by jphilo | Mar 11, 2009 | Daily Life
My plan for the day was to postpone my walk and whine about the weather – 9 degrees when I got up this morning, and the temperature hasn’t moved up since – as much as possible, at least until I looked out the kitchen window and saw a flock of robins in the crab apple tree.
Hiram and the kids gave me a short Charlie Brown tree for Mother’s Day a few years back. Like today’s temperature, it hasn’t moved upward since they planted it. However, it blossomed beautifully last spring, and tiny fruit hung from the branches all winter long.
The sight of the birds brings back an old saying Mom used whenever I got whiny about her supper menu, and I got whiny plenty often. “Hunger is the best seasoning.” Apparently, calorie loss due to today’s cold snap improved the fruit’s flavor because the birds are all picking the branches clean.
Which reminds me, I shouldn’t postpone my walk any longer. Waiting for the temperature to improve is futile so it’s time to bundle up and be grateful that the wind died down and the sun is shining. Maybe the cold is a blessing in disguise, and I’ll burn off a few of my extra California calories – if I can keep my hands off the teeny, tiny crab apples. After I walk four miles in the cold, they’ll look delicious.
by jphilo | Mar 10, 2009 | Daily Life
Yesterday’s blog listed the top ten differences between southern California and the Midwest. Today’s list provides unwelcome proof that March in Iowa, in strong competition with November, is the state’s least favorable month.
10. As soon as the sun starts rising at an optimistic time, Daylight Savings Time begins
and pushes dawn back an hour.
9. It has rained for five days straight. SInce today is March 10, it has rained for half the
month.
8. When the rain becomes unbearable, the snow begins.
7. The gravel road and our driveway look like something the cat drug in.
6. The mice in our garage, cowed by winter’s cold and relatively inactive, have perked up
and invaded my car again. As always, they leave Hiram’s pick up alone.
5. Our daughter is “getting away” for spring break. Apparently, even Minneapolis is more
glamorous in March than is our fair state.
4. Morning walks are gloomy. (See above picture.)
3. Hiram blanches at the mention of “FAFSA.”
2. Pretty pastel Easter decorations perpetrate the cruel hoax that spring is just around the
corner.
1. Our one warm March day pushed the daffodils above ground, but they’ve been
shivering so much since the cold return, they won’t contemplate exposing themselves
further.
There, I’ve expressed my hostility told March and feel much better. In the 21 days until April begins, I’ll keep my umbrella handy, stock up on mouse traps, and knit gloves for the daffodils. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the effort.
by jphilo | Feb 25, 2009 | Daily Life
For the past two months, we’ve been tracking sand into the kitchen day after day. No matter how often we shake out the rug and mop or sweep, the floor is gritty. If this were summer and we were in a cabin on the beach, the grit would be tolerable payment for paradise. But we’re in Iowa, in winter. It’s not paradise.
The sand issue started a few days before New Year’s. Our sidewalk wasn’t safe for the family arriving to celebrate a late Christmas. So Hiram sprinkled sand on the icy patches and no one broke any bones that weekend. The company left, the suitcases left, the gifts left, and the ice melted one warm day.
But the sand stayed. From what I’ve observed, it doesn’t plan to leave any time soon. It’s settled into every miniature pothole and crevice of the sidewalk, determined to escape Iowa’s cold by clinging to our shoes and moving into our kitchen.
I figure the only way to get rid of the squatters and reclaim the kitchen is to wait for a driving rain. That’s not going to happen until spring, which is when paradise-in-Iowa begins, and after spring comes summer when, if I squint hard enough, tracked sand might convince me that we are at the beach, which could be very good for my mental health. The sandy kitchen squatters just gained a reprieve. Now if I can re-envision them as beach bums and find my swim suit and a mindless novel, I’ll be happy.
A good attitude depends on how you look at things, I guess. Is the sand trap half empty or half full?
by jphilo | Feb 19, 2009 | Daily Life
Signs of spring are appearing rapidly, though this morning’s temperature of seven degrees wasn’t one of them. Despite the cold, the sky started to lighten at six-fifteen. Though I haven’t spotted a robin yet, but they serenade my daily walks.
The surest sign of spring at this house are my gloves. They’re molting. Only two weeks ago, I congratulated myself keeping one pair of leather gloves for two years – a new record for me. The next Sunday, I wore them to church and afterwards discovered one of them went missing. Isn’t that just so February? I told myself. The weather warms up ten degrees and my gloves start shedding. With a silly little grin, I stuffed the remaining glove into one coat pocket and pulled a spare set of stretch gloves from the other.
I was surviving just fine until last night when I went to supper with some friends. The temperature was dropping fast when I left the restaurant, so I dug for the stretch gloves and found only one. Scowling, I traced my steps and checked under our table. No glove.
