Posts Tagged ‘family’
Like Flying
Yesterday felt like I had boarded an airplane and soared to a vacation destination far to our south. For weeks that became months, our region languished with daily high temperatures that repeatedly failed to reach 50°F. The milestone of the first 50° day of the season took so long to occur that when the air finally warmed up, a day or two later, the highs raced right through the 50s into the 60s and 70s.
Only the largest mounds of piled snow from plowing or shoveling remain. Remember that dead pine tree that collected and held onto the last big snowfall we received?
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It doesn’t look nearly as glamorous now. There isn’t a green needle to be found on any of those branches.
Meanwhile, everywhere I turn there is new green growth appearing from the dirt or the ends of branches. I’m feeling pulled in so many directions to get after managing our landscape where possible before it all takes off and grows appendages where I don’t want them to grow.
I feel awful when I am late to prune and end up cutting a limb that a tree or bush has already put precious energy into feeding. I am fascinated by how much is going on inside these plants from the moment sap can flow.
The pine trees were all “Snap, Crackle, & Pop” with pinecones instantly responding to the summery warmth.
Looks like the tree by the shop garage is going to produce a bumper crop this year.
Since it felt like a vacation destination, I only did about a half-day of tree trimming and trail clean-up before moving all the outdoor furniture back onto the deck for lounging under the warm solar rays. With my eyes closed, there was a moment when I almost thought I was in Puerto Rico. Then I realized it was just Cyndie calling via FaceTime video.
Today, Cyndie and Elysa are scheduled to fly home. I look forward to seeing if island living was good for Cyndie’s ankle rehabilitation. Walking on sand could be an exercise that helps her adapt to walking on the uneven turf of our yard and trails.
I’m mentally prepared for news of good progress or lack thereof, either way. It will be grand to have her back home where she can enjoy a vacation from her vacation with her family and Carlos’ family in Puerto Rico.
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Visible Differences
Yesterday, Cyndie sent me a photo of the colorful energy in Puerto Rico where she and Elysa are celebrating Carlos reaching a birthday numbered somewhere between 65 and 85 years (I wouldn’t dare reveal that it might be ten years away from both of those numbers).
I responded to her text with a photo of my own.
Compare and contrast our respective scenery and company.
I’ll say this much, I’ve got the bluer sky. 🙂
In addition to the smiling faces of Barry and Carlos captured above, they are joined by their mom, Marie, and brother, Steve.
Looks like they are having a pretty good time, eh?
The visible differences between our worlds right now are a function of the invisible contrasts in our personalities. I am thrilled that Cyndie was able to take this trip to a faraway place to be with family. I am also thrilled that I didn’t have to figure out what to pack or deal with air travel and ground transportation. I am thrilled to be home alone for a week with all the comfort and conveniences that go along with that.
I have survived the hassles of traveling to incredible adventures during my life but in general, my preference leans very heavily toward being in my home spaces as much as possible. I am very grateful and incredibly lucky for the number of times Cyndie has been willing to fulfill her wanderlust without me.
Be it ever so [or not so] humble…
My pathway to the barn on Wednesday morning was a slippery block of leaf-pocked ice where I had compacted the snow with repeated trips back and forth throughout the snow season.
That won’t last very many more days. Then it becomes a path of slippery leaves over soft mud until the frost completely leaves the ground and things begin to dry out. That’s when the mind of this home-body begins to think about pumping fresh air into his bicycle tires and going out for a roll on local roadways.
There is no waiting in line at the TSA to go on a bike ride.
Here’s hoping the clouds don’t linger long over Puerto Rico!
¡Feliz Cumpleaños, Carlos!
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Branch Removal
The weather was pleasant yesterday and enough snow had melted at the top of the driveway that I was able to cut up the branches of the big limb that came down in the last storm. That meant I needed to fire up the chainsaw that hasn’t seen any action in months. It was a little reluctant to start which involved enough pulling that I required a break to catch my breath but the second effort was the charm.
I cut up the fallen limb to three different levels: logs to split for firewood, branch trunks 4″ or less saved for the chipper, and branch tops to pile along our north property border. I trimmed the broken stump back to the main trunk of the tree and held it up for Cyndie like it was a trophy.
Looking at the tree after I was done, the overall shape seems pretty healthy. It’s as if this limb deserved to be removed for the overall benefit of the tree. That’s the way I’m going to frame it from now on, anyway.
Today, Cyndie departs to Puerto Rico for a week with our daughter to celebrate a milestone birthday this year for Carlos. I will go on a John diet for a week. The meals I prepare for myself are a lot simpler than the feasts Cyndie serves.
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Additional Detail
We enjoyed the day after Cyndie’s performance with a sigh of relief over her having accomplished the feat she had devoted so much time and energy to.
