Veterans Day - Dad and Michael

     I can't stop looking at my social media post on this Veterans Day. The message is generic enough but the photos are very special. On the left is my father, who served in the U.S. Marine Corps in the mid 1940's during World War II. On the right is my son, who was also a Marine but half a century later, in the early 1990's.

     It is not surprising that these two men look nothing alike, as I have none of my father's features either. (I always felt that I never favored anyone in my family until, as an adult, I saw a photo of my long dead maternal grandfather who appeared strikingly similar to myself.) The only resemblances between Dad and Michael lie in their height and build, and their beautiful hands (piano-playing hands, Dad called them). But as I continue to search their faces and expressions for some link, I realize that the link is not so much physical but subjective - their strength, courage, humor and their quiet, gentle natures, their creative tendencies and their love of nature.

     Dad was ill for several years and passed away when Michael was still a very small child; I often wish that they could have known each other, spent time together as adults. I think they would have been very good friends, the two sargeants.

.

Matthew aka Yukon Cornelius

     Nephew Matt is a good guy. Really, he is loving, kind, funny, generous, hard-working and cute to boot. He knows how much I love him, therefore he expects a little good-natured ribbing once in awhile. It is nigh on Christmas week and I also love the seasonal television specials, so when Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer was telecast last night, I just had to watch it. The animated classic, which first aired in 1964 when I was, ahem, ten years old, is a favorite and I've seen it so many times that I can recite the  lines and sing the soundtrack songs word for word. Anyway, when Yukon Cornelius made his appearance, I immediately thought of Matt. They both sport a similar brick-colored beard and mustache and maintain a comparable masculine bravado. Put a red knit beanie and a green shirt on Matt and the resemblance is uncanny!

A Mother's Ring

     My mother wore this beloved ring for more than three decades. A gift from her oldest son, who was working in a jewelry store at the time, it contains seven stones in a simple setting. The actual beauty of the ring lies in its significance (the birthstones of Mom's seven children who were her pride and joy) and in the arrangement  - four of the seven were born in January so garnets bracket the ends of each row, making the design seem planned.

     Mom passed away last year and her last and ultimate gift was to donate her body to medical science. Brother asked for the ring so after it was removed, I cleaned and readied it to send to him. I paused before packaging it, however, with a thought to photograph it for my own indulgence, and am so thankful now that I have a keepsake image of that treasured heirloom. It is still peculiar and slightly unnerving to see the ring apart from Mom's hand.

The Mansion and the Window

   We called it "The Mansion" - a big rambling house, c. 1900, that belonged to the prosperous owner of a dairy farm and company. In the late 1990's, when my sister rented a caretaker's cottage on the property, the mansion had not been lived in for some time and had fallen into sad disrepair. Raccoons and other scurrying varmints occupied the basement where a couple of bowling lanes were rumored to have been - we never ventured into the dank darkness to discover the truth. We did, however investigate the rest of the home, even up into what we speculated were small servant's bedrooms under the eaves in the second story. Beautiful woodwork abounded in all of the large rooms, stained glass, multiple french doors and a huge stone fireplace adorned one room that spanned the back of the house and a long narrow conservatory decorated with Italian tiles flanked the south wall. These details indicated the taste and refinement of the original owner and it was heartbreaking to see the rotting shambles it had become. In 2014, when the mansion was demolished for an upscale housing development, thieves had already purloined any architectural details that were worth recycling. However, in a trash heap destined for a dumpster, I salvaged a couple of window frames - weathered, glassless and covered with charming chippy paint (which was probably not lead-free!).

     After removing hooks and eyes, and a slight sanding to remove flaking pieces, I painted this frame with coat of varnish to contain any further paint chips from falling onto the floor and into pet territory. It perfectly frames a favorite canvas portrait of my beloved grandchildren (who are much more grown up now!) I am pleased that I have a reminder of the mansion and of life in another era.

Happy Birthday, Scout!

     Today is not just April Fool's Day, it is also Scout's birthday. He is now twenty-six years old and if the stable wasn't so far away, we would go treat him with a few carrots. This photo was taken several years ago, when both Rissy and Scoutie were quite a bit younger. Rissy lived for the infrequent days when, in her pink cowgirl boots, she was allowed to groom or ride - then the stable yard became her utopia - looks like it might have been Scoutie's too!

