magazine to tell me what to do? And at this age, I rarely heed advice from anyone on just about any subject, so why fashion?

After a while, you feel you’ve seen it all. There’s been one notable exception lately, and that’s the cage shoe. I must admit that one was a big, strange surprise. Never really saw this before. How in the world did shoe designers come up with such a weird look and manage to sell it to a gullible public?  Well, they do it all the time. Why am I so surprised? I still can’t get used to it, possibly because it looks so much better on long, skinny, young legs). But I bought a pair anyway. They may be my last, great fashion hurrah/ mistake.

The only place I can usually wear my cage shoes or any of my other fashionable clothing or accessories is to religious services or to the Cliftex movie theater. At the Cliftex, friends need a couple of glances to recognize me when I’m dressed up. They always look shocked and surprised. This makes me realize how ratty I must look when I run to town for barbed wire or range cubes. You can get away with this in the country, thank goodness. So maybe cage shoes would look a little silly, too extreme. I usually don’t have time to change out of my ranch clothes before dashing to the movies anyway. I should make more of an effort to knock off work earlier to “clean up good”. So if you see me dressed up, please don’t laugh. At some point I’ll feel I must wear the great clothes I’ve collected all these years while I was so interested in fashion. In style or not, I’ll need to use them to justify the investment. I’ll be that weird old lady who drives her dilapidated farm truck to town, shopping for Geritol in high heels, wrapped in an ancient, moth-eaten fur coat.

Fashion Fairy, the ultimate authority!

Greased Lightbox

→←+–↻

Loading image

Click anywhere to cancel

Image unavailable

Read Full Post »

Keyhole Garden

And so it begins. . . . . .

A few years ago, Deb Tolman, Ph.D. (Dr. Deb) arrived in our area. She began sharing her approach to sustainable landscaping, living, education and building practices. Dr. Deb leads a garden club that charges no dues, hosts field trips to places of interest, offers workshops for great projects, helps keep alive a farmer’s market, and encourages folks in general. She’s also an expert on worms. Not your typical gal next door. Since Deb introduced the concept to the area, there have sprung up over the last three years about sixty keyhole gardens. A workshop produced the example at our local Ace Hardware store. Last summer during the drought, few conventional gardens in the area could survive much less thrive. Most of us couldn’t afford to water daily; and city or community water with chlorine isn’t so well tolerated on regular basis anyway. Not everyone had access to well water, and there was some fear that might become scarce also. At the point it seemed we might run out of water for humans, it seemed frivolous to irrigate failing gardens. Most of us sadly gave up after months of work and no little expense. It was too oppressive to work the gardens by mid to late summer anyway. The heat and dryness wore us down. The only gardens going strong were the keyhole gardens. These are raised beds of a six foot interior circumference, built from things like cedar staves, brick,

