by jphilo | Jan 7, 2013 | Daily Life
Our little stairway to hell’s heaven’s been a long time coming, but this week it’s one step closer to completion. The current remodeling project began with the words, “It won’t take long or cost much to replace the flooring in the stairway and the upstairs hall.”
That sentence reflects the total break from reality required to begin any remodeling project–at least at our house. Take a look a the timeline of the project thus far to get an idea of how far from reality those words were:
Late April, 2012–Hiram removes the grungy carpet from the stairs and second floor hallway in just one weekend while Jolene is gone.
Early May, 2012–We spend a few weeks reassuring one another that the stairs are in pretty good shape, in need of just a little woodwork sanding, paint, and carpet runner to look good. We need the reassurance because the hallway floor is ancient oak plank, complete with square nails. It needs new subfloor before the hardwood floor can be laid. Plus, we have to locate hardwood to match the two boxes left over from laying the living room and dining room floor 6 years ago.
Late May, 2012–Hiram blows a disk in his back. All remodeling on hold.
Late June, 2012–While recovering from back surgery, Hiram does an internet search and finds a place to order the hardwood. It costs an arm and a leg, which hardly seems fair when we’re already paying for Hiram’s new back. But since it will take 2–3 months to get here, we have time to pay off at least one body part before it arrives.
Late September, 2012–The flooring is almost forgotten as we anticipate the arrival of our first grandchild. When we remember and Hiram thinks his back is strong enough to carry boxes, he calls the store. They say the order’s been there for 3 weeks. Maybe their phone only takes incoming calls?
Late October, 2012–We forget to call the flooring guy after the arrival of our new grandchild. Since everyone will be at our house for Thanksgiving, we tell the carpenter not to come until after Thanksgiving.
Late November, 2012–The carpenter calls. He’s a hunter. He can’t come until the weekend before Christmas.
Weekend before Christmas, 2012–The carpenter gets half the floor laid. It’s the weekend of Camp Dorothy. Mom’s nap is quite interrupted. She is not amused. But she doesn’t complain. Much.
Weekend before New Year, 2012–Floor is completed. It looks great. All that remains is to complete our stairway to hell heaven is sanding and painting woodwork, picking out and installing a carpet runner. We try to reassure one another that the work’ll be quick, easy, and inexpensive.
Sigh.
by jphilo | Dec 31, 2012 | Daily Life
2012 is ending with a bang at our house. Not because we’ve been invited to a rockin’ New Year’ Eve party. But because our long lost, prodigal tweezers have been found.
Some of you may recall the sad fairy tale this grim mother wrote in May. The fairy tale that bemoaned the loss of the excellent pair of tweezers we had owned for many, many years. The fairy tale about our inability to replace them with a pair of comparable calibar. For those of you who don’t remember the tale or never read it, now you understand the unibrow I sported all summer and fall.
But not anymore.
Because the man of steel found the tweezers in his toiletry travel bag. The discovery was so exciting, we greeted our prodigal tweezers with open arms. “So you don’t care that the tweezers were lost for six months in my toiletry bag?” Hiram asked.
“Not one bit,”I replied. “Let’s kill the fatted calf and have a feast! Let’s dress the tweezers in a fine robe and slip a gold ring on its finger.”
“Tweezers don’t have fingers,” the man of steel reminded me.
With a perky little shake of my head, I answered, “That’s okay, because I’ve got ten of them.” Then I used my fingers to pick up those tweezers and start plucking.
How can 2013 possibly be any better than this?
by jphilo | Dec 28, 2012 | Daily Life
The view outside the upstairs window is a study of white snow on brown-grey tree limbs.
Sun gleams through the windowpane, but the glass feels like ice.
Winter crowds too close around our house.
Darkness falls too soon at night and leaves too late each morning.
Still, the ivy geranium is thriving.
It nearly succumbed to a vinca vine bully two short months ago,
And survived a late October transplant into an old washtub
To make a vigorous comeback.
Two weeks ago, as daylight grew scarce,
The ivy geranium produced first one bud and then another.
Mere inches from the icy windowpane,
The buds stretched toward the light.
First one bloomed and then the other during this week of Christmas,
Vibrant, pink reminders of the power of weakness:
The power of freedom from bullies,
The power of weak December light,
The power of a baby in a manger,
And the power of tiny seeds hidden under the snow, waiting for spring.
by jphilo | Dec 14, 2012 | Daily Life
For the past week or so, something’s been puzzling me. Disturbing me, really. It’s the kind of thing I would have asked Mom about when I was a kid. So on Tuesday, during our weekly visit, I did just that.
“Mom,” I said, “have you ever wondered about why some colors get used as names and others don’t?”
“Not really,” she replied.
“But,” I persisted, “how come colors like black and brown and green and white are common last names, but orange, yellow, purple, blue, and red aren’t?”
She looked at me and raised her eyebrows.
“Well, okay, red is used in names like Redman or Redpath, but have you ever heard of a Mr. or Mrs. Red?”
She didn’t blink.