Egg Appeal

     In the office where I spend my seven-to-five workdays, I meet all kinds of people and I firmly believe in this adage: "We love all our patients - some when they walk in the door and some when they walk out!" (One day, I told my employer we should hang a sign with that quote in the reception area; he was emphatic that it would offend people, but I pointed out that perhaps, those who were affronted might rethink their attitudes!) Anyway, I have found the vast majority of folks to be kind and polite, or, if they are not, will respond in time to being treated with kindness and respect. And then there are those who are simply a delight to encounter, like Ellice. One of the loveliest Christmas gifts that I received this year was a complete surprise - a dozen eggs from Ellice's hens! They were such a beautiful combination of colors that I had to photograph them before using them in the kitchen. Thank you, Ellice, for tendering thoughtfulness and natural beauty, at holiday time and always...

Racism - Crossing Swords

     In nearby Ferguson , Missouri, an agonizing moment in the course of a  normal August day spurred an aftermath of turmoil and speculation. The facts? A policeman shot Michael Brown in the street...18 year old Michael was unarmed...policeman was white and Michael was black. The possibilities? Michael had his hands up in surrender and was murdered...policeman feared for his life as 6'4" 300 pound Michael advanced toward him..Michael had assaulted policeman inside the squad car moments earlier..Michael had committed strong-arm theft previously in the same day. While tending to believe that the officer did not shoot a man who posed no threat, I do not presume to judge what happened at the scene - that is the responsibility of the court system, and everything I know has been gleaned from local media (which is to say it has been persistently twisted, sensationalized and inciting).

     However, I have seen the protesting, rioting and looting and heard the accusations of racial inequality that is disturbing on so many levels. As these events have unfolded in the last few weeks, many friends and I have appraised our own neighborhood, city, workplace, shopping and dining venues, concentrating on racial relations. Our joint conclusion remains as constant now as before the Ferguson incident. With a few exceptions, people are friendly and courteous, even the teenagers. All seem to be treated with respect and it is evident that people of all colors can be employed at entry level positions and/or hold occupations which demand higher learning, ie: teachers, doctors, dentists, business owners, policemen, etc., We are proud of our (the adjacent cities of Florissant, Ferguson and Hazelwood) diversity and our willingness to embrace it. Those of us who did not take part in the "white flight" take umbrage in the accusations that we live in the "ghetto". The group that is protesting (and being incited by nationally known civil rights activists) is NOT representative of the general population. Therefore it is painful to see national and even world-wide news reports that paint our areas with a broad brush as "racist" when in fact, we are anything but.

My Mother - My Self

     On a recent hot summer afternoon, Duncan and his kitty spent some time reclining (and stretching)  near an air-conditioning vent... I've experienced a languish that rather feels how they look, especially since July 11... On that day, my mother died.

     On the morning of her death, a swirl of opposite emotions dueled within - grief that Mom was forever gone and relief that this proud, fiercely independent person was finally at peace after months of physical and mental ill health. It was confusing but expected because that conflict typified the lifetime of emotional duplicity that played out between my mother and myself. I remember a simple, pleasant childhood, at the center of which was a loving, caring mother. I didn't realize then the narcissism which, while not absurdly excessive but veiled and covert, affected all her relationships. As an adult, I began to comprehend that while she loved her children the best that she could, it was incomplete and invalidating, and the result was an affliction that took me years to identify and attempt to heal - the bewildering erosion of self-esteem.

     That said, I am glad that I have begun to remember Mom in a good way - reading a book and thinking that she would have liked to borrow it, peeling apples and wishing I could invite her to share a piece of pie, listening to a young tenor sing hymns and knowing she would have loved to accompany him.

A Girl and Her Toad

     Mikayla likes pretty dresses and hair accessories. She is equally at home in her soccer uniform or digging for worms. On summer evenings, she and her little sister can often be found catching lighting bugs (or fireflies, as they adamantly corrected me).