Zack mortaring our rocks

concrete or rock. They are mortared or not, as required. The walls are two feet high to discourage local armadillos and cottontails. (We built ours in Stinky’s backyard to protect it from deer and raccoons. MOST of them will stay away from even an aging, overweight, night-blind, hearing-impaired blue heeler). At one point in the six foot circumference of the garden, there is incorporated a “keyhole” cutout. This allows the gardener to step into the circle to “feed” an interior basket for composting. The layers of filling, similar to those of a lasagna garden, will eventually become soil. You may Google both lasagna and keyhole gardens for images from all over the world and more information than you’ll ever need. Deb has a useful video on keyhole gardens as well, and a website: http://www.debtolman.com This raised garden has no floor other than the ground and is filled with (thin) layers upon layers of “brown” items such as water-soaked cardboard, newspaper, shredded junk mail, aged manure, brown leaves, phone books, programs, even cotton or wool clothing. There are three parts “brown” to one part “green” like fresher manure, grass and plant clippings, coffee grounds, and compost items. We’re planning to use a few horse apples toward the bottom of ours. The interior sides are lined with cardboard. The central basket (cylinder) of wire is created and installed after the first layer of cardboard and rises a foot above the garden wall. Composting and watering will occur in the basket. You throw all the good stuff in the basket, job it down/mix with a length of rebar. A little manure will disguise any odors that might offend human noses or entice canines or raccoons. Deer and cattle, being vegetarians, are deterred by stinky smells. Nutrients and water will eventually emanate from the central basket. The whole garden is kept wet and damp in the beginning while the “cooking” ensues in the layers below, and rain will water all. It should take only a month or two before all those layers become rich soil. Any natural non-protein substances may be added when making the garden. Deb even used an old feather duvet once. But you won’t find me wasting down on my garden unless it’s beyond salvage. Everything is topped off with a relatively thin layer of topsoil. Wadded newspaper can be used later as mulch under plants. We only spent money for mortar and topsoil. The day you lay your first soaked cardboard on the ground, all manner of creepy crawlers come up from the ground to munch. And that’s the whole idea. You invite rolly-pollies and worms into the structure to do the aerating for you. They need to feed off the carbon. We used rocks from the ranch here and a few from a neighbor’s place, learned a bit about mortaring. It was hard work, and with rocks, a challenging, creative puzzle. We’re filling the keyhole garden now, and you can’t imagine how much material is necessary. We hope to plant onions and garlic within the week! Wish us luck!

Not finished yet! Still have to fill it!

carving a few initials in the mortar

Looking good!

Almost there.

You didn't think I'd let him have all the fun, did you?

Greased Lightbox

→←+–↻

Loading image

Click anywhere to cancel

Image unavailable

Greased Lightbox

→←+–↻

Loading image

Click anywhere to cancel

Image unavailable

Read Full Post »

Older or Wiser?

I wish people would please stop texting me. Folks seem to assume that everyone uses all this new technology. I don’t totally live in the past. I love my computer, DISH Network, DVR, running water.  But I’ve explained that I don’t text. I don’t want to.  It would require the use of reading glasses. Anyone who saw my post on the subject knows those are usually atop my head instead of in front of my eyes where they could so me some good. I also resisted microwave ovens, cell phones and debit cards. Now I don’t know what I’d do without them. Never say never. Maybe one day I’ll text.

I had two text messages awaiting me on my cell phone today. I have no idea when they arrived since I’m totally oblivious to the little message notices. Suddenly the phone just let out two, plaintive little beeps, as if it were in pain.  I see my rebellious, anti-message behavior as proof that I’m not a slave to modern technology. Maybe I’m just lazy. The few I receive are usually ads anyway. When I asked Zack to check these messages for me, he deleted without looking. He’s worse than I am. So if you texted me, please call on the phone instead. Your message is lost and gone forever. Any subsequent messages you send that Zack gets his hands on will meet the same fate.

I suppose my resistance to texting simply confirms what I’ve suspected for a long time. I’m a dinosaur in a hundred ways, officially old. I don’t care to spend a large sum of money each month to be connected to the Internet 24/7. If I could easily afford a smart phone, I expect I’d enjoy one. But other things are more important. So there are no Aps or mobile coupons in my life.  I’ll struggle to survive this deprivation.

I also like peace and quiet. I don’t need the MP3 player in my ears 24/7 nor the TV. Were you surprised I own an MP3 player?  I enjoy it but also like to hear night noises, birdsong and simple silence. Is this a bad thing? Lately I’ve rediscovered knitting, sewing and needlework. Well, I never really lost them. But for many years, it was hard to find time. Truth be told, it still is. Even now, I can never fit into each day all the things I wish to accomplish or might simply enjoy. I still must work hard to have my little pleasures. The other day I even sat down to play my ancient, challenged piano. Need a new one for sure. (P.S. Added later: Story about piano to follow).

Zack's latest masterpiece, my new easel!

Zack made me a massive, beautiful, oak artist’s easel! I have no excuse left now NOT to paint, other than the ongoing time constraint issue. He asked if his creation would be worthy of my future painting endeavors. The question is whether or not the paintings will do justice to his gorgeous easel!

