Reflections on the Second Week of Winter

 

With 2014 rolling into 2015, I reflected on endings and beginnings. I removed sand dollars, bird ornaments, and lights from the Christmas tree. The undecorated white fir didn't look forlorn. The three foot tree looked cute and fresh. We planted it in a pre-dug hole by the driveway. While we tucked soil around the root ball, the mail lady brought a package of red wrigglers. Spence assembled the worm factory he gave me for Christmas. I chopped fallen leaves, radish tips, and onion ends. Mixed with coffee grounds, the discards became food to fuel worm castings for fertilizing plants. A more significant event was the rehab center deciding Mom wasn't making enough progress so she'd be discharged Thursday. Having a week to find appropriate help pressured my brother. Mom wasn't pressured. She was upset. “They're kicking me out because I'm failing therapy. What do they expect from a 92 year old?” At the same time, she was happy to be going home. “It's my house. I should be able to live there if I want.” Endings morph into beginnings. Life is a series of cycles.

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.