Posts Tagged ‘remembering’
Fast Day
Another day flies by in a blink. One of the fastest ways time passes for me is in conversation with people at reunions. Yesterday was not part of Cyndie’s class reunion events, but we did host a couple of her classmates in a visit that swallowed hours of the day in one big gulp.
Thom and Paul joined Cyndie and her friends in a variety of activities as they were leaving high school and entering college. We laughed as Cyndie reminded Thom that he had planned a backpacking trip to the Grand Teton Mountains in Wyoming, which he ended up not being able to take with them. A short time later, Thom pointed at a picture and asked when it was taken because it looked like it was his sleeping bag in the image.
Cyndie: “Yeah, that’s the camping trip you planned but didn’t go on. You even gave us your sleeping bag to use.”
Too funny.
The pictures that Cyndie shared led to a few instances in which they all recognized what they were seeing, but without actual memories of the occasions. Witnessing mental files being rummaged through that probably hadn’t been accessed for decades was entertaining.
It was a wonderful day to be outside. Asher was on his best behavior and made sure everyone had a chance to pet him. Cyndie worked her incredible magic in the kitchen and served both breakfast and lunch for our guests. We walked some trails in the woods, visited the labyrinth, and spent quality time with the horses.
Thom took a picture of us with the horses. That was nice. We don’t have many pictures of ourselves together with the horses.
After our guests departed, Cyndie had to leave for an appointment, and suddenly it was just Asher and me. Time slowed down a little bit. We walked to the lookout spot on the first hill of the driveway to enjoy the nice breeze and watch the sun descend through some clouds.
Just like that, our fast day faded toward its end at a more logical pace.
We had a treasure of a day, at every speed.
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Reunion Tales
Now that I’ve had a whole day of not going anywhere, life feels faintly familiar to the norm to which I have grown accustomed. Cyndie drove to the cities to visit her mom, so I had a quiet day with Asher. We went for a walk after breakfast and then took a nap when we got back to the house. It’s going to take me a couple of days to pay back the sleep debts I accrued last weekend.
The highlight for today is going to be a visit from two of Cyndie’s classmates who heard plenty of stories about our property. I wish we could host all the people who show a sense of wonder and interest when we describe our place. It is rarely a convenient opportunity for most people, so we are thrilled that this particular time it appears to have worked out just a couple of days later.
I got permission to share a story of Cyndie’s from an interaction at her class reunion. She was looking forward to talking with a guy whom she remembered had poked fun at her buck-tooth and thick-glasses appearance when they were young. The memory had always seemed curious to her because the guy was the only other particularly noticeably buck-toothed, thick-glasses kid in her year.
Turns out that it wasn’t him. At least, he has no recollection of it and doesn’t think he would’ve ever done that. Now Cyndie is questioning her memory. Was it someone else teasing both of them, and she mistakenly placed it on the other victim? We’ll probably never know.
The eventual outcome is the best of results. The two of them ended up having a wonderful exchange and quickly bonded in their shared experience. I might add that he turned into as good-looking a guy as Cyndie did into a beautiful woman. They might not have even talked if it weren’t for this mysterious memory.
Happy surprises like this are one of several reasons I am a big fan of reunions.
I enjoyed reuniting with the horses yesterday. They don’t offer up grandiose gestures of being happy to have us return after several days’ absence like dogs do. Asher doesn’t hide much with that wagging tail, licking kisses, and leaning into us for scritches. No, the horses are much more subdued in their acknowledgment.
Swings just stood stationary when I put my face to her nose to exchange breath and stroke her neck. Staying put was her way of telling me she was happy to see me.
The amount of food I found spilled beside her bucket last evening was more than I’ve seen before. We need to start soaking her food to help her cope with failing teeth. Do they make dentures for animals? [not a serious question]
Moments after I took that picture, Mix moseyed over to eat most of what had been spilled.
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Older Faces
So, I accompanied Cyndie to her 50th High School Reunion yesterday after driving home from the lake at 5:30 in the morning through varying levels of fog. My poor brain is a little sleep-deprived and mixed up with rekindled memories from so long ago and seeing dozens of mostly recognizable faces that are decidedly older than how we all looked in 1976.
I tried to capture as much knowledge as I could grasp on the fly from the folks on their planning committee and classmates who had traveled from far and wide to use in planning next year’s reunion for my class.
In the end, I have a sense that there’s not all that much we can control in determining attendance at the event. It’s great seeing those who showed up, heartbreaking to see whose lives have ended, and sad to find out who didn’t make it for any number of reasons.
I dredged up images of the old rooftop faces of our schools in the 1960s from historical aerial photographs the University of Minnesota provides online.
The top photo above is the view of Central Elementary that eventually became our middle school. If I have my dates correct, in 1971, Cyndie’s and my class started the year at what was then the high school with grades 7-12. In the middle of the year, they moved us back to that elementary school that had become grades 6-7-8.
The bottom photo above is the view of our high school. I just looked at the satellite view on Google of the way our high school looks today. It has now become the middle school and has been significantly remodeled, but parts of the old core are identifiable.
The two main courtyards have been cut in half, so there are now four courtyards. It’s still possible to discern what the 100, 200, and 300 wings were, as they were called.
I’m feeling a little older today for some reason.
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It’s Wildwood
From memory, a stab at the lyrics to a song I wrote back in the early 1980s after a particularly remarkable Independence Day weekend that lingered long after I had returned to the day job. This was shortly after the property had been divided into lots, which individual families then took ownership of. Before that change, they all shared every cabin, rotating every couple of weeks to give everyone a taste of each precious spot on the lake, along with the different quirks of each very old log cabin.