Zack and I have both been reading more. For years there was no time for me to read at all. Or I squeezed it in late at night instead of sleeping. Sleeping always seemed such a colossal waste of time when there was so much else to do. Now I enjoy and need it more. I’d still rather stay up half the night. If anyone around here would let me sleep into the morning, I would do so in a New York minute. Pleasures like sleeping enough and reading, baking, knitting, writing and drawing are such luxuries these days. My son and I have been discussing via email/Skype (see, I’m not totally backward) whether reading is a pleasure, a luxury, a crutch or an escape. Perhaps one might say these things about sleeping as well. I don’t really care. I like them both. I saw a quote claiming that people who don’t read books live only one life. People who read books live thousands. I liked that.

If you were impressed by the mention of the MP3 player, you’ll be ecstatic to know I read most of my books now on a Kindle. Not Zack. He enjoys the feel of a real book in his hands. Once I’m involved with the story, it matters not a whit o me whether the words are on paper or an electronic screen that looks like paper. As a very small girl, my daughter Becca learned to read with Archie Comics. My son Josh got hooked on fantasy adventure as a child. It doesn’t matter how one starts or continues, as long as one reads! As he is with most techie things, Josh was the trailblazer who introduced us all to the Kindle. Because he makes extensive domestic, transatlantic or transpacific trips for work, he takes four or five books along. He previously carried paperbacks. Now can take hundreds on one Kindle now, perhaps thousands.

So maybe I’m slowing down or perhaps adjusting to this forced “early retirement” lifestyle that arrived unexpectedly with Zack’s paralysis.  Maybe I’m exhausted from all we do.  Maybe after a lifetime of putting others before myself, I’m  indulging in activities I enjoy. I even like  naps now, notwithstanding my previous aversion to sleeping. Am I older and slower or finally perhaps (one can only hope)  just a tiny bit wiser?

Read Full Post »

Joys of the County-Wide Yard Sale

Ah, the joys of the county wide yard sale! This year it occurred as March ended and April began. Perhaps it’s sick, but as an enthusiastic (certainly not compulsive/ every weekend “yard sale-er”), I eagerly anticipate this annual event and try to enjoy it when I’m able. (I asked for time off from “the boss”. He wasn’t pleased, but he was cooperative). I suppose it’s the thrill of the hunt, exhausting as it is, hoping to find a treasure or bargain. It’s a time to see those one hasn’t seen in ages, to meet new neighbors and discover interesting things about more familiar folks. This year, it seemed in many ways to me like a quirky metaphor for life in general.

I pored over the list of sales, plotted my “plan of attack”. Which area of town to hit first? Where was a greater concentration of participating homes? How might I maximize my time, get more bang for the buck? I made a game of it, not an exact science. No matter which sale I first visited, I’d be missing opportunities at another, at fifty others. So many choices. If I took a left, I might be missing that perfect find at a sale on the right (sort of like life. “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood. . . . .”) What method might determine which home or section of town (or rural countryside) would yield the best stuff?  Over the years, I’ve found some of my most memorable buys at the most modest homes, so the priciest real estate isn’t always the answer!

The descriptions given didn’t provide enough detail to narrow my search, and there was no mention of certain items I’ve been hoping to find (like older metal patio furniture —- Anyone have some to sell?) So just as in life, “You rolls the dice and you takes your chances”. Unless that perfect item is bought out from under your nose, right in front of you, you’ll never know the treasure you missed (but the possibility might haunt you). And remember, if you snooze, you lose. Return for something you wished you had bought, it will almost certainly be gone!

One thing’s for sure, one man’s trash is most emphatically another man’s treasure. Sellers were happy to see things go in exchange for cold, hard cash. Buyers left happy with their purchases, no matter what they were. I’m sure people looked at some of the things that delighted me and wondered why in the world I would want them. I KNOW I wondered that about some of the things bought by others. Those of us who hope to find something vintage or antique might have no interest in children’s clothing or toys, exercise equipment, house wares or knick knacks. Different strokes for different folks.

