Reflections on the First Week of Winter

Spence's family defined Boxing Day, December 26, as the time English gentry gave servants hand-me-downs. For years we've used the day to celebrate a second Christmas with Spence's brother and his family. This year we walked through the woods–iron tree sightings, deer print detecting, britches splitting, fallen tree vaulting, and pauses for photographing. Next, Spence's slow cooked pork dinner disappeared. Folks identified song titles from erudite synonyms such as “I Spied My Maternal Parent Osculating.” Christmas presents were exchanged with smiles. Then, having offered downsizing extras in vain for years, I changed tactics to a Boxing Day spirit and gave hand-me-downs wrapped in brown paper bags with name tags and red ribbons. The younger generation couldn't say, “No, thank you.” Unwrapping Doctor Who novels, Laura said, “I don't let my students read them till I have.” Pat called out dates, “1925 silver dollar, 1907 Indian head penny,” from odd coins in a tin. Sarah pulled the bag off a horse head lamp and said, “I needed a second lamp at my place.” Success. The Boxing Day treasurers moved to new houses.

Reflections on the Thirteenth Week of Fall

 

Our son SC's campaign to dress George as Batman started before Halloween. Spence said no. I reasoned that, forced into any outfit, George would roll on his back and play for last-breath sympathy. But SC kept urging. Arthritis had stiffened George's elbows; he quit jumping onto furniture. Instead, he pleaded with his green googly eyes for lifts to the sofa. SC argued George just laked confidence. With the costume, George would think he could fly so he'd be able to jump. Was George listening? Spence and I'd find George on the sofa and ask each other, “Did you pick him up?” We wouldn't remember. This week I woke to George's footsteps pulling the covers snug against my body. Later, George sat atop the stairwell railing. I set him on the floor. Within minutes, he poked his head over the edge of the kitchen table and chomped on a Chinese evergreen leaf. I put him back on the floor and pushed the empty chair close to the table. When Spence stood to attend the stove, George jumped into Spence's chair and rested his paws on the table to survey our breakfast. Perhaps SC had been George's motivational coach. More likely, the cat glucosamine and heat-soaks in front of the wood stove fire restored his flexibility.

Reflections on the Twelfth Week of Fall

 

On Christmas Day 2012, Spence gave me a tripod. Since I didn't get around to figuring out how to use it in 2013, learning in 2014 was a New Year's Resolution–along with writing two new stories and asking a lawyer to draw up wills and medical power of attorney papers. The stories and legal papers were finished by July. Friday morning, I pulled the tripod out of its carrying case and moved levers to see what they did. Spence helped with the mounting platform, and Google clarified puzzling parts. I learned how to adjust the height from three to six feet; how to attach the camera; how to move the camera up, down, left, and right; how to tighten parts so they didn't move; and how to loosen parts so they did. I had to unlearn trying to move the camera instead of moving the lever to move the mount to move the camera. I was ready. I set the camera on the tripod at five feet, focused on the bird feeder, and washed the sliding glass door. Between bird feeding frenzies, I wrote Christmas cards by the wood burning stove. When birds arrived, I slowly stood and clicked. Chickadees and titmice pecked and posed. A male cardinal came close enough for me to distinguish individual feathers in its crest. With nineteen days to spare, I finished my 2014 resolutions. Now I need to reflect on tasks for 2015.

Reflections on the Eleventh Week of Fall

 

I call Mom Dot at 6:00 p.m., after she eats dinner and before the nurses tuck her into bed at night. She says, “Four walls and a TV. I'm bored.” But she doesn't bore me. On her clear-minded days, she's full of news like my nephew Robert visiting at dinner time. “He just picked up my fork and started feeding me. That was great. Dinner went smoothly.” She's always eager to hear what's happening with us. The day Spence put on yellow waders to cut and pull tree trunks out of Deer Creek, she asked, “Didn't he get wet?” Occasionally she's confused. “I don't know why I'm here. I want to go home.” She'll forget. “I don't know who gave me the pretty Christmas flowers.” When I explain (Spence and I sent the pink Christmas cactus), she often remembers, “That's right. You would know about plants.” Clear or confused, Mom's interested in people. Her general practitioner stopped to visit. “He's big. It was great to see his handsome face leaning over me.” And, she's attached to her second roommate. “We get along so well. I'll miss her when she leaves.” Throughout the rehab ordeal, she's still been mother-advising me. “I used to make fun of older people who gave up sewing. Now I understand. It happens fast, so if you have a project you want to do, do it now.”

