Posts Tagged ‘Memories’
Hi, Mom
It’s a tough thing to lose a parent, but my mom lived a long, full life. She was ready to go when her time came, and I was ready for her to go. It’s been many years since I’ve been able to spend time with her on Mother’s Day, and as each additional year passes, instead of getting easier, I find I miss her more and more.
Here’s to my mom.
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Overwhelmingly Loved
I am living a charmed life lately. Really. It’s a bit overwhelming. How do you adequately thank someone for loving you?
Pequenita has been dishing out so much affection for me that I am almost feeling smothered by her. At the same time, who can resist the charm of a cat who repeatedly seeks a perch somewhere on top of you?
She can be so insistent for attention when I get home from work that I have to pick her up to protect my legs from becoming her scratching post. If I make the mistake of choosing to lay down with her for a few minutes at that hour of the day, I usually become the victim of an unplanned nap.
She oftentimes finds a suitable spot on my legs and joins me for a snooze.
My lovely wife has been spoiling me with extra special attention by choosing healthy options for my goal of eating a reduced sugar diet, and tweaking her bread recipes to incorporate more diverse grains with extra substance. Lately I have a thing for millet in bread, along with a fondness for wheat berry and sunflower nuts, in addition to the usual whole grains.
Yesterday, Cyndie nailed it with a couple of excellent loaves, hot out of the oven at dinner time, while she was simultaneously whipping up some fresh homemade pasta to serve as a base under her delectable leftover beef bourguignon that was recently pulled from the freezer.
It certainly feels like being loved, to be fed like that.
My mom gave Cyndie some special training on how to make the bread I grew up with. Talk about love!
Last night, while looking at the beautiful loaves she created, I suddenly noticed an insight about how my father must have felt about the bread mom baked for him throughout their life together. Mom told us stories about how she first learned to bake bread when they were newlyweds stationed in a fire lookout tower in Glacier National Park.
By the time I was born, over 10-years later, she had definitely mastered the craft. Her homemade bread was a staple in our kitchen. Dad was a stern scolder when we didn’t cut straight slices. We toasted it and fried it, and I recall Dad used a slice to soak up the juice on the meat platter when the menu involved steak.
My parents weren’t very demonstrative of their love, but looking back, those years of homemade bread reveal a pretty good version of it.
Now I am blessed with the same. It is overwhelmingly lovely.
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March 11th
I had forgotten the significance of March 11, until one of my sisters emailed a note that our sister, Linda, would have turned 64 this year if she were still alive.
I have a precious picture of Linda standing with me at my high school graduation. The event was not a significant achievement in my family, and as such, treated as more of a formality. I was the 5th of 6 kids. By the time I reached the milestone which marks the completion of high school, it had already been done enough times in my family that it was old hat.Watching Amy
We watched the documentary, “Amy” last night, about singer Amy Winehouse, and it triggered a recurring sadness for me that you can’t instantly remedy whatever it is that drives a person to make unhealthy coping choices. You can send love to those who are hurting, but if they aren’t able to love themselves, health and healing can only wait on the sidelines to be invited in.
I’ve had moments of grandeur where I thought the environment we have created at Wintervale, the horses, the labyrinth garden, wooded trails, and our dog & cat, combined with the life experience and emotional intelligence Cyndie and I have gained, could serve as an intrinsic salve to any and all who visit.
Reality isn’t that simple. I have had opportunity to discover my acquired peace doesn’t automatically transform others merely by proximity. I found that it is possible not only for me to be helpless about inducing healing in another, but I am as susceptible as anyone to being drawn down by contagious unhealthy energies.
Being a positive healing influence on the world is something that requires definite effort.
Detangling from a general pattern of unhealthy behaviors requires a definite choice. We have to make an informed decision to change our life for the better. It doesn’t happen by just spending some time at a healthy place.
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The movie about Amy Winehouse includes a significant amount of footage showing the frenzy of paparazzi she faced. It was tough to witness. Nobody deserves that abuse. Take a moment to cherish the anonymity that allows for normal daily life.
Cyndie and I were talking about situations of celebrity hounding and recalled the amazing surprise we felt years ago, when we spotted Eric Clapton on a street in Chicago, unnoticed by anyone but us. We were killing time on a weekday visit and strolling the shops along The Magnificent Mile, or possibly some side street just off Michigan Avenue, when two guys stepped out the door of some apparel shop.