I forgot my sun block, and began searching fairly early (with a rapidly reddening face) for an acceptable straw hat. It took a few stops before I found it, and the price was oh so right. At the next stop, I was complimented by two people on my hat! Throughout the remainder of the day, I received more compliments on it, which brought a chuckle every time. Perhaps I should wear hats more often, not only in my garden!

From several people, I learned about and purchased new plants. I saw old friends and met new ones with similar interests in gardening. I saw friends and acquaintances, met a neighbor whose name I’d heard (connected with musical presentations). He was providing his wife with very nice background guitar as she greeted prospective customers. (What a pleasant and surprising way to finish off Day One!) Everyone who approached heard the music and broke into a wide grin, stayed a while to enjoy, and left happy (even if empty-handed).

I did find a few treasures, even a few “manly things” for Zack (like ammo boxes, a rifle case, old gas cans without the annoying childproof caps. There are no children here, and those government regulated safety features are as difficult for a recovering Guillain-Barre victim/survivor as they would be for a child). I went on a couple of wild goose chases into the surrounding countryside. At the end of one particularly long and winding road (that I’d never traveled before), there was a “sold out” sign on the locked gate. I must admit that the view was worth the drive. Sort of like life. It’s not only about reaching the goals. It’s really all about the journey!

Read Full Post »

Purim !!!!

I did some drawings (poster board size)  to use at a Purim celebration on Saturday. So I decided to turn them into one, big Happy Purim Card for my blog before they get colored and scribbled on by a lot of kids and tipsy adults! I didn’t manage to get all the drawings to arrive here in their entirety, and if I have time and energy, I’ll fix it tomorrow. Or not. So Happy Purim !!!! See if you can identify all seven— The first banquet, the beauty contest, Mordecai refuses to bow down to Haman, Evil Haman (talks to the King about the proposed genocide), Esther pleads her case to the King, Haman and his ten sons are hanged, and the people all rejoice at the next banquet!

Later. . . . . . ..  (See below).

 

After kids of all ages finished coloring and embellishing, they looked like this!

A good project and different Megilla Experience !

Each group had five minutes to work on a poster.

 

Read Full Post »

Oasis

It’s official. We’re too happy. Perhaps you know someone (usually “of a certain age”) who says things like, “Well, I’d like to [do this or that/ go here or there], but I think I’ll just stay home; I have so much to do”.  Well, I think we’re each becoming THAT GUY.

I’ve always been a homebody. When I was a little girl, I was a “mama’s baby”. I didn’t really want to go to school and fought it like the dickens until I discovered it to be mildly interesting. I definitely managed to go out into the world and experience life despite my shy beginnings. But at heart, I’ve always been a homebody. Whether it was a dorm room, an apartment, a little walk-up in a converted blacksmith shop/carriage house in the heart of Greenwich Village, a island bungalow in Florida or a ranch in Texas, I always made home my oasis. My late, ex-mother-in-law accused me of making home too nice. She claimed this was the reason my kids didn’t want to go to school. (I had to explain that it was a genetic tendency).

When one has the space to indulge one’s hobbies and interests, home becomes as inviting as the most exotic locale, as interesting as one is willing to make it. (All this takes work). And the big bonus is that one is able to sleep in one’s own bed at the end of a good day and wake minus the jet lag. I’m not saying I’d turn down an all-expense-paid trip to an exotic locale, or that I wouldn’t go visit my kids out-of-state. What I AM saying is that I’m delighted to be where I am (even if there IS no central A/C and heat, no dishwasher or disposal). Isn’t that touted to be the key to happiness in life? —To be content with one’s lot?

