Posts Tagged ‘family’
Early Progress
Yesterday turned out to be a day of multiple small steps of progress with early spring goals. Cyndie and I started the day with a trip to St. Paul to help Elysa with a few house maintenance projects. I’m feeling chuffed for my vinyl siding fixes because I have absolutely zero experience in that area.
If the fixes survive the wild weather predicted for tonight, I will be even more proud of our accomplishments. Our favorite local meteorologist, Paul Huttner paints a pretty dramatic word picture of the potential for hazardous weather this evening in his Updraft weather blog.
Back home for the afternoon, we successfully dug out two portions of the main mass of tall grass and transplanted them to two different spots on our property. I had anticipated the separation to be much more of a struggle than we ultimately experienced. We will be thrilled if the transplanted pieces survive and thrive in their new locations.
I’m guessing it might have been a little too early to attempt this digging because the ground was still frozen under the base of the rootball.
We’ve had two days without precipitation and just enough warm sunshine that I was wooed into thinking we were farther along than we really are.
After that little transplanting task was complete, Cyndie returned to putting up barriers around the strawberry patch and I worked on rejuvenating the contents of our kitchen compost bin nearby. We let it sit dormant throughout the winter months.
We are beginning to see green sprouts peeking up out of the carpet of dead leaves. It is an incredible testament to the miracle of growing plants that progress is underway before it even seems possible.
In a flash of reverse thinking, I sarcastically suggested to Cyndie that we frame our tall grass transplant project as an attempt to get the new plantings to not grow since plants we don’t want (weeds and invasives)re seem to thrive. Wanting something favorable to grow and be healthy has produced more failures than successes so I figure a little reverse psychology might protect us from the usual outcomes.
I don’t want to get overconfident, but if these two grass transplants work for us, I have hopes of doing this on a much more regular basis. In fact, we might even think about dividing them every 2-3 years like recommendations suggest for ornamental tall grasses.
When everything seemed done for the day, I found Cyndie in the kitchen making strawberry jam from the final batch of last year’s frozen berries. I guess seeing her strawberry plants already showing signs of life when she was putting up the fencing around them spurred her into action.
We’ll have new red, ripe berries in the garden before you can say, “How did July get here so fast?”
.
.
Small Banquet
Once again, the phrase “dined like royalty” comes to my mind to describe the homemade feast Cyndie served yesterday for a visit from our son, his wife, and their friends. Beyond her classic culinary artwork of two varieties of scones, Cyndie tried her hand at making hummus out of peas and baking naan bread for the first time.
The main dish of curry chicken and roasted vegetables was followed by her version of a turtle cake from a copied recipe of St. Paul’s Cafe Latte.
As often happens, there was so much delicious food consumed, there was little room for dessert. That’s no problem for Cyndie. She had “to go” containers available so slices of the chocolate caramel decadence were sent home to be enjoyed later.
We were blessed with an afternoon of warm sunshine that felt even nicer than the actual temperature, especially compared to our recent extended spell of rainy, snowy days.
The horses had been brushed earlier in the morning but were perfectly covered in mud by the time we all showed up to visit after a stroll in the labyrinth. While Mix showed interest in checking out the new guests, the other three paid little notice, choosing instead to linger in the altered state of almost sleeping, but not really.
The day was a wonderful celebration of sharing the wonders of Wintervale while we are mired in the muddy conditions of early spring.
.
.
Horses Shedding
It’s that time of year when horsehair starts showing up everywhere. When you touch them, their hair gets on your gloves. When you rub them, the shedding hair gets in the air. With hair floating on the wind, it gets in your face. If you reach up to swipe the hair from your face, you get more hair than you bargained for.
Case in point:
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Cyndie’s brother, Steve, paid me a visit while his sister is in Florida. We stopped by a paddock gate to visit with the horses and found several of them showing interest in allowing us to give them scratches. Swings stopped by first. She stood for a bit with her nose just at the gate, breathing in our scent. I turned away for a moment and when I looked back, she had stepped forward and was reaching her head completely over the gate.
Steve and I both happily obliged her willingness and rubbed our gloved hands on her head and neck where she seemed to want some scratching action.