They were carrying large bags of their purchases, which was one of the first aspects that caught my eye. Two guys on a little afternoon clothes shopping expedition? Seemed somewhat off gender-usual to me.
As my surveying glance traveled up to their faces, I wasn’t able to mask my shocked recognition at the face of one of my musical idols, just inches away. In a split second, I chose to avoid spoiling Mr. Clapton’s moment of walking the street like any anonymous bloke.
As they passed I looked at Cyndie and she was looking at me with that same wide-eyed shock over who was walking by. It didn’t seem possible. We immediately began debating our decision of not saying anything to him.
I consoled myself with the vision I will never forget: the look on Eric Clapton’s face when he saw our shocked expressions and knew he’d been recognized, …yet not hassled.
I wonder if Amy Winehouse ever enjoyed the pleasure of being recognized, but not hassled, in the brief time after her music became wildly popular.
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Intriguing Find
While searching through old images recently, Cyndie and I uncovered many wonderful memories, and discovered some particularly precious pictures of our horses. These images were snapped before we had any idea the horses would end up living with us.
Years ago we were visiting the horses at their previous home because Cyndie spent time working there with several of the herd which totaled around 35. She had even ridden Legacy in the past.
I accompanied her on a few visits to see the large collection of horses, and always brought my camera. Looking back on the pictures now, with the added knowledge of all that has transpired, has a bit of a mystical feel to it. At the time these images were captured, we had no clue whatsoever that these beautiful animals were in our future.
Seeing these images again, and thinking about our being unaware of what was to come, provides a tingly sensation for us today.
Pulling burrs from Legacy’s mane
Dezirea approaching to say hello
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Hunter (right) listening in on conversation
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Since we didn’t spot any shots that included Cayenne, I’ll throw in a couple of bonus items that we received in the mail a short time ago. The previous owners found some pictures of Cayenne when she was a mere hint of what she would become. What a hoot!
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Leaping Day
Does it feel like February seems longer than usual this year? Not to me. Everything still happens faster than I can comprehend. Happy Leap Day!
It’s like I need to come up with an extra post or something. Well, I have just the thing for today. After an outstanding weekend away at the lake with our friends Barb and Mike, we made it home to a wild reception from Delilah. The place was well taken care of, but it is always nice to reclaim our usual routine and let all our animals know we are back.
We checked out the trails, finding an incredible loss of snow over the weekend, and tidied up the paddocks while milling with the horses. A blink later, Sunday ended and the work week launched.
Our time at the lake is now just a memory.
One particular memory that I already treasure is a photograph that Mike captured. I was standing in front of him, looking out at the lake through one of the big picture windows. Suddenly, he told me not to move. He went behind me, came forward, then back again. At first, it wouldn’t focus for him. He was trying to catch the reflection he was seeing.
Finally, he got it.
I love it. Thanks, Mike!
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Loose Ends
I happened to glance back at a couple of posts and noticed a few story lines I have been remiss in maintaining. For those of you hanging on the edge of your seats in wait for a resolution to these mini-dramas, I offer the following to tie up some loose ends:
The “Check Engine” light on my car turned out to be a bad oxygen sensor in my catalytic converter. Our local auto shop reset the warning light and put in an order for a replacement sensor. In the mean time, it is okay to drive my car, which is a good thing because I really needed the all-wheel-drive yesterday to safely navigate the hazardous winter commute into work.
Oh, that answers Tuesday’s closing line: I did go into work yesterday. I scrambled out of bed as soon as I woke up, noticing that my alarm had been playing the radio for 3 minutes, and headed outside to plow the driveway. We received between 4-5 inches overnight. It kept snowing all day, adding another approx. 4 inches, requiring that I plow again after I got home.
Finally, it is feeling distinctly wintery around here.
I’ve neglected to share one of the special treats Cyndie bestowed on me at our family gift exchange, and it fits nicely with the subject of tying up loose ends. Now that she is not working away from home anymore, Cyndie has been able to give time to projects that have long been dormant.