Before Zack became paralyzed with Guillain-Barre over two years ago, he was nearing/ considering an early retirement. After six months in hospitals, with the daunting task ahead of him of relearning the most basic skills (like walking and using his hands to brush his own teeth, feed himself, etc.), retirement was no longer a choice. We had, for years, in our free time, enjoyed working here, repairing and making things, being outside, fixing the old place up, bit by bit. In our own way, we were “making the desert bloom” on our own little kibbutz. We’d taken a couple of trips, and were always so grateful to return. After the extended time in hospitals, I knew how very important home would become, even more so than before. Not only were we relieved to have returned, but traveling was out of the question. For the first couple of months, even a drive into town was a production.

As Zack showed small signs of improvement, we set about making things easier for him and more comfortable and pleasant for us both. It was obvious that we would be spending a great deal of time here. His doctor pointed out that once home, Zack would likely be more motivated to move around, see things that needed attention, and exercise his atrophied muscles through normal movement —in addition to scheduled physical therapy sessions. The hope was that eventually, he would improve more and more as he attempted more tasks, no matter how large or small, difficult or painful (or scary). If he could just walk onto the back deck to enjoy the sunshine— If he could sit in his favorite chair instead of lying in bed— If he could rise from the couch without help— If he could one day safely return to his workshop, he might regain at least some of his balance and strength. Perhaps small motor skills would begin to return. If he could eventually drive the tractor and just be outside, he would begin to slowly heal himself. We started calling this place the Ranch Rehabilitation Camp.

Zack falls here and there along the way (literally) and become frustrated when his hands, arms and legs don’t follow orders. It takes him twice as long as the rest of us to accomplish certain tasks, but he WILL accomplish them. He expends twice the energy in doing so (and may need a nap after). Often he needs help. But in the doing, hope has flourished. We’ve made home a place of interests and hobbies, a space to work, maintain, repair and create. I’m rather hoping it will also one day be a place to occasionally relax, but I can see we’re still a long way from that.

We all know folks who are bored to death, especially after retirement. Zack and I have the opposite problem. For us, there’s never enough time. Zack has his ranch chores, a small herd of cattle to tend, his workshop. We have our pets to care for. When I’m not helping

Josh at the kitchen table.

him, I have the more domestic chores — not exactly my idea of a great way to spend my time. Anything to be ironed will likely pass out of style before it sees pressing. Mending is catch as catch can. My distaste for housekeeping is also why the house may be dusty and dinner might consist of leftovers —again. But they’re probably from scratch and not out of a box. I do the best I can. I have the gardening, my greenhouse and any other creative endeavors I can squeeze in – especially those that involve writing, art work, making almost anything, sewing or needlework of some sort.

Zack's Corner

We’ve created a personalized travel destination right here in our own rather large back yard. This concerns the kids— that we seem less and less inclined to leave. But the way I see it, that isn’t a problem. Everyone needs his or her own personal, peaceful oasis, be it a corner of the couch with a basket of needlepoint, a woodworking shop,  a favorite chair with TV and remote, an easel and drawing or painting supplies, a little boat (or dock) and a fishing pole, a lump of clay to sculpt — or 100 acres of endless work.

Becca and Jared on our "lake".

Read Full Post »

Josh’s Visit, December 2010

My very tech savvy son Josh visited and updated electronics for us —things we’d never change on our own. We’re always EVENTUALLY grateful. Josh worked on both our computers as usual, and taught us new commands and programs we never realized we couldn’t live without. Zack picks up on these things more quickly than I and remembers them better. He has a love/hate relationship with his computer (mostly for the time it takes him away from other interests —and the occasional frustrations, many having to do with his challenged small motor skills, a constant reminder of his bout with Guillain-Barre almost three years ago). I’ll forget — as I often do— how to use most of these new things.