Upon receiving her fill, Swings stepped away and Mix moved in for her own dose of similar attention. Mix has a bit of a runny nostril and appeared to think Steve’s jacket served as a fine “tissue” for wiping her nose. Undaunted, Steve served her up a good massage around her head, coming away with two hands full of Mix’s hair.
Steve was playing in a hockey tournament in River Falls this weekend.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I was able to show up and watch their first game on Friday night and then Steve and I visited a sports bar with live music on Main Street for a late dinner. He came back to our house to spend the night before heading back to River Falls for his second game, after a leisurely morning that included a walk with Delilah and the time with our horses.
Hopefully, Steve wasn’t still finding horsehair clinging to him while he was trying to chase the puck around in game two. I stayed home to enjoy all the shedded hair showing up in our house, and on my clothes, stuck to my boots, on our furniture, getting in my mouth, blowing like tumbleweed across the paddocks…
.
.
Loft Makeover
Yesterday was a day of furniture upheaval in our house, demonstrated first thing in the morning by the sight of the overstuffed chair that used to be in the loft suddenly occupying the floor of our kitchen.
Cyndie and I made the drive to Edina and met two of her brothers, Steve and Ben, who made this one-day project possible for us. The primary goal was to move the big sectional corner sofa from their mom’s basement back to our house. As long as we were there and Steve had made a truck and trailer available, other large items were included. We also moved a recliner, twin beds, a beautiful old glass-doored bookshelf cabinet, lamps, and several bags of linens.
In order to accommodate the furniture that is coming our way, we are passing some of our old things on to others who have expressed interest and/or are donating pieces to local organizations in need.
The challenge that loomed largest appeared to be how we would get the bigger items moved up our spiral staircase to the loft. It actually turned out to be rather straightforward and involved taking advantage of the railing to support and slide the couch sections on the way up.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Honestly, the biggest complication of the day was caused by the icy driveway hindering Steve’s ability to move the truck and trailer as easily as we would have liked.
Once we had everything in place and the guys had headed back to the cities, I tested the new seating by checking out Iowa vs. Purdue in the men’s Big Ten Championship basketball game and promptly fell into a wonderful slumbering nap.
The new setup passed with my full and highest approval, although laced with an underlying feeling of disorientation over sitting in Marie’s basement furniture while now in my loft at home.
I blame the hour clock change yesterday of Daylight Saving Time. Makes everything seem out of whack for a few days until I get used to it.
A couple more naps on the couch while pretending to watch television will go a long way toward mentally adjusting to the changes accomplished yesterday.
Many thanks to Ben and Steve for coming all the way to our place and helping with the heavy lifting to make it all possible!
I’m now very ready for NCAA March Madness…
.
.
Hockey Hangover
Of all the days to stay up later than normal, last night was one that compounds the cost because clocks moved one hour ahead last night. Color me sleep-deprived.
I blame hockey. Not just any hockey, though. The Minnesota State High School Hockey Tournament hooked me this year for no specific reason. I had no connection to any of the school teams involved but I was entranced by the excitement and competitiveness on display. Last night’s championship game went to a second overtime period that kept me glued until the winning goal was scored.
The entire tournament offered a refreshing dose of pure hockey with minimal distractions of post-whistle shenanigans and remarkably few penalties.
I saw a player get knocked completely off his skates and he simply got back up and kept playing as if checking is no big deal. How can a high school kid play with more maturity than NHL professionals that retaliate like it’s obligatory?
Four days in a row of high-intensity competitive games was downright intoxicating.
I’d like to say I could just sleep it off but no such luck today. It’s moving day! We are getting rid of some of our old furnishings and two of Cyndie’s brothers are helping us to bring back a couch and chairs and whatever else fits from Cyndie’s mom’s house. The Edina home has been sold and needs to be cleaned out.
We are happy to do our part.
The couch will go up in our loft where I can settle in to watch the NCAA March Madness basketball tournament games until I’ve had my fill.
Replacing one vice with another? Yes, that’s my plan.
,
,
Time Ravaged
More than I can remember in my lifetime, we have been cycling above and below the freezing point this winter, taxing everything exposed to the extremes. As I’ve written many times before, everything moves, including what is often referred to as “solid ground.”
Terra firma is not so firm a.
This is the current state of a base I installed for an outdoor sink on the backside of the barn.
It used to be level.
