Posts Tagged ‘family’
Intermediate States
We have arrived at the U.S. holiday weekend of “Memorial Day.” For us, this usually means a trip to the vacation getaway of Cyndie’s family, in Hayward, WI, for “Work Weekend.” This is the time when the property gets a major cleaning, the beach gets raked, toys and floatation devices pulled from storage, and boats get scrubbed and hauled down to the lake. The work culminates in a spectacular community feast at the main lodge.
We aren’t there this year. It feels strange.
We have our new property to tend to this spring, and have been granted a pass from contributing our labor to the lake place.
It feels as though everything at our place is hanging in an intermediate state right now. The two biggest projects, the hay shed and paddock fencing, have been stuck in limbo for weeks, waiting for conditions to dry.
I think the geothermal furnace installation looks complete, but I don’t know the status of whether or not it is fully operational. Almost all the work of installation occurred while we weren’t home. Each day last week, I would check progress when I arrived home from the day-job, trying to discern what had been done, and why, and how. As of last night, it looks like everything is wired and plumbed, but we found no indication of the status, nor instructions on operation. They did leave manuals out. I suppose I could do some reading.
We finished digging up the drain line from the septic tank. It looks like the distribution box is disintegrating. It also looks like there are a lot of illogical twists and turns in the plumbing. I have no idea why they originally chose to do it the way they did, but it did work fine, as far as we can tell, for almost 25 years, so we won’t redo the whole thing. The septic professional I have been consulting has located a replacement distribution box, and will also replace the section of cast iron pipe originally used. It being a holiday weekend, that work will not happen until next week some time, weather permitting.
We need to do a lot of cutting of grass, as the growth is so rapid this time of year, it gets long on one end of the property before you finish cutting the other. Julian helped us greatly last weekend, by doing the first cut of the season, but he wasn’t able to mow the back hill, due to geothermal installation that was in process. It had time to grow doubly long, and we knew rain was coming, so we jumped on that chore late yesterday, before it could get any worse. I am happy to report that Cyndie was eager to have a lesson on the operation of the tractor, and then looked to be having so much fun, I might get away with doing a lot less of the grass cutting around here than I previously anticipated.
In a classic demonstration of our different modes of operation, Cyndie took off with glee, mowing around a tree and then wheeling off in any direction, haphazardly picking off areas of long grass wherever it appeared in her view. I am inclined to mow in a line, back and forth, very methodically. I am a bit more timid. She boldly devoured areas that deserved to be cut, but that I would have been hesitant to try with that mower. I was thinking it would require the brush hog attached to the large tractor. She demonstrated otherwise.
Cyndie and I are a great combination. She spotted some mushrooms growing under a dead pine tree in our front yard. I told her they tasted funny and she got all riled up, exclaiming that I shouldn’t eat them until I know what they are. I was teasing her, of course. Comparing images we found online, we are very confident that these are the very popular and definitely edible morel mushrooms.
We started tending to our little landscape pond with waterfall, but finally came to the full realization that they didn’t leave a pump behind when they moved out, so that project is awaiting a purchase. One more thing hanging in limbo. We also may try to test drive a pickup truck this weekend, a task we have been talking about accomplishing for months.
One last thing that has us feeling unsettled is how much we miss our friends, Alane, Dunia, and Marco. Cyndie has been working with Alane and Dunia for much of her Epona apprenticeship training. I met them and Marco last weekend, and in that short time, developed a deep feeling of connection with all of them. We feel a deep longing to have them here with us, and, in turn, they have indicated a desire to have us visit them in Guatemala and Australia. Long distance relationships can be hard, but we truly hope to make these connections flourish.
Our projects may hang in an intermediate state, but our friendships are definitely established.
Can’t Stop
Okay, I admit it: we are smitten with my son’s new album. I awoke this morning with one particular song running in my head. I just needed to hear it again, and when Cyndie noticed the sound of it playing, she asked me to play it again, out near the kitchen, where she could hear it better, because she wanted to hear that song, too.
If you read yesterday’s post here, and didn’t want to explore all the songs on Julian’s album, I will promote one for your consideration. Listen to “Of Mistress, Master, and Malcontent.” This song includes vocals from Dave Marshall, Julian’s friend in Chicago, and the blend of their voices together is a joy to behold. They have created an arrangement in this song that is captivating, and I think deserves to be heard by a wide audience. I have submitted it to a local radio station for consideration.
Do you think they will be able to see past the gushing parents to take time to consider the music for its own merit?
I hope so. That would make today a real SUPER Sunday.
Enjoy the day!
