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 - Aunt Jane

 

Flowering Marsh Marigold

 

Jane Kressel

March 30, 1922 - February 18, 2014 

Because I had an Aunt Jane, friends in the Jane Austen society considered me lucky. But they didn’t realize how fortunate I was with MY Aunt Jane.

She welcomed me to her house ad introduced me to sunsets on Presque Isle. She kept all the cards and pictures I sent her. She gave Dad directions to the emergency room when I slammed my finger in the car door. And she had a sense of humor with a loving accepting smile that would change a cloudy day to sunshine.

Spence and I planted two marsh marigolds—flowers with sunny yellow blooms—in her memory.

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.