One task she dug into this fall was to open up some boxes that have been ignored since we moved here back in 2012. She found tee shirts belonging to the kids and me that she had been saving to make memory blankets. Feeling as though she should follow through on that plan, since we paid movers to haul the dang boxes all this way, she busied herself with crafting 3 different blankets in time to present to us all for Christmas.
My siblings may recognize a few of these panels from over 40 years ago.
I’m not sure which I value more… the blanket of treasured memories, or the fact she finally made use of something that we’ve been hauling around and storing, everywhere we’ve lived, for almost 4-decades.
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Truly Best
Our Christmas celebrations this year have provided a wonderful addition to years of fabulous Christmases with Cyndie’s family. Now that we live in Wisconsin, the routine for us has settled into a pattern of driving back and forth to Edina on Christmas eve, and then two more times on Christmas day. This allows us to participate in spectacular meals, and all that comes with them, as well as tend to the care of Delilah and our horses back home.
I’m used to driving that route, so it doesn’t bother me. The trouble comes in accounting for that extra hour that always separates us from our intended destination. It becomes a struggle to get out of the house on time to arrive at the celebration by the appointed hour.
Then we need to watch the clock while enjoying the time of our lives so that we don’t end up forcing our dog to wait too long without us at home. Sure wish we could just ask Scotty to beam us home. We always want to stay longer at the social gathering, but without it resulting in such a late return to our home an hour away.
I enjoyed two particular “bests” yesterday that deserve specific mention. Cyndie’s mother, Marie, is a master hostess who prepares world-class meals for large numbers of guests. The traditional family dinner of beef tenderloin on Christmas day is one of my favorites. It is magical, because no matter what variations may occur every year, it is always the best meal I have ever had.
This year, it was even better than that.
Honestly, I struggle to justify enjoying such gastronomical pleasure. The dessert which followed the best-dinner-ever included a cranberry cake with a caramel sauce topping that always tastes so amazing, it should be recognized as a dangerous weapon and require a license to prepare.
I received some very nice gifts from very generous people this Christmas, but there is one that immediately claimed my heart as the best possible thing I opened. We draw names for a gift exchange in Cyndie’s family, and this year, my fellow in-law, Sara, wife of Cyndie’s brother, Ben, picked my name out of the hat.
She nailed the precise art of matching a gift to the recipient, and steeped it in her own joy while creating it. Sara made a wood-burned image of our Wintervale logo on a beautiful pine board. I find it absolutely beautiful to look at. It smells good, too!
It is the best gift.
I just want to look at it again and again. It is one of a kind, made by Sara’s hands, and intended specifically for me. What a precious thing.
I had a very merry Christmas.
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Remembering Fondly
Back in July of this year, my transition from staying home to manage our property 7-days a week, to working at the old day-job again, began in earnest. Now that we have received some snow, I am reminded of the luxury I enjoyed being home last winter, able to clear our driveway and paths immediately on the mornings after an accumulation.
Every minute in the life of a snowflake there is change. As soon as it stops growing, it begins to deteriorate. When innumerable flakes land and cover all surfaces, time allows them opportunity to become one.
By the time I arrived home yesterday afternoon, the snow on the driveway was freezing/refreezing into something of a cement-like coating. It did not motivate a desire to plow. I’m going to wait and let the daytime temperatures clean the driveway.
The current forecast is indicating the likelihood of above freezing temperatures for a week.
Last winter, I would often be the only one out plowing and shoveling on weekday mornings. I loved to pause and enjoy the snow-dampened quiet of our winter world.
When snow is cleared right away, asphalt or cement surfaces will often dry up, whether temperatures are warm, or not. By afternoon, the only way you could tell that it had snowed was the giant piles of clean, white snow lining the sides of the driveway. It is a look that I hold a great fondness for, and one for which I enjoy the process of creating.
Now that I don’t have that same luxury, the value of these memories has grown.
I have figured out I can enjoy by proxy through Cyndie. I recognized Monday night that it would help if I shared the trick with her about clearing snow early, when it comes to our front steps. She has not been in a habit of needing to tend to the steps, because I would usually take care of it. I pointed out the benefit of dealing with it right away.
When I got home from work yesterday, I stepped out of the house to observe Cyndie exercising Delilah (who has recovered quickly from her brief stomach upset, by the way) and found the steps perfectly clean and dry.
Success!
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Relative Something 