Big Accomplishment
This past week, we received an email from our son, Julian, with the subject: “My album has been RELEASED!”
Even though some of my son’s taste in music is different than mine, I can’t stop myself from listening to the whole thing, over and over. What a parental rush!
You can read his descriptions of the What, Why, and How, and listen for yourself at the web site he created to share his music: jaywalkerbroadcasts.com.
I recommend you sample enough songs to discover the wide variety of voice and instrument he has put together.
Talk about highly capable, he wrote songs, played all the instruments, sang, recorded, found and financed a professional studio to do mixing and mastering, and then built the web site to distribute his product. And, he did this as a side project to his current full-time day-job. To say we are proud of him, and all he accomplished with this, is an understatement.
When I was young, and heavily interested in recording artists of the time, one thing that boggled my mind was, when individuals would play all the instruments at such an accomplished level, so as to be able to produce a marketable product on their own. Now my own son has done just that!
I remember showing Julian a few things on my guitar when he was little. Then, he took up percussion in the school band, and off he went, playing guitar in rock bands, becoming an accomplished drummer, developing his singing, and developing skills on keyboards and bass guitar. Julian has performed live, in a variety of bands, in a wide range of venues. It’s the stuff that some folks dream of doing, and others actually make a living doing, but he has done it as just one of his many life interests.
Cyndie and I are always thrilled with the music our children make. I’m pretty sure we were annoyingly proud of watching our kids as marching band percussionists for many years. We drove Julian to ‘battle of the bands’ gigs back when he and his school friends didn’t have driver’s licenses. We were also fixated for quite some time on a video that Julian and friend, Dave Marshall, produced while Julian was living, and going to school, in Stockholm, Sweden, and Dave was back in Chicago. I’m including it here again, with Julian’s permission, because we still love it so much.
Julian has now gathered years of his music in a present day recording. He has included guest artists from high school and college days, and put together a legitimate album that he is distributing free on the internet. We think this is a really big accomplishment. I hope you will give it a listen, and then share it with all those who you know that have an appreciation for what he has produced.
If you agree with me, that his efforts are worthy, I invite you to post a comment at his site, or on any of the music sites he links, so he doesn’t just hear it from Mom and Dad. We all know, our support can appear to be a little biased.
Fascinating Stuff
In the process of packing up two-and-a-half decades of accumulation around our house, Cyndie has uncovered reams of precious records that document our children’s young lives. Fascinating stuff, all of it. She has an excellent ability to quickly browse through mounds of documents, which is a good thing, since she is so good at saving mounds of documents. I’m a bit more clumsy in my review. Progress would slow to a crawl if it were left for me to sort through it all.
We are at that point when it is time to choose whether to continue to save, or to finally discard. It has me wondering about the ultimate value of keeping pieces of ourselves from the past. It is a bit of a conundrum for someone with an interest in genealogy. In generations to come, such records will offer valuable insight to any descendents engaged in research of their ancestry.
Reading some of the things our children wrote for school assignments also has me thinking about what it must be like for teachers who process hundreds of kid’s thoughts, year after year. A saintly act. I have the benefit of knowing how the kids turned out, so the drama and angst of the young, developing minds is somewhat muted. I can’t imagine having to read the writings of vast numbers of frustrated students, in real-time, that teachers annually face.
The papers I found myself reading may have been assignments to practice writing, or demonstrate grammar, and seemed to capture a snapshot of a young person’s developing mind. When I read what our children wrote, I became aware of how far they have come since that time. These childhood writings no longer applied to them. It felt almost unfair to their present adult selves, to be reading what they thought back then. I say ‘almost,’ as in, not entirely. Part of me, certainly, as a parent, thoroughly enjoys the experience of witnessing the range of growth they have achieved.
If Cyndie hadn’t saved it, I wouldn’t have been given this chance.
So, do we continue saving it?
I’m torn. A large part of me is of a mind to leave all that behind and focus on living in the current moment. Most likely, if our kids don’t choose to hang on to any of it, we will pare it down to a fraction of the total, and preserve just a few pieces. A compromise, to appease the sentimental parent in both of us. However, I sense doing so would just be delaying the inevitable moment when we have reason to purge accumulation again sometime in the future.
It will be fine with me if we never have to pack for a move like this again!
Deep Memories
A friend once asked me what it was like to have had such an idyllic childhood, after I described what I remembered about my early years growing up on a farm. Yes, that property which my grandfather purchased after the end of World War II was a great place for a kid to live. I’m discovering it may have made more of an impression on me than I have been aware. (See posts about that farm, published here in Relative Something, 3-years ago, starting here.)