   
     A bonus catch tonight was a small toad and Mikayla was delighted to pose with her squirmy friend - the beaming smile gave a slight indication of how thrilled she was with her new pal, who has a new, albeit temporary, home in a Little Tikes Playhouse.

The Donkeys

     The previous mentioned road trip took us through a small corner of Gasconade County, Missouri. It is pretty country with lots of family farms, hilly vineyards and a smattering of small towns. Occasionally we pass a few horses or cows, and less often sheep or goats, but on this day we happened upon a small herd of donkeys, grazing in the middle of a grassy pasture. We parked on the roadside, called to them, and immediately they lifted their heads to peer at us. Then the friendly little fellows trekked to the fence, where they stared at us and we admired them. After a few photographs, we bid the herd goodbye and were back on our way. I remarked to Pop that I thought they were adorable, but he thought they were asses!

Easter - The Son Rises and The Sun Shines

     Was Easter joyful this year? Well, we celebrated the Resurrection at Mass with beautiful psalms and uplifting hymns. Thankfully we still have Mom for yet another holiday, and visited her at the nursing home. Afterward, we spent the balmy, sunny afternoon outside - dividing some perennials, filling the hummer feeders, and later enjoying the Cardinal game and a few drinks with sis and her hubby. All this and the fact that I have always loved holidays should have made the day joyful but I slept little that night, fighting tears that came unbidden.
     When my mother was a child, she visited at her grandparents' on the holidays - when I was young, my family did the same. My son and his cousins always made an appearance at their grandma's. I always looked forward to the day when I would be the grandma and the kids would gather at my house. Yesterday, in the neighborhood all around us, were families visiting their parents and/or grandparents, and the house behind us was quiet because that young family was off to do the same. I am a grandmother, yet our house was quiet. The gifts and candy for the grandchildren remain on the dining room table. My son and his wife want 'new' traditions - I respect their right but I feel a great loss at the absence of the people I love most in this world.
 

"New" Kitchen Accessory - Tres Bon!

    It is the beginning of estate sale season and I really should stay home on Saturdays so I don't get diverted by signs on street corners. Yesterday, this sweet enamelware canister caught my eye and I didn't think twice - paid a dollar for it, scrubbed it clean and was quite thrilled with my purchase. I love almost anything with a French Country look, especially vintage accessories. I will admit that at first I thought it could possibly be antique but some research proved that these L'Hotel Des Royales canisters are still being produced, though hard to come by. In any case, I am pumped for more treasure hunting!

A Pink Party for Year #13

     For Rissy's 13th birthday, the original plan was lunch at Crescent Stable with her grandma, great-aunt and the horses. The plan morphed a bit when we decided to invite more aunts, cousins and friends to make it a girl's day at the farm. However, Rissy was not privy to the change, and we were able to surprise her when everyone jumped out of the tack room with armfuls of pink balloons. Even most of her gifts coordinated with the color theme!

Scoutie sported some lovely mane extensions and even li'l George

 showed that real men can wear pink with panache.

Jumping Monkies

     When Duncan chases squirrels in the backyard, we marvel at his sprinting speed and when the little acrobats tease him unmercifully by keeping just out of reach on the ash trunk, we laugh at his attempts to get up the tree. The poor dog jumps as high as possible and probably wishes he had some chimp-like climbing ability.
  

     After photographing Dunc, I was treated to a visit by the neighbor kids and we played Jumping Monkeys  at the dining room table. The object of the game is to catapult all four of your monkeys onto a 12-inch plastic tree before the other players. The fun is fast-paced and requires some practice (especially by little hands) to get a good aim. Also it is important to use the correct pressure on the launcher, as three-year-old Lydia found when one of her monkeys landed atop the chandelier instead of on the tree. Laughter ensued and amid the giggles, I grabbed the camera and got a shot of Lydia's errant ape. It WAS a day for simian high jinks.

The Nature of Thankfulness

     The meandering Meramec River in Missouri travels more than 200 miles, twisting and turning before it reaches the Mississippi. Close to the river in Crawford County, where we spent Thanksgiving day at a brother's home, autumn had stripped the leaves from the forests, opening up some delightful trails and vistas. An afternoon hike took us over rugged bluffs and leaf-carpeted valleys, where we enjoyed the fresh air, the scenery and a remaining bit of forest flora.

