Family Angst

When someone in the immediate family is at a painful crossroads, doing nothing is not an option.  Mail with encouraging words, meals dropped off, a cheerful attitude when you're together, and letting the hurting know you always offer a soft place to fall are all options that help you keep your sanity and, hopefully, help things a teensy bit. They must find their own way, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, life is not a bowl of cherries. . .all those cliches may be true, but seem trite when days are dark and sleep hard to come by.  I do often think of the bible quote (and Richard Chamberlain movie) "Joy cometh in the Morning".  So I tell myself to hang on, time will pass, occupy yourself with soul filling things - and try not to process against hubby's ear too often.  Learn piano pieces by heart, try learning to play the guitar, read books, take walks, take pictures of flowers, and concentrate on someone else.  I have a friend in Texas closing up the house of her recently deceased father; another friend is on a 32 day cruise of Europe, a family member is finding retirement a challenge, yet, another friend is trying out her teaching skills in Doha, Qatar, and a devoted husband provides me a safe place to fall every day.  Life is truly an adventure, sometimes a 1, sometimes a 10.  Here's to working back up to that blissful 10 for all my family. 

Here Comes the Spring!

This tree in our backyard tells us, just like the song, Spring will be a little late this year.  One of my favorite plants is the dwarf Nana Silvermound and they are coming out now.  They are so soft to the touch, it's surprising.  We're ready, Spring.  Bring it on!

Banana Bread virgin

Sixty-five years old and my first attempt at baking banana bread.  Wow!  A little slow on some things; but the bananas were ripe; my taste buds were salivating, so today became a baking day.  And just like I told my mother the first week after my wedding and the jello turned out okay, "Mom, my banana bread turned out okay!" 

Birthday Beignets

I have a favorite desssert at our Zen Place, Pour at Four, THE BEST wine/tapas place on Earth.  Beignets with lemon curd.  They've been serving the doughnut-like dessert for many months, starting with a lemon curd dip (my favorite), then changing to raspberry dip, and now a delicious caramel dip.  When I walked in to Pour tonight to meet two regular patrons for dinner, I was surprised to see a large balloon tied to my chair. . .I say my chair, because it's my favorite place to sit, right by the piano, close to the bar, kinda tucked back in corner, where I can see everything.  My next surprise was the offer of patron. John, to have this evening be on him.  What a generous thing.  When the dessert arrived, it was a double order, with a candle in one beignet, and sparkly sprinkles around the plate.  When someone, or several someones, goes to this much trouble, it touches me deeply.  Oh, and did I mention, the dip on the plate was lemon curd. . .which the kitchen fellas put into a tub for me to take home and added a smiley face made out of sprinkles on top.  A beautiful Saturday night at Pour at Four.  Life is good, very, very good. . .even at 65. 

Another Birthday Down

My Medicare birthday has come and gone.  Sixty-five. . .is it possible?  Why does it seem only yesterday I was walking to kindergarten with my neighbor Stan?  It was a good day.  Good report at the doc's appointment in the morning and a wonderful dinner with our son and daughter-in-law at Sullivan's in Seattle.  Two great bottles of wine, steak and deelish desserts in a lovely steakhouse.  Time spent with son and daughter-in-law always flies by and always a highlight in our month. 

My son's birthday is two days before mine, this year his 33rd.  Proud of him to buttons busting.  He has a high moral fiber that makes me smile when I detect it in his life stories.  I am still too free with advice, which isn't asked for and shouldn't be given.  My mother was so wise about that, just lending a loving ear whenever I shared a frustrating situation with her.  I want to be more like her.  Something on which to work. 

I feel lucky to have reached this age.  It's an age where I turn away from schedules and appointments, thoroughly enjoying the freedom of time.  I love staying home, not unlike Miss Haversham who never left her web covered rooms.  My wise daughter-in-law reminded me that Miss Haversham was filled with evil and selfishness, so we don't want to carry this example too far.  I am guilty, however, of having Great Expectations for my son and myself.  Always room to grow, learn and find a kindness to offer someone along our way. 

Thinking of a John Lennon song

Today is our son's thirty third birthday.  Our only child, you'd think parenting would be simpler than it would be for parents with, say, five children.  Yet, we make it more complicated by worrying over the idea of when to get involved and when to step aside.  With five children do parents feel relieved when their kids ask them not to get involved?  I don't know.  I only know it was good to see and hug him today outside his office building as we delivered birthday brownies and a gift basket.  He seemed genuinely glad to see us.  Hope so.  We never want to be a nuisance, add one more thing to an already full plate of Life.  We hope he knows we offer a soft place to fall should he ever need it.  He is the light of our lives.  And the John Lennon song?  Beautiful Boy. 

My dad was a farmer.

Ahhhh, childhood memories.  My Father was a hothouse rhubarb farmer.  I loved the strong smell of Earth in the dank, dark hot houses; Dad had two on a small ten acre farm just outside the city limits of our small town in Washington State.  Now and then I would help cut, grade and box this beautiful vegetable.  Yes, it's categorized as a vegetable, though it is most often used in the way we use fruit, in desserts, jams, and sauces.  Dad would dump a big box of rhubarb onto a large table and Mom, Aunt Glady and I would take one, whack off both ends (the leaves are highly toxic) and decide the grade:  fancy, extra fancy, or cull.  Mom stood on that hard concrete floor all day while I was at school.  I think back on that now and how hard that must have been on her feet and legs, but nary a complaint was heard.  Dad tells of breaking off a stem from the root ball and eating it then and there.  Pretty acidic little guy for my taste, but Mom made THE BEST rhubarb custard pie you've ever tasted.  Mmmmm, memories.

My father was also the foremost hop dryer on this side of the mountains, maybe in the State.  Another strong and enjoyable sensory memory is the smell of the hop kiln filled with hop dust you could see in the air as the sun rays filled the room.  The floor of the room is slatted and covered with burlap.  Dad would take a hop flower in his hands and crush it determining by the scent if it was ready for baling. 
     Two plants, one red, one green.  Very pretty.  Very unique.  Very important to my childhood.