Reflections on the Tenth Week of Fall

Aunt Marge said, “It's the people that matter.” Though my good dishes were in Cleveland, our six chairs didn't match, and so many regular forks had disappeared we had to use dessert forks for dinner, wishes for a Happy Thanksgiving, that friends and relatives sent via text, email, cards, phone, and shouts across the field, came true. Friday, daughter Ellen and her boyfriend Chris arrived at 1:30. We offered beverages, but they said, “We just want to sit and talk with you.” Later, Cousin Joe and his wife Barb came from Erie. Barb hung her coat and asked, “What can I do?” She made gravy and mashed potatoes. Joe kept cozy conversation flowing around the dinner table. When I put the pie in the oven to warm, Barb pulled a pair of purple gloves out of her purse so she could wash dishes. Ellen packed leftovers. I dried plates and revelled in having three women in the kitchen. Ellen and Chris stayed overnight so were here when son Spencer Charles arrived at 6:00 a.m. Saturday. Because we won't be together in December, we celebrated Christmas: present sharing, snowy walk, winery visit, games, hugs, smiles, and always the joy of people being together. Aunt Marge was right.

 

Reflections on the Ninth Week of Fall

Chickadees don't mind immersing when it's 23° and snowy. I do. But my rheumatologist prescribed aerobics, and the deep water fitness class at Meadville YMCA fit that requirement. Feeling I'd rather use a cold water wetsuit, I packed my black and white skirted swimsuit and a black T-shirt in case the old straps didn't hold. Because this was my first visit, the kind young woman at the front desk let me in for free. I changed; put my hair in a ponytail; stuffed winter coat, boots, and three layers of clothing inside a locker; and followed wet steps to the pool. “At least you have one person in your class,” a life guard said to another. I was early so did breast stroke and side stroke in the empty pool for the end of lap swim time. No wetsuit needed–the water was toasty. Another women arrived. The first life guard helped me into a flotation belt and gave me a set of water barbells. The other led us through leg kicks and arm swings. The movements weren't hard, but the class was. The belt bounced me up and forward. I concentrated on not bumping into anyone. Despite balance issues and active exercise, I didn't need the T-shirt for a strap malfunction. I did need a knit cap pulled way down over my wet hair for the drive home.

 

Reflections on the Eighth Week of Fall

Mid morning Friday, Spence poured sunflower seeds into the bird feeder. Because it had slipped down the glass door in last year's bitter cold, he squirted dish washing liquid on the suction cups before mounting the feeder on the door. Lines of soap dripped, but the feeder stayed in place. No birds came. Their morning food-check swoop had been earlier. Saturday, though, a chickadee arrived at dawn. Within ten minutes, five chickadees, two titmice, and a junco waited on dry wisteria vines for their turns at the feeder. As wings fluttered, birds teetered, and fly-by challenges abounded, near collisions were acrobatically averted. Since the furniture had been cleared from that part of the room for floor work, the cats enjoyed a wide view of the flying gymnastics. George and Emma took turns sitting under the feeder. Ears twitched, tails switched, and birds scattered. In the afternoon, Spence and I moved the sofa against one of the sliding doors to prepare for a new section of flooring. Having bumped into the glass enough times, birds had learned to ignored the cats who couldn't get through the glass either. Sunday, Spence didn't top up the feeder because the snow had melted. Birds came anyway. They reached their beaks under the sides to the covered center for the last few seeds.

 

Reflections on the Seventh Week of Fall

This week highlighted the perils of home remodeling. Monday, Spence stained the thirteen rows of oak flooring he'd installed by the sliding glass door. He reached for his cell phone to join a conference call. The phone slipped and landed in the gallon of stain. Thinking the worst, he pulled the phone out and wiped off sticky liquid. But, he made his call–just with a shinier phone. Friday, our cat Emma climbed through the spiral stairs to rest on the open shelf of the china cabinet Spence had pushed against the railing to apply sealer in a back corner. When she got down, she stepped on a stained trim board that was balanced on the railings to dry. The board and Emma fell to the basement. Horrified we ran downstairs. She'd landed in a box of Styrofoam chunks that Spence had cut for basement insulation. She jumped out, made complaining cat growls, and ran away. Later that night, Spence used his table saw to cut trim for the stairwell opening. He came upstairs and said, “I think it's emergency room time.” The saw had cut through the nail and tip of the bone in his left pinkie finger. Disinfectant, eight stitches, tetanus shot, antibiotics, and pain pills later, Spence came home with a banana-sized bandaged finger. He could still type except for “a,” Tab, and Shift.

 

Reflections on the Sixth Week of Fall

Monday, Spence met Two Men and Truck movers in Cleveland. Niles was tall and young; Steve was average height and middle-age. Both were muscular. After loading our washer, dryer, dining room set, queen size mattress, and box springs, they headed to Wells Wood. A half hour after Spence arrived, the moving truck passed our house. Spence got back in his pickup and found the men parked by the second log house. I gave a tour of what went where then the movers brought in the washer. Because front loaders hold water, the men paused to catch their breaths, and Steve commented on the weight. In time, they maneuvered the machine into the bathroom. Directions for attaching the mounting rack on the washer were skimpy. While Niles brought in the other furniture, Steve fit rack pieces by trial and error. After adjusting the dryer feet, the men lifted the dryer onto the washer. One side slipped into the rack; the other didn't. Lifting-loosening-lifting-tightening finally secured the machine. While I did four loads of laundry without climbing stairs or packing folded clothes into suitcases, I was grateful for the three men and two trucks.