Yesterday, Cyndie and I drove to visit the property we are soon purchasing, and then have dinner at a local restaurant in recognition of the 31st wedding anniversary we reached this past week. Part of me was interested in departing during rush hour, to get some exposure to what the traffic pattern is like at a time of day I may be trying to get home from the day-job. The rest of me didn’t really care much at all about that, because, regardless the traffic, the destination is just so incredibly thrilling.
The late September afternoon couldn’t have been any more perfect, for the crisp, clean air, bright sunshine, and, sprawling out in front of us, to the east, a spectacular cloud formation that grew increasingly dark-gray at the bottom, washing down to earth, as a result of the rain falling out of it.
I had it in mind to turn off the primary highway, shortly after we crossed into Wisconsin, to check out local roads that appear to be the most direct route to our property, as viewed from overhead on a map.
Our dreamy fairy tale of discovering this perfect property is one that just couldn’t be any better, …except it keeps becoming more so.
Getting off the main road, with its wide frontage and striped pavement, and onto scenic, rolling, narrow country roads, turned out to be better than I imagined. Some of the pavement is even freshly laid this summer. The scenes that unfold include dramatic vistas of forested hills and picture-perfect swaths of farmed fields. So much of the drive to our property is akin to staring into a multitude of fabulous paintings of quintessential country landscape scenery, it feels surreal, especially after decades of driving in the suburban metropolitan scene-scape of which we are long familiar.
When we pulled up the driveway (which Cyndie had me check on the car’s odometer: a quarter of a mile long), and I considered the thought that this would be my entrance to home every day, there was a sense of awe that felt supernatural. It also felt familiar, like this is a return to something I know from long ago.
I can’t help but think of my father, and his experience on the farm property his father had purchased. There are some deep-seated memories being awakened by this wonderful wooded property in the country. I’m not entirely sure whether I am recognizing my father’s experience, or my own childhood memories.
I think the familiarities that would come from both, are probably shared.
Another Perspective
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A guest post by Elysa Hays.
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I could feel the excitement in the air as soon as I got in the car. My parents are at the beginning of a great adventure. I am so grateful for the invitation to ride along. The drive went by quickly, as the farm is not all that far out from the Cities. We talked through some of the ups and downs of buying and selling homes, but most of all, we were bubbling with excitement at the chance to see the house and the land in all its potential. I was impressed with the scenery of the neighborhood as we got close. The rolling hills and forests of trees were drawing us in as we approached the mailbox. I didn’t even mind the smell of the deer in the ditch. “It’s all part of the cycle of life,” I said, as we turned up the long driveway.
We passed both the barn and the workshop building before arriving at the top of the driveway in front of the house. I can’t even find words to describe the feeling of awe that ran through me as we parked. It felt practically perfect. I joked with Dad, but I still can’t find anything wrong with the place (as a lifelong Minnesotan, I suppose I could crack a joke here about Wisconsin, but that’s all I’ve got). What kind of word(s) can describe such a dream place? I felt the energy of the universe smiling down on us. And it only got better from there.
The log cabin style architecture reminded me of our beloved Wildwood lake home. It was just stunning. The kitchen felt like it was designed for family gatherings. I can already picture us sitting around the island with the aromas of fresh baked breads and cookies filling up the whole floor and up to the loft. The funky spiral staircase made from large blocks of wood brings you from the kitchen up to the loft 
looking over the living room. It felt magical up there. A stained glass window glowed with the picture of a wolf under a full moon. I can feel Mom’s spirit there already.
I also loved the small side room off of the kitchen. The windows are wide and tall, opening up an encompassing view of nature. It is the perfect room for quiet mornings, afternoon naps and watching leaves and snow fall. The front door had a large stained glass window that was designed by the current owner and built by a local glass artist. The purple hues of the flowers seem to channel my energy, too. The place feels like home already. The land breathes like the living place it is, and I am overjoyed that my parents are ready to take on this adventure, right here, right now.
We met the family selling the property, which only added to our excitement. They were as happy as we were that it seemed to be the perfect fit for our family. I enjoyed hearing some of their stories as they showed us around and explained to us how they’d poured their love into crafting the place we saw before us. They told stories of the nice neighbors and the local wildlife we should expect to see. We even got a ride on their 4-wheeler to explore the woods along the edges of the property lines. The trails seemed perfect for future horse rides!