Outside, in the dark, I pulled on the two mismatched gloves and drove away. This morning’s search of the closet was futile, and my guess is the glove won’t show up when I check the car by the cold light of day. This is proof that spring is just around the corner, I keep telling myself, but my inner critic blasted my Pollyanna attitude. Gloves should molt in warm weather, not when it’s cold.
Unless I can find a complete set of gloves hiding somewhere in the closet, I’ll be wearing mismatched gloves and looking like a bag lady until spring arrives. I just hope it turns warm before I lose my hat and coat, too. It’s hard to be inconspicuous wearing a garbage bag.
by jphilo | Feb 11, 2009 | Daily Life
This morning when I returned from my virtually snowless – thanks to the recent warm temperatures – morning walk, the snow shovel leaning cock-eyed by the back door made me think of a Christmas tour of homes Anne and I enjoyed a few years back. You know the kind I mean, one of those charity events where people who know something about interior design open their homes so those of of us who know nothing about interior design can gape, drool, and get great ideas we have neither time, talent, or money to implement.
The segue from snow shovel to home tour doesn’t make a whole lot of sense unless you know that I came home from the tour with a burning desire to create an outdoor Christmas/winter decorating tableau using the kids’ charming, beloved Red Flyer sled. Of course, Hiram wasn’t home when we got home, so I forgot to ask about the sled until several summers later when we were cleaning the storage shed. “Where’s the old Red Flyer?” I asked.
“That old piece of junk? I threw it away years ago.” This from the man who gathers screw and bungie cords on busy roads and stores them in his wood shop.
“You threw it away,” I repeated in disbelief. “You threw away the kids’ charming and beloved Red Flyer sled?”
“It broke the first time we used it,” he reminded me.
“But I had great plans for it. I was going to hang a wreath from it and lean it against the side of the house beside the door at Christmas.”
He stared at me. “Why?”
“It would look charming and beloved,” I explained.
“But it’s a piece of junk.”
And that’s when I gave up on my exterior decorating career, at least until this morning when the shovel leaning cock-eyed beside the back door caught my attention. In my mind’s eye, the handle sported a jaunty red bow and the scoop was stenciled with a perky, little snow family. It would be so cute and serviceable, too.
Then I imagined my husband the next time it snows. He would bound in the house all frosty and triumphant. “I went outside to scoop, and saw that some fool, one of the nieces or nephews at Christmas I suppose, messed with the shovel and tied a ribbon on the handle and dabbed some abstract art on the scoop. But don’t worry. I cut off the ribbon and spray painted the scoop. It’s good as new.”
I examined the shovel and shook my head. Instead of allowing my design prowess endanger our marriage, I came inside. But all morning I’ve been dreaming that some dumpster diving decorating diva rescued our old Red Flyer sled and repurposed it to create as many charming, beloved memories for her family as it did for ours.
In her eyes, I hope, it was not a piece of junk.
by jphilo | Jan 28, 2009 | Daily Life
In the past two weeks, two young working moms emailed to say they wished they could be more like me. They particularly admired my self-discipline, organization, my mothering, and my cooking ability. This totally freaked me out because as I watch them care for their families, I often wish I could go back and parent like they do – with a little less structure, a little more joy, and more PBJs for supper.
But most of all, I worry about these moms who compare who I am in my present circumstances with who they are in their present circumstances. They have great husbands, great kids, and good jobs and are wifing, parenting, and working their ways through the most jam-packed phase of their lives. Yet the standard they compare themselves to wifes a most patient man, is an empty nester and works at home alone almost every day. Too bad I can’t rewind the movie of my life ten years so they could make a fair comparison.
Instead, to give these women and anyone else laboring under misconceptions about who I am, I have prepared a list to prove that the Supermom you think you see doesn’t exist. Here goes:
- The reason I’m a good cook is because I’m a picky eater. So I learned to cook so I can eat what I like.
- Worry defines my days. Right now I’m worried because my son who is 26 and just left a monastery and is learning to live with the remnants of PTSD is job-hunting in a bad economy, has no health insurance, and hasn’t called or emailed in three days. But once all that is taken care of, I’ll worry about my daughter or money. On a very good day, I’ll pray about it, rejoice in the promises of God for a few minutes, and then feel guilty when I start worrying again.
- I am very impatient. If you want to know more, ask my husband and kids.
- My husband is very patient about my nagging.
- I am a drama queen. If you want to know more, ask my sister and brother.
- My underwear is never folded and most of my unfolded underwear is full of holes.
- Things fall on top of me when I open my closet drawers.
- I have a sweet tooth.
As you can see, Supermom doesn’t exist at this house. But if you still don’t believe me, check this post in a few days. By then, some of my family members will have augmented my list with their own juicy tidbits. I can hardly wait.