Reflections on the Fifth Week of Fall

 

On a mid 80°, sunny morning, Spence and I took Mom to the beach on Anna Maria Island. We pushed her wheelchair through the parking lot and across the pancake restaurant terrace. Then she held my arm and walked sixty feet across the sand. Spence muscled the empty chair. Mom picked a sunny spot just beyond shade trees. Because of the wind, she tied a headscarf under her chin and draped a sweater over her shoulders. She soaked in the sun, and we walked. Terns scampered in the surf. Gulls stepped aside when folks approached. I waded–waves crashed against my shins. Spence stayed above the water line and looked back to check Mom. He saw a man talking to her so we walked back to check. Mom said she'd had three visitors. A gentleman with an English accent offered to take her closer to the water. Two women just stopped to chat. Mom concluded the sun felt good, people were friendly, and she didn't need the sweater. A couple times on her walk back across the sand, Mom rested in the wheelchair. I admired her fortitude.

Reflections on the Fourth Week of Fall

After a hard frost, ladybugs swarmed doors, windows, and log walls in search of entrances to our warm house. I carefully picked two off the sliding glass door and tossed them outside. Twenty-two zoomed in while the door was open. I gathered them–not caring if a few squished even though squished ladybugs emit an acrid odor. I took photos and found a comma butterfly with its wings closed against the wind. (Its name comes from the white comma on the brown undersides.) When a ladybug crawled over the butterfly's foot, the butterfly fluttered its wings, and I got a glimpse of its orange top. Coming back inside was a problem. To dislodge the ladybugs from the front door, I opened it a crack and slammed hard. Twice. The bugs flew off the door but onto me. I brushed and stomped. Some bugs crawled under my turtleneck and tickled my skin. Spence said, “You'd think the wind would blow these little buggers away.” The buggers landed on George when he took his deck exercise. “Don't eat them,” Spence warned. The invasion continued through the night. As he tried to sleep, ladybugs dive-bombed Spence.

Reflections on the Third Week of Fall

Friday afternoon Kathy called to say Peggie had a bear in her tree–did I want to take some photos? I did, but could I take them from the car window? Spence fetched the car, I wrote the chimney sweep a check for repairs, and the sweep, with his assistant, followed us to Peggie's house. She sat in a folding chair by her garage and pointed to a towering maple in her driveway loop. “He's right up there.” He was big, black, and at least 250 pounds. The sweep and his assistant walked under the tree to take pictures with their cell phones. I paused to ask if the bear might come down. Peggie shook her head. “He's been up there since eleven last night. Lots of people have come to look at him today. He's not moving.” Reassured, I walked under the tree, but not under the bear. Sunshine and dark fur made lighting for photos tricky, and the bear turned his head away from me. I walked from side to side to catch his face. When the bear did look at me, I clicked quickly. He drooled. The assistant said, “Don't jump down on me, you bear.” The sweep said, “He's going to jump on you.” With forty-seven pictures in my camera, I figured I had enough. I thanked Peggie and hopped in the car. Peggie emailed later that the bear left Saturday morning after a seventeen hour visit.

Reflections on the Second Week of Fall

 

Spencer Charles, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and I, in long sleeves, long pants, and the heating pad wrapped around my right arm, gathered around the coffee table for a cooperative, strategy game called Pandemic. We conferred to cure diseases that spread across the world map with each turn. We build research stations, quashed outbreaks, and saved humanity three games in a row. Other games we played were competitive: backgammon that Aunt Marge had taught him; Yatzee that had cats' ears twitching toward rolling dice; Ticket to Ride that placed plastic trains across the continent, and Words with Friends that had us typing scrabble words on electric devises every spare moment. His vacation week brought comfort and memorable moments–a walk under blue skies and yellow leaves, his from-scratch pizza dough, his writing tips for showing emotions in my turkey story, pain management tactics, dish washing help, audio book suggestions, post office chaffering, and always his loving attention. Never underestimate the power of a son's loving attention to calm and delight his mother.

Fall Reflections

Reflections on the First Week of Fall

Aging challenges us to adapt to one new malady after another. This past week, the cats and I worked on arthritis. Emma walked with a hobble-march. Because George couldn't jump, he scratched overhanging people-parts for a lift up onto the sofa. Both basked, or mostly basked, in the sun. They slept off pain rather than took medicine. When I sprinkled cat glucosamine on their food, they'd wait for the other to eat. Hungry, Emma nosed covered crunchies aside to find untainted morsels underneath. Not me. I called the nurse practitioner for more medication–alternate ibuprofen with Tylenol arthritis formula for twelve rather than six pills a day. The children at Learning Center were content to read with me strapped to a heating pad. I played computer solitaire left handed to rest the painful right.  And, I asked my son, a thirty year pain veteran, how he coped. He alternated exercise with rest, put events early in the day, and listed chores without deadlines. My new task list included reading and watching DVDs. I also coped by creating descriptions for 1–5 pain levels: squirming;strapping on the heating pad; grouching and swearing; reliving child birth; signing euthanasia papers.