The place radiates with the energy of its history. It’s the perfect balancing part to my city life. I can’t wait for all the weekend retreats I’ll get to have on the farm with my folks. The boulders out front, the pond to the side, and the rock garden out back are all inviting, peaceful places for reflection (the rocks remind me of my dad – I can’t wait to see what he does with them). The inside of the home has many grand spaces for gathering and comfortable spots for solitary meditations. It feels like this place has been waiting for my parents to find it. Every turn I took brought me to another space brimming with potential energy. The house, the barn, the shed and the whole yard with its trails winding through prairie grasses all felt like it was, well, perfect. It’s perfectly suited for the great Hays adventure. I’m ready to see what happens next. The adventure awaits!
For Family
This is a post that will be of particular interest to my brothers and sisters.
There have been three times for me lately, one after the other, where situations have brought to mind our sister and parents who are no longer with us. Each incident was interesting, in and of itself, but the fact that they grabbed my attention in such quick succession, has made it particularly noteworthy for me.
It started last weekend, when I wanted to take my bike out for a ride, after I picked it up from having new parts installed. I had the bike home, but I was completely overcome with exhaustion and felt like I could hardly keep my eyes open. I decided to take a nap. After I woke up, I figured I should eat something to get some fuel in my body, and then headed out on my bike.
The ride was a battle. I felt like I had nothing to give. Was my brake dragging? Were the tires low on air? Am I that out of shape? I don’t know if my siblings remember our sister’s story, but it really made an impression on me, and in that moment of my laboring, my mind went right back to how Linda described feeling, right before she discovered her illness.
She told me how she would try to do her exercise workout and would struggle to get in just a minute or two before she would be exhausted and need to quit. Not yet aware of the health issue she was facing, she described of telling herself she would try again the next day with a goal of doubling that time. We both laughed over the way the mind works: choosing to assume this was just a matter of being out of shape and that a doubling a minute or two of exercise –to reach a goal of maybe 4 minutes– was sound logic, and not any cause for alarm.
As this memory came back to me last weekend, I had a brief feeling of connection with her and renewed empathy for what she experienced.
Just a day or two later, I had some very vivid dreams, many details of which are now fading from my memory. Somehow, members of the Enblom family were involved, and the scenario morphed into a showing of artwork I had created over many years, much of it, pieces I had forgotten having made. More and more people I knew seemed to be appearing, and it was not illogical that Mary and Judy were there, too. One or the other of you had brought Mom along and I remember feeling happy to see her, and thinking I needed to make a point to visit with her, because it had been a while since I had done so.
It never occurred to me, during the dream situation, that Mom was no longer living. That made the transition from dream-state to wakefulness, a bit more significant than usual for me. It was special to have enjoyed the feelings of being in the presence of Mom once again.
Finally, yesterday during my lunch, I was reading the account of Minnesota Vikings’ running back, Adrian Peterson’s scare of a surprise allergic reaction to seafood he ate. I was really young when this happened to our Dad, but each detail I read yesterday seemed to tug me further back into my memories of the time when the ambulance came to our house and then later, our visiting Dad in the hospital.
Linda, Mom, and Dad, one right after the other. Special memories. I’m moved that they all came to visit me in this short span of time.
Priceless Moment
There is one highlight from Saturday’s games, that especially stands out for me. It was during the first round of the watermelon eating contest, which involved the youngest competitors.
First, you have to consider what it is like to gather 80 people together in such an informal, fun-filled environment. There are usually at least 30 people (plus or minus) talking over each other at the same time. It is hard for the “official” game hosts to control both the crowd and the willing participants.
Now, imagine a situation where you are setting watermelon in front of anxious young kids, who are being energized by the surrounding crowd. While the game hosts are diligently distributing melon to each additional eager competitor that finds a spot at the table, the odds of a false start rise to, oh… 100%.
It was my nephew, Beck, who went the farthest, before he was “busted” by the crowd. He stopped abruptly, pulled his head up, with lips pursed and mouth filled with bites. His priceless expression, that I can only describe as a morphed combination of genuine innocence and guilt, was hilarious! I was laughing so hard, I didn’t get a shot of the actual moment, but here he is, just as his face was about to cross over to a smile that was no less precious to witness:
He recomposed himself and put in a valiant performance, keeping his hands behind his back, as the slice of watermelon slid farther and farther out of reach toward the center of the table.
After the games transitioned down to the water, Beck found a way to get out and relax a little with a turn on the paddle board. Few challenges appear beyond his willingness to take on, at this stage of his young life.
His parents will have the pleasure of being both proud, and distressed, by his confidence in adventures up at the lake this summer.