In some places, the ground sinks. In others, it rises up. And it changes back and forth about as often as the freezing and thawing cycle is playing out. Of course, the base in the image above never happens to return to level. Oh, no.
I have no idea what happened in our pile of limestone screenings. It looks a little like maybe it regurgitated all over itself.
A while back, Cyndie posted a bunch of our furniture for sale on the local neighborhood app. Quite a lot of furniture, actually. The app offered a suggestion that she could also post it on another app to be seen by more than just our neighbors. All it took was the push of a button. So she did.
Soon we had people from far and wide contacting us to ask if everything was okay. Why was she unloading all this furniture?
It’s nice to know concerned friends will check on us if we start showing signs of distress.
The reason Cyndie is looking to jettison our old furniture is that her mother is moving from the family home of many years into a smaller unit in a senior living community. We will be taking some of the precious furnishings that didn’t make the cut for her mom’s new home.
In preparation, we have already started to move things around in our house. We took possession of the old flat-screen TV that had been in her mom’s basement and put it up in our loft, replacing the smaller one we’ve had since it was our main television mounted on the wall in our Eden Prairie home.
Here in Beldenville, the old television was in a stand on a table. In a classic domino effect of one change leading to another, we decided to relocate that TV to the bedroom to replace a smaller one in that room. There, it will be able to be mounted on the wall again. That means I needed to find the old wall mount bracket.
I didn’t know if we’d even kept it, but Cyndie remembered seeing it on the top shelf in our storage room. With her direction, I found two of the three primary pieces. The ravages of time have taken a toll on my memory and I couldn’t recall if we’d detached the base plate from the wall when we moved out of the old house.
I actually started researching online to see if I could replace just the base plate before one last double-check in the storage room, where I was actually checking old packaging for information on the name of the wall mount manufacturer. That’s when I spotted a tiny corner of the base plate on a different shelf.
As far as I can tell, we actually do have everything needed to proceed.
.
.
Just Lookin’
In avoidance of extending our exposure to more of the daily war news than necessary, I turned to surfing reddit on my phone to pass some time while digesting my dinner. As is the norm, scrolling past the first few posts brought up the featured live feed of the moment. I usually scroll past these with barely a glance, always with the sound muted.
However, I was shocked to discover I knew the person who showed up on the screen this time. Giving out a shout, I hustled down the stairs to show Cyndie.
“It’s Julian! Julian’s on the… he’s drumming on the… on Reddit’s live feed!” I struggled to blurt out.
How’s that for timing? My son was broadcasting a live session of playing his electronic drum set in video game fashion similar to the classic “Guitar Hero” while a synchronized LED light show illuminated the background, and I just happened to stumble upon it.
It was wonderful serendipity that I logged in at that very moment and a special treat to get to see his performance was also being watched by over 20-thousand others around the world.
You ROCK, Julian!
.
.
Chasing Racers
There’s an app for that. Family support for race participants becomes a sport in itself. One of the first challenges is interpreting event information provided by the organizers. Then there is the physical exertion of arriving at the correct spot at the precise moment to see specific racers along a 50-kilometer freestyle course. Having an app to show a skier’s progress is a helpful tool, but only part of the information needed in the role of spectator/support people.
Yesterday’s adventure began with the challenge of finding where skiers can be dropped off to catch a shuttle bus with time to spare to reach the starting point of the American Birkebeiner. Oft referred to as “The Birkie,” this is North America’s largest cross-country ski marathon and part of the worldloppet circuit of over 20 international ski marathons and it happens practically in the back yard of our lake place getaway.
When we got to town, taking the back route to dodge a suspected road closure (that turned out to be not closed) there was no obvious sign of where to find a skier drop off for the shuttle. We decided to make the drive to the race start ourselves. Knowing the route to Cable, WI was no problem but reaching the start required a lot of luck and a little bravado. As we got close, we found busses and followed one past a sign that said “no entry.”
Our heroes, Ella W., and Ellie G. hopped out as the traffic volunteer was instructing us we couldn’t park there. Luckily, we had no intention of parking. We drove back to the house and watched the race progress on a live online feed.