     A fallen tree boasted this lovely fuzzy moss that included delicate orange appendages (flowers?) - all brilliantly highlighted by the slanting rays of the late November sun. The landscape, the sky, and the warm still air seemed to be holding on to autumn while the inevitable grip of Old Man Winter loomed.

Herby Buckets (for a Couple of Bucks)

     A good friend has a penchant for mutilating the English language (which, to this word nerd, is funny the first time but grating when repeated). She takes "pitchers" with her camera, an approaching storm promises "inclimate" weather, and "dotsun" denotes a short-legged, long-bodied little dog. Therefore she would call this planting arrangement, "Herby" (like the nickname for Herbert) buckets.

     Mispronunciations aside, I was happy to find these metal buckets for a buck apiece at a flea market, (now the word nerd is using slang for alliterative effect!) With a large nail, I poked several holes in the bottom of both for drainage. A couple of bricks were used to elevate the upper bucket and then they were filled with potting soil. Three parsley starters were placed in the large bucket and a globe basil in the small one, (before photo above and after below). The plants thrived in the sun-warmed environment although they demanded a bit more care than those directly in the ground - watering was necessary nearly every other day in the dog days of summer - not a time to be "laxt" in my garden responsibilities!

My Mikey

     When did my little boy become such a man? His childhood passed so quickly, the years since have slipped by and now he is the father of two teenagers. Yesterday I watched his self-confidence, first as he assumed the role of announcer at an annual fundraiser, and then as he demonstrated some very capable handling of his K9 partner. I marvel that this quiet, patient, sensitive individual possesses such courage and strength in his daily occupation, while realizing that these qualities coalesce to make him a truly fine police officer. I could not be prouder.
                                                                                                   
       

         

             1975

Point A to Point B

     I can draw up a mean blueprint and do some pretty challenging calculations but I am a terrible judge of distance and space. For instance when I looked at this container of oats I never figured it would all fit into the glass canister. It did.
     And sometimes I figure I've walked a couple of miles but it turns out to be one instead.
     I won't quit my day job...

Optimism and a Refinished Bathroom Vanity

     Life has dealt me some changes in the past year that have preyed on my normally happy psyche: the rapid decline in Mom's physical and mental health, the race to ready and sell her house so as to afford an assisted living facility, and psychological trauma that caused my son and his family to move thirty-five miles away (generating grandchildren withdrawal!) It is easy to sink into self-pity and depression even while I remind myself that there are worse things to be suffered in life. Therefore I allow myself time to grieve for crumbling customs and traditions, and seek diversion by keeping occupied as much as possible. 

     So that encapsulated disclosure explains why, when I realized how outdated and dull this bathroom vanity had become, refinishing it appealed more than buying a new one. Besides the wood was in very good shape so after removing the hardware, a regimen of sanding, staining and varnishing produced a beautiful glossy espresso finish. The old pulls were trashed and shiny stainless steel replacements, which match the newer faucet and towel bars, were found at the local hardware store. The smart contemporary look pleased me more than I had expected - now what can I do next?

b

River Lesson

     I must include one last commentary regarding this year's camping trip. It was early afternoon on a weekday and we were the only campers on site - the beach area and river were 'ours' alone. We had fished successfully for trout and bluegill, investigated the shoreline both up and down river, eaten lunch and were now resting under the umbrella for awhile with some magazines. Soon however, a lone canoeist appeared, gliding  quickly around the rapids at the bend and then slower through the deep pool in front of us. He stopped to converse for a moment, although he confessed that he preferred the solitude of unpopulated areas. We agreed, asked if he'd had any portages, answered his questions about fishing luck, and then wished him well as he pushed off. The friendly fellow turned and waved as he cornered a rock jetty, and we saw him stop, cast his line and fish for a few minutes before he floated out of site.

     The momentary encounter and quick, silent departure of the solitary mariner made me think of human relevance. Surrounded by the beautiful Ozark mountains, the rushing river currents, and the high, wide blue sky, and observing the endless varieties of wildlife in this valley, one can only realize that a human being is an insignificant presence in this microcosm, and indeed the universe. I was immensely humbled.