“And Mr. Ed the talking horse doesn’t count, even though if you say his name fast and all together–Mistered–the end sounds like ‘red.’ But it’s not red. It’s Mr–Ed.” I took a breath and went on. “Have you ever wondered about that?”
Mom stared a minute longer, then shook her head. “Jolene, most people don’t waste time on things like that.”
“Really?”
All she did was nod, though she could have knocked me over if a feather if she’d been so inclined. I’m still not sure I believe her. Surely, other people wonder about why some words are used for last names and others aren’t. Or, say, about why some word endings can be used to create numerous rhymes, or rhyming names, and others can’t. Or maybe why some letters–J for instance–begin a whole passel of names, but other letters don’t.
To test my theory, please complete the following short survey by answering these questions in the comment box:
- Do you puzzle over name questions like the ones listed above?
- If your answer to #1 is yes, please list any other name questions that are on your mind.
- If your answer to #1 is no, what mysteries are you preoccupied with? Please list the questions you are presently trying to answer (Warning: self-censor your answers so I don’t have to.)
- Do think Mom’s answer was spot on? (Feel free to lie to make me feel better.)
Thank you for completing our survey. My personal Our customers’ satisfaction is very important to us!
Photo Credit: www.freedigitalphotos.net
by jphilo | Nov 30, 2012 | Daily Life
Digital native. A reporter used the term in her article in the November issue of our local community magazine.The story was about raising a family in the digital age, and while reading two things grew increasingly clear: A digital native I’m not, and parenting has changed from the the olden days when our kids were little.
The article made me think about how my Grandma Josie, who lived from 1896-1996, felt during the technological revolution that radically changed her daily life. In her 99 years, she witnessed the advent and widespread use of
automobiles,
airplanes,
tractors and other engine-driven farm machinery,
telephones,
electricity,
indoor plumbing,
moving pictures,
phonographs,
radio,
black and white television,
color television,
automatic washers and dryers,
dishwashers,
air conditioning,
electric sewing machines, irons, and small kitchen appliances,
electric and gas cook stoves,
ice boxes,
and refrigerators.
She saw the first man go into space, watched several astronauts walk on the moon, and was still alive when personal computers and cell phones first entered the market. For decades, I had wondered how the constant changes made her feel. I marveled at how she adapted to change after change, how she welcomed and embraced many of them.
Reading the article about toddlers using iPads, teens programming their Direct TV connection to update them about Fantasy Football, and entire families dependent upon laptops and smart phones, I finally understood why Grandma eventually quit trying to change. At some point in last few decades of her life the gap between her life as an agrarian native and the lives of the technological natives around her grew too great. She couldn’t keep up anymore. She had to quit.
The gap between this 1950s technology native and the digital natives now entering the world is widening, too. It’s not yet a distance too wide to be traversed, but it is wide enough to increase my admiration and compassion for how beautifully and how long Grandma Josie adapted to change.
One day, I realized, the gap could grow so wide I’ll dig in my heels and refuse to change. Then again, maybe that won’t happen. I may not be a digital native, but I can apply for citizenship and study to become one.
A digital version of the test, of course.
Downloaded on my iPad.
Exported to my lap top.
Backed up on my external hard drive.
With an audio version on my iPod.
The gap is shrinking.
Watch out digi natives, here I come!
image courtesy of www.freedigitalphotos.net
by jphilo | Nov 26, 2012 | Daily Life
Flexibility is a necessary skill for teachers and parents of young children. When I taught school and had young kids at home, I was flexible enough to give Gumby some serious competition.
These days, not so much.
An empty nest doesn’t require flexibility. Some days it’s so quiet and orderly around here, I can almost feel my joints locking in position, my heels digging in, and my thoughts petrifying into a solid, immovable lump.
The temptation to remain in one place is enticing.
On busy weekends, like this past one, the challenge is to shake off comfortable and inflexible habits, to stretch and embrace what is good and true. Can I change with the times? Do I want to? Am I too old to try?
Maybe I am. Too old, that is.
That’s the conclusion I settled on yesterday, right before remembering the turkey carcass waiting in the cold on the porch. Waiting to be brought in and boiled in a big pot of water. Waiting for the water to turn into rich broth as it simmered on the stove. Waiting for the meat to turn tender enough to be picked off its bones.
Not worth the effort.
I quelled the voice inside my head and put the carcass in a big pot of water and hoisted it onto the stove. A few hours later, I picked through the broken down mess. The bones pulled apart easily. The meat fell off the bones. Enough meat for three pots of turkey noodle soup and eight pints of broth besides.
All from an old turkey carcass.
But I had almost believed the voice in my head. I almost turned away from the effort required to harvest good from what looked like nothing much. I almost chose comfort and quiet over what was good and true.
Maybe because there aren’t children around to keep me flexible.
Or maybe because I believe getting older means I’m not worth the effort. But if the old turkey carcass yielded enough food for many meals to come, surely my bones have more to give, too. But only if I choose to move ahead, prepare for change, and stay flexible with or without kids stretching me this way and that. It will never be easy, but it’s good. And true. Which means Gumby better step up his game, too. I plan to give him a run for his money.
As soon as I force myself out of this comfortable chair.