With the time-limited storytelling out of the way, I’d like to add a little behind-the-scenes context to the drama of that moment when the wedding cake crashed to the floor. Yeah, she wanted to scream. Consider these added tidbits…
- Cyndie had taken a full day off from work to bake the cakes on the Friday before the wedding. She hadn’t planned on having a distressing day at work on that Thursday triggering a decision to seek an immediate change of employment. That decision was linked to an opportunity with an application deadline of 9 a.m. Friday morning. Cyndie started her day at 4 a.m. to update her curriculum vitae and compose a cover letter by 8 o’clock for a courier to deliver in the nick of time.
- Then, she started baking cakes for the planned 12-hour project. Random interruptions pushed that allotted time to nearly 18 hours. Somewhere in there, our daughter, Elysa came home feeling unwell and I crashed with her in our bedroom. When Cyndie came up to sleep, she found Elysa in our bed so she moved to Elysa’s room instead. A short time later, after midnight, our phone rings and Julian answers. His young cousin is sick and wants to talk to Cyndie.
- Julian comes into our room looking for his mom and is totally confused about not finding her there. We get the phone to Cyndie in Elysa’s room and find out her brother’s kids are being watched by a grandparent with limited English skills while the parents are traveling. The boy is suffering a terrible bout of flu and asks if Cyndie would come over because grandpa’s only solution is to go to the hospital.
- Cyndie drives over and is basically up the rest of the night assisting with bouts of vomiting.
- She finally makes it home early on Saturday morning to thoroughly shower any and all sickness off her before preparing to depart with cakes for the wedding venue.
She had reasons to scream before she even started assembling the wedding cake that day.
Only a few people enjoying Cyndie’s storytelling at The Moth slam on Wednesday night knew the full detail of how stressful that dramatic disaster really was for our hero.
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Cyndie’s Story
Two weeks ago, I wrote about us attending a Moth story slam in advance of Cyndie’s plan to submit her name for an opportunity to tell her wedding cake story at the Amsterdam Bar & Hall in St. Paul. For those of you who weren’t able to hear her tell it in person last night, she has allowed me to post a written version for you.
Cyndie’s name was selected tenth –the last slot, out of twenty that had signed up for the chance.
Imagine Cyndie walking up on stage, standing under the lights in front of a microphone, and addressing a packed house. She is allowed only 5 minutes…
When my niece got engaged, she asked her mother to sew her wedding dress, and her grandma to knit a shawl and asked if I would bake a simple wedding cake. Thrilled, I said yes immediately… even though I’d never made a wedding cake before. Friends expressed concern over the huge responsibility I’d taken on given my lack of experience with wedding cakes. But I love to bake and was inspired by my niece’s invitation. I embraced this cake-baking opportunity with equal measures of optimism and naiveté.
That year, I baked dozens of practice cakes to test out on family and friends. I was blamed for inches added to waistlines and my reputation for baking in excess soared to new heights. It took me about 40 hours to mold sugar paste into candied pearls and colorful, edible flowers. With all that practice, my confidence grew and so did the cake. What started as a simple wedding cake had become a five-tier, white chocolate, lemon-raspberry layered masterpiece, stuffed with extra love.
Days before the wedding, my friend asked me how I planned to transport the cakes to the venue. I’d been so focused on baking, I hadn’t given it a thought. I quickly discovered that my mustang convertible with bucket seats is NOT the car for the job. My friend bails me out by loaning me her practical 4-door sedan as long as I drive and relieve her of any responsibility for the safe delivery of the cakes.
On the big day, I load up the car with boxes of cakes, buckets of extra frosting, edible decorations, and fresh flowers. I’m so nervous about transporting the cakes that I drive like a Sunday driver, on a Saturday! Thankfully, all the cakes arrive intact.
I carry the boxes of cakes like they are newborn babies and begin to carefully assemble the tiers of cake with the stands and pillars. I’m so meticulous about frosting and decorating each level to perfection that it takes me 2.5 hours just to finish the first four tiers. But I’m happy- already the cake is nearly 3 feet high and it looks as stunning as I’d hoped it would be.
As I reach to place the final tier, I hear a loud snap and then another one, as the pillars give way under the weight of the cake, and, in horror, I watch the cake topple over and crash onto the floor. A busboy says, “You are so [effed]” as he and the wait staff all run for cover in the kitchen. I can barely breathe but I manage to warn my friend, “DO. NOT. SAY. A THING.” She doesn’t and takes cover behind the bar.
I can’t believe I have just ruined my niece’s wedding day. This is exactly what my friends had warned me about. I can hear all the “I told you so’s” and the “what were you thinking’s” and see the evidence of not being enough piled high on top of the inglorious mess. I want to scream but I can’t because the only thing separating the wedding chapel from the reception hall is a thin, moveable partition.