When the time looked right, we drove to an access point somewhere near the middle of the race.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Our intrepid first-time marathon skiers were in fine spirits and good form which was a wonderful thing to see for those who love them and are cheering from the sidelines. Once again, we headed back to the comfort of the house and some lunch while the athletes were outside pushing their limits in the elements.
With the app offering hints of their progress, we headed out again, this time in two cars so we could give them a ride back after the finish. Our first challenge was to find a place to park in the small town of Hayward where the population had expanded 20-fold for the weekend.
Since our first-timers Ella and Ellie started in the last wave of the race, a good percentage of people were already done and leaving so parking spots were opening up at random. We arrived on Main Street with time to scout out the scene and took up a position that unfortunately offered primarily shadowed views.
Regardless, we hollered excitedly at the sight of the girls taking their finishing strides.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
They had enough skiing for the day, that’s for sure. Gauging their assessment in the immediate moment of fatigue leaves room for interpretation. No matter what, it was a heck of an accomplishment for them. Endurance sports are not for everyone, but it is an honor to witness their achievements in person and live vicariously through their impressive efforts.
.
.
Just Me
Starting today and lasting for a little over a week, it’s going to be just me managing the ranch as Cyndie is flying today to visit her mother in Florida. I’ve been through this solo routine many times but instead of that making it easier, I think the last few times have increasingly revealed how connected Cyndie and I have become at this point of our lives.
Throughout the last week, we have been watching the athletic Olympic performances available on NBC together. It won’t be the same all by myself. I have been frustrated over the number of events, especially hockey, we haven’t had access to that have been broadcast on USA network.
I will particularly miss her editing service for these blog posts. She continually provides helpful feedback on my writing that always makes my posts read better.
Tending to the animals is always half as much work when we share the duties. Now I only have Delilah to help me with the horses until Cyndie returns and what Delilah does down at the barn is never really all that helpful. Mostly, she starts barking a lot if she thinks the horses are misbehaving.
Delilah did a great job of alerting us about someone showing up at our front door yesterday. It was one of the local coyote hunters asking if they could cross our land during a hunt. I made sure to get his contact information this time, in case we have future evidence of the pests lurking on our land.
Surprisingly, Delilah didn’t get riled up over the sound of the hunting dogs cutting through our woods. Later, when I took her for an afternoon walk, she was very interested in all the new foot and paw prints in the snow. I heard a couple of gunshots while the hunt was active, but did not receive any word about whether they were successful or not.
It just eventually gets quiet, the pickup trucks disappear from the road, and the horses stop looking all spooked. At that point, I feel safe to take Delilah outside again.
Now it’s going to be quiet around the house for the next nine days.
Not that I’m counting.
.
.
Comparing Generations
In my random occasions dabbling with research into my family ancestry, I’ve too often limited my focus to a narrow few surnames at the expense of so many others. The case of not finding any evidence of a person I’m seeking should be enough to push me on to other lines of the family, but sometimes I can’t get myself to give up.
Something that has helped me to appreciate how many people’s blood we share is the display of doubling numbers for each generation above us in our family trees.
- 2 parents
- 4 grandparents
- 8 great grandparents
- 16 great-great grandparents
- 32 great-great-great grandparents
- 64 great-great-great-great grandparents
I’ve got names for all 16 great-great grandparents, but only 25 of 32 third-great grandparents.
It can get confusing sometimes to keep track of generations and relationships, especially when parent and children names can be the same or very similar. Since I was listing out the generations, I decided to make note of the range of birth years for each.
It’s interesting to see how much the range of years increases with each generation, but understandable with the increased number of people involved.
Cyndie and I can serve as an example of how the difference of birth year can be so great within a familial generation. There is a 17-year difference in the birth years of our parents. Cyndie was the first-born child of 20-year-old parents and I was the fifth-born child of 40-year-old parents.
The birth date ranges of my ancestors shows that one of my 3rd-great grandparents was born after one of my 2nd-great grandparents. No wonder I can get confused sometimes about who is who and in which generation they belong.
It’s a mind boggling trip to contemplate being equal parts of 32 or 64 people in a generation.
It would be a shame to neglect any one part of our history when looking at the rest. My next priority on the genealogy puzzle is to identify those seven missing 3rd-great grandparents. From the looks of it, Ancestry.com has hints waiting to be investigated on several of them.
.
.
Relative Something 