On Again
What a difference a day can make. What a difference a text message can make! Long after I had fallen asleep, around 12:30 a.m. my time, the buzzing of an incoming text message on my phone, woke me. Obviously my concern had gotten through to my wife, as the first words were, “I’m OK.”
She’s alive! What a relief. I was really growing more and more stressed by the silence that was following my attempts to check in.
I still don’t understand the logistics of a day that doesn’t allow one moment for a simple acknowledgement to your spouse (let alone multiple days in a row), but her report was of overwhelming responsibilities and meetings all day, then working into the nights. For all the ‘grumping’ I have been known to do about my day-job, I am finding more and more to appreciate about how easy I have it, in comparison to the undertaking Cyndie has gotten herself into.
Early on, in the days before she had even left home for this new job, I was prone to comparing the upcoming separation to what military couples endure. It was meant to be hyperbole, but now that she is well into the battles of her job, I am gaining ever more insight into the suffering that military families experience when they are not able to communicate with each other for long spans of time.
My current goal is to find a better way to show support, by way of somehow not fretting her inability to stay in contact with me. Yesterday, on the still-fresh rush of having received her middle-of-the-night message, I found myself inspired to send two different love-note texts that were 100% free of any expectation of a reply. The first day is easy. Let’s see how I’m doing after a few days.
There is a real trick to turning a relationship on and off, and quite honestly, I’m not that good at it. If I am in the “on” mode, I want to have interaction. I have written before about my ability at moving into the “off” mode of relating, which thrives in having zero interaction. I am able to do that too well, and have no problem shutting down, but it is difficult for me to seamlessly flow from “off” back to “on” again. My “off” mode is an unhealthy place to be. Unfortunately, it is where I want to go to fend off familiar hurts. I want to retreat behind my emotional shield.
This is my opportunity to exercise a love that gives without expectation of reciprocation.
Tolerable Suffering
Now that my routine has returned to a relative normal, post the holidays, I’m going to provide an update on the status of my solo living. Even though it’s been almost 4-months since Cyndie moved east to accept a position with Boston Public Schools, it still feels a bit new. At the same time, it has been long enough to pretty much figure out what works for me. I have been getting my needs met, and am tending to the needs of the household. With only one person messing up the place, shouldn’t I be able to sweep the kitchen half as often? It does not appear to be the case.
For the most part, I am taking advantage of having groceries delivered to the house. I do my food shopping online. Thus far, I am happy with my ability to avoid relying too heavily on restaurants for my sustenance. In fact, I think I am eating out less than when Cyndie was home. Since I don’t automatically have a companion, that seems like a logical outcome to me. I expect it might be different if I was inclined to eat out alone.
The real staple has turned out to be soup from my good friend and fellow Himalayan trekker, Chef Pam Knutson. I buy soup through her Birdsong Soups business out of the Kitchen in the Market facility. I get a quart each week that her husband, John, generously brings to his work in Eden Prairie where I can conveniently pick it up. This has been providing about 4 different meals a week for me. I don’t think I will be able to eat soup out of a can ever again after this experience. What a treat! This is gourmet level eating that seems like it would only be available in fine restaurants, and I have it in my own kitchen! I highly recommend you check out this community supported soup business, Birdsong Soups.
I have also become just a bit more social since Cyndie has moved out, hosting a number of gatherings of friends at the house, and going out with others. Part of that is a result of friends offering to step up to help fill the void. Thank you, friends!
The one thing that isn’t working so well is my being able to touch base with my lovely wife with any regularity. All too often, multiple days pass where we fail to speak or even successfully exchange a text message. You’d think a one-hour time difference wouldn’t be a big deal, but I find it does complicate things, or maybe it just seems to, because Cyndie’s work hours have been ridiculously long. I was shocked to be unable to reach her on a Friday night, nor the entire following Saturday, only to find out she was working both times and had unknowingly dropped her phone under the seat of the car they provided for her use.
I figure I should be nurturing a relationship with the security personnel in her building so I can contact them to find out where she is if I want to speak to her. Nothing can really replace the small talk that has been dashed from our relationship. I miss how she would politely listen to me talk like a little kid about the excitement I enjoyed at soccer in the morning. Yesterday I would have whined to her about the owie I got when I sprained a finger playing around with a basketball in the gym before soccer started. Then I would have bragged about the success we had making multiple one-touch passes to score lots of goals, or mentioned that I forgot to use my asthma inhaler before playing and noticed some suffering as a result. Tolerable, but noticeable suffering.
Kind of like the feeling of suddenly living separated from your beloved spouse of 30 years.
Relative Something 