Then the organist begins to play, “Here Comes the Bride.” I AM SO [EFFed]! My friend appears next to me with a shot of whiskey she’d stolen from the bar. I don’t drink whiskey, but on this day, I did. She asked, “What are you going to do?”
I have two choices- I can succumb to the despair of this epic fail or I have to rise up and fight with all the love in my heart to make the simple cake my niece had asked for. The fight is on. Baking in excess is now my saving grace. I have enough backup cakes. The groom’s cake is still intact and I can use fresh flowers to decorate so I kick my inner critic to the curb and ask for help.
The busboy –yeah, that one!– comes to my aid and scoops up the four-tier disaster on the floor, a waiter brings a fresh tablecloth and my friend fearlessly rips open the boxes and hands me back-up cakes as fast as I can frost & decorate them. I have to finish Wedding Cake 2.0 by the time the ceremony ends in less than 20 minutes.
I finish the second cake just in time to see the mother-of-the-bride walk into the reception hall, look at the cake, and, burst into tears. She says, “I didn’t cry at all during the ceremony but when I saw the cake… It’s so beautiful.” And it really was!
Sometimes, even I have a hard time believing the miracle that happened that day. But the radiant look on my niece’s face when she thanked me for baking her wedding cake helps me remember that anything is possible when I let love lead the way.
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Out of the ten storytellers, Cyndie’s performance earned a second place score from the judges, losing out by half a point to a tale that included both a tornado and nudity. The evening was a smashing (pun intended) success and made all the sweeter by the support of family and friends who showed up to cheer her on.
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Writing Words
Relative Something is a blog. The word blog is short for weblog, as in, world wide web + log [regular record of incidents]. Blogs are written in an informal conversational style. I write about my experiences like I would describe them if we were just hanging out, minus the pauses when I can’t think of the word I want to use. A thesaurus is my friend.
It would embarrass me greatly if the frequency of my error in using a word were prominently displayed on my posts. I am forever grateful for the intuition to double-check a dictionary and thesaurus. I don’t write exactly like I talk but I do write the way thoughts and ideas come into my head. Another thing I am forever grateful for is the dialogue I was surrounded by growing up. My vocabulary came from hearing the words my mom and dad used while WCCO radio and television broadcasts ran as a background soundtrack.
It is not rare that a sentence will come into my head with a word that I don’t recognize as coming from my own common usage but feels connected to something my mother would say.
Yesterday, as I steeled myself against a biting wind chill, I caught myself doing the classic “air whistle” that is an obvious habit my mom displayed. I have tried to grow out of that natural tendency, with little success beyond increased awareness of occasions when I am doing it. At the same time, it’s a habit that always draws memories of my mom from deep in my soul and brings a feeling of pride over being one of her kids.
Why would I try to get myself to stop this behavior? Maybe it’s a remnant of the urge to grow up and become my own person.
I am unabashedly a product of my upbringing and my ancestral heritage but I have the desire to grow well beyond simply being like my parents. Striving to be healthier in mind, body, and spirit has helped me to interrupt a pattern of familial depression and the use of alcohol as (an ineffective –even detrimental) treatment.
I don’t have a memory of my parents writing poetry but I have read the poems of another of my ancestral relatives. My inclination is to assemble words in a rhythmic pattern that appeals to my senses. That often drives the selection of a word more than the meaning of the word itself. When the collection of words is stacked up, the variety of possible intentions often surprises me. I don’t always know what the poems are saying about me but I have learned that readers often come to their own conclusions.
Helping Cyndie to shape and reshape a story she hopes to tell in a week and a half has been a fun experience for me. It is blurring the differences between verbal stories and written chronicles. Either way, readers or listeners are forming their own interpretations in their minds, conjuring mental images and feeling whatever emotions the words inspire.
I have a feeling her project could help me to become a better writer of stories about the experiences of *this* John W. Hays.
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Cyndie Leaves
It’s not the first time this has happened and it won’t be the last. One minute she was here, the next minute she was gone. Cyndie has flown to Florida to spend a little time with her mom and our daughter where the water isn’t frozen.
Before she left, Cyndie took advantage of one of our pleasant afternoons to visit the horses and seized on an opportunity to untangle some of the “fairy knots” in Mix’s mane.
Mix almost stayed put long enough for her to get them fully separated. Combing out the rest of the mane with some conditioner will have to wait for another day. I look forward to a time when Cyndie has regained her full mobility and can return to bringing her precious energy to the horses in the paddocks every day again.
Hopefully, a little sunshine and exercise in the swimming pool will do wonders for the rehabilitation of her ankle.
Her scenery has definitely changed. One might even describe that as an improvement. (Individual opinions will vary.)