We’ve been slowly upgrading from bulky, old TVs to the thinner HD variety.  So Josh’s second attack upgraded our DISH Network service to HD with DVR). We hadn’t upgraded anything EVER. This meant relocating and replacing the DISH, disconnecting and reconnecting wires. It was ALMOST a free upgrade and will yield ALMOST the same as our previous monthly bill. (Josh’s ideas always end up costing money). These improvements ONLY involved several annoying phone calls, three frustrating sessions on the Internet web site, and one afternoon with Sid the Installer (a nice, knowledgeable, competent guy) the breaking of one buried wire and the digging of one new trench (accomplished partly by me). Stinky the Dog fell into the unexpected trench (in an exuberant but ill-thought-out rush across that part of the yard) before we had it covered —and hurt his foreleg.

Josh and Zack are OCD neat, Although Zack owns a lot of mostly very manly STUFF, he keeps it well organized. I blame my failings in this department on less free time and wearing too many hats. When desperate to defend myself, I invoke the “creative personality” thing. If all I had were my OWN projects (no shopping, laundry, cooking, cleaning, helping Zack with HIS projects and chores), I contend I could keep things wonderfully neat).  The truth is that I AM messy and fight to stay on task. So Josh made me clean up (and throw out about half the contents of) my desk. That was attack # 3. (Last trip it was the entire kitchen. I still can’t find things and yearn for discarded items).  I drew the line when he suggested I toss most of my collection of writing instruments —old fountain pens and other antique “treasures”) because,  “You don’t need all these”. (He missed the point entirely). Then (#4) Zack and Josh designed and fabricated a custom, ergonomic stand for my laptop — with the screen exactly eye level if I sit straight) — and added a full-sized keyboard (to which I’m having great difficulty becoming accustomed). This necessitated reconfiguring my beloved, old, oak desk (to place me at the correct wrist height for typing) and fabricating a lower level surface addition (that won’t damage the integrity of the piece) upon which to rest the keyboard.

Laptop stand made and in place; desk still a work in progress.

This whole desk “situation” is one of my holiday gifts, totally unexpected to everyone, both the collaborative givers and the unwitting receiver (conceived in a flash of insight and creativity).  It led to my son’s INSISTING on ordering me a new desk chair, a wooden number that’ll look right at home (if you ignore the hydraulic part). I agreed upon the concession of a separate, lumbar back pillow. (The chair arrived unassembled). I was happy using my old, oak chair with two cushions for height. This was unacceptable to my son’s minimalist sensibilities (that are total anathema to our cozy home full of comfy antiques and collections). Josh wanted to go sleek, black, modern and ergonomic for the greatest possible comfort and efficiency (in HIS opinion), but I balked. The keyboard was eventually replaced with Josh’s old one that his girlfriend Bevy brought with her when she arrived for the last four days of his visit. It’s super thin with illuminated keys and types like a dream! (Thanks Josh. Thanks, Bev!)

The finished masterpiece!

When the three of us are together during Josh’s visits (two alpha males and MOM on one property — sometimes also my daughter for the weekend), our individual and collective “fantastic ideas” makes for lively visits and exhausting recoveries. Besides Josh’s attempts to bring us into this century, Zack always has his own (usually outdoor and large) projects to “share”. Often he needs help.

Then there was the cooking.  We ate out only once in almost three weeks. Some days there were only three of us, some days four, and for a few days five. I did most of the kitchen work, but Josh and Bevy pitched in, especially for breakfast. Part of this was survival instinct. If I must cook for more than two, it might take a while. When Becca was with us, she most often prepared her own food, usually from things I had cooked before she arrived.  Zack’s a carnivore with a sweet tooth. Josh eats incredibly healthy. Bevy’s vegetarian. Becca’s gluten and lactose intolerant with some other possible allergies and issues. I eat little dairy, wheat or red meat. We all adore chocolate. (For Thanksgiving, two friends joined us. One’s on Weight Watchers, and the other’s diabetic).  What a challenge, but believe me, no one starved!

Every day of Josh’s visit was so different, and as usual, it passed too quickly. But with my warped perception of the passage of time — before I know it, months will pass, and my son will return. Thank goodness for “free” long distance and the Internet in between.

Read Full Post »