I am holding down the ranch on my own in her absence, which isn’t all that different from the previous four months of her restricted ambulatory abilities. The main thing that changes is my diet becomes a lot less fancy. She did make a point of baking a fresh batch of cookies before she left, so the management of my self-control and willpower won’t be getting a break.
Full disclosure: The primary incentive for managing my consumption of cookies is not for health reasons. I need to pace myself so they will last until Cyndie’s return.
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Prom Night
It might be a little early in the calendar year for the school prom but that’s where we were last night. Cyndie, Elysa, and I made the long drive to the Chanhassen Dinner Theater to attend a performance of “The Prom” because a Hays relation is in a leading role.
Elysa got us discounted tickets provided to MacPhail Center for Music which led to a festive number of connections throughout the evening.
In a wonderful web of fewer than six degrees of association, Cyndie and I met Austin Wahl. See if you can follow this:
- Our friend, Gary Larson hosts periodic music evenings in his home and invited me to play guitar.
- On one of these occasions, we meet his friend, Ned Wahl who also plays guitar.
- We soon learn that Ned already knows our daughter, Elysa through his interactions at MacPhail.
- Ned’s son, Austin takes a position teaching at MacPhail.
Elysa was exchanging greetings with multiple people from MacPhail connections early on. When she said, “This is Austin Wahl,” Cyndie and I exclaimed, “Ned’s son!”
That was a wonderful bonus on top of the main attraction of our night. Monty Hays performs in the role of Emma, an Indiana teen whose prom is canceled because she is a lesbian who wanted to bring her girlfriend as her date.
Monty’s dad is my nephew, Beau Hays, son of my brother, Elliott.
Family resemblance? If not clearly apparent in our faces, the mannerisms tend to be revealing.
We guessed that it has been 13 years since we have seen each other. Beau reminded me that he has yet to visit our place in Wisconsin because he missed the big family gathering in 2014 when a tire blew out on his way here.
We’ll have to remedy that because brief greetings amidst a swirl of energy during the opening weekend at a dinner theater among friends and multiple generations of family relations is a tad chaotic. They need to come to hang out with some horses and linger with us.
Opening night of “The Prom” was Friday but Monty’s parents, Beau and Katy, were out of town until yesterday, so this was their first time seeing the show. We gathered in the bar after the show to greet Monty where emotions ran high at the sight of not only Mom and Dad, but also unexpected relatives.
A rare sighting of these five Hays relations in one place at the same time.
Monty’s performance is stellar and the musical is an entertaining dose of humor, real-life drama, live music, great singing, and impressive dance routines.
A STORY OF LOVE, ACCEPTANCE AND EMBRACING THE PERSON YOU WERE MEANT TO BE!
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Friendly Family
That was fun! Just hanging with my brothers and sisters for an afternoon after not being altogether for three years.
I feel so lucky to have siblings who all get along and seamlessly enjoy time together regardless of how many months might pass between visits. Yesterday included plenty of laughs over memories of our shared childhood experiences, including some details we don’t all agree on. Honestly, one thing that I’m becoming more certain about as I age is that I am not certain about any precise details conjured in my memories.
No matter how clear my memory of past events seems, it is only fair to qualify them as my vague recollections.
With some luck, the date we picked for a summer weekend gathering will work for all our extended families and we can have a larger span of time together for sharing stories. The hours we were together yesterday only scratched the surface of catching up with each person.
In the same way that time seems to fly by when you are having fun, it also can sail away from you when you aren’t paying attention. In a blink, years can pass between sibling get-togethers. Throw in a pandemic to wipe out another big chunk of time and it makes it hard to remember the last gathering.
That’s too long between visits for a family that is so much fun to be around. Here’s hoping we can work on improving that in the future.
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Siblings Again
Cyndie and I are driving up to North Branch, Minnesota, today for a planned gathering of my Hays siblings. There were a couple of farther-reaching Hays relation reunions that were canceled by the pandemic and I don’t believe the five of us have been in the same place at the same time since January 2020. Yesterday, I scoured the photo archives of my blog for a record of our gatherings throughout the last decade for comparison, and hopefully, to coerce us to get an up-to-date portrait while we are together today.
In my search, I came across some shots from when we were kids that I’ll insert to start this gallery.
abt. 1960: Judy holding me, Elliott, Mary, Linda (1952-1997)
abt 1961: Judy, Mary, John, Elliott, Linda (1952-1997) holding David
with Mom, abt. late 1990s – early 2000s in Eden Prairie
Brothers, maybe?
abt 2009: Wasn’t everybody, but close.
Winter 2014, Beldenville.
Summer 2017, Richfield.
Summer 2018, Richfield.
Winter 2020, North Branch
We don’t tend to choreograph our positioning with any regularity, do we? It will keep you guessing who each person is.
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Relative Something 