Seems just like a week or two
and 4th of July has come and gone
and I was up at my favorite place
Friends were there to have a time
but not the one we used to know
cabins have moved, and new ones are growin’
a place to sleep’s not as easily found
Sit on the porch of what was cabin three
almost see the beach you never used to see
and Tommy and Jane, and Justin, it’s true
are heard laughin’ and singin’ and workin’ too
It’s Wildwood, Wildwood!
It’s been so long, but the change is good
Wildwoo-ooo-ood
Friends had gathered to have a good time
work god done, we had a good time
we weren’t all there, it’s sad to say
but we’re fixin’ the place for another day
The old road don’t go the way it used to go
nor some people’s car the way the new one goes
but we all got together and pushed it out
who says there weren’t games this holiday
As evening came, we gathered ‘round
for the kind of picnic you’re supposed to have
and though people not present were sadly missed
there were fireworks displayed to rival all time
It’s Wildwood, Wildwood!
It’s been so long, but the change is good
Wildwoo-ooo-ood
As much as it seems as though it’s really changed
and mud has replaced the sprouts of poison ivy
the swing still swings between two big trees
from which you can still hear the Friswolds up at cabin 3
Hayward’s still a few minutes away
Round Lake crisp and clear as any day
and all the people who have made it what it really is
are all the people who will make it what it really is
It’s Wildwood, Wildwood!
It’s been so long, but the change is good
Wildwoo-ooo-ood
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Photo Serendipity
A few days ago, I unexpectedly received a photo from a cycling friend, Curt. It sparked a brilliant bout of serendipity for me.
In the photo, I am playing guitar, surrounded by people I recognized from years of riding the annual June “Jaunt with Jim” bike adventure. The image failed to trigger any specific memory of the moment depicted. Curt texted that 2003 was written on the back.
The bearded fellow over my shoulder is Doug Willhide, who happens to write and share regular snippets of his own “take on things and experiences,” which he calls “Nutshells.” For some reason that I’m not overtly aware of, I decided to share this picture with Doug. The response I got back was not on my radar.
He wrote that he believed that picture was from Ladysmith, WI, and included “notes” he’d found about that second-to-last day in 2003. A mere six paragraphs depicting in detail the entire day, from breakfast to crawling into his tent that night.
To my utmost surprise, Doug’s notes captured the place and moment when Jim Klobuchar gathered everyone on the lawn of the church outside of Catawba after lunch to read a poem I had written about the trip. That was a memory that I had lost all specific details of, beyond how it felt to be standing beside him as he read it, and the wonderful responses from folks afterward.
The serendipity of Curt randomly sending me this photo, my arbitrarily passing it along to Doug, the picture being from that very day when Jim read the poem to the group, Doug having found his notes from that year, and his capturing the pertinent details… it gives me chills.
It makes me feel like we are all more connected than we tend to notice.
Backstory:
On the Friday night that all the riders gathered at the start in 2003, I had asked Jim if I could read my poem to the group. He took it from me, pocketed it for the moment, and wandered off to greet others. The next day, he approached me and said he liked what I had written and wanted to read it to the group himself.
My first reaction was resistance. Would he get the cadence right? Was he unwilling to share the spotlight for even a brief moment? How could he even ask?
But just as quickly, my respect for his reputation as a writer and his journalistic credentials had me thinking, “Jim Klobuchar wants to publicly recite poetry I wrote?!” I was definitely honored. I had no idea he would end up making me wait until the following Thursday. I also had no clue that he would call me up to stand beside him while he performed it.
Between struggling not to blush too much, I was rewarded with seeing the reactions on people’s faces.
He couldn’t have timed it any better. It’s long been one of my most treasured moments.
I eventually wrestled that prose to fit into a melody and turned it into a song with a sing-along chorus. A friend helped me record a multitrack version of the song, which I combined with a slideshow of photos from the bike trips.
It was a special day when I knocked on Jim’s door to present him with a video about the bike adventures he conducted for 39 years.
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Fourteenth November
We are in our fourteenth November on these twenty acres and marveling over the thought that we have been tending these fields and forests for that long. Thinking back to when we first arrived, one particular vivid memory stays fresh in my mind. The very first time I ventured off-trail in our woods, I came upon the fresh, blood-red skeleton of an 8-point buck in a circle of hair and paw prints.
We had heard the excited yips of a pack of coyotes during the night a week before that, but didn’t realize how close to our house they were or what the ruckus actually meant. We’ve heard similar howling packs over the years since, sometimes triggered by an emergency vehicle siren, but haven’t come upon any similarly obvious evidence on our land like that carcass.
A stray bone is not uncommon, though.
Cyndie recently trained me in recognizing the invasive garlic mustard plant she has worked for years to disrupt, and we spent some time during an afternoon last week pulling sprouts in the areas off-trail that are less obvious. I found it a little overwhelming because it seems to be everywhere. We did what we could until my ability to cope was exhausted.
I can see why she just makes it a habit to pull whatever catches her eye when on our walks. She stuffs her pockets with plastic shopping bags to always have a way to bag and dispose of what she pulls up, an essential step in eradicating the highly destructive invasive.
There was a tiny oak sprout that caught my attention, barely tall enough to stand above the dead leaf blanket covering the ground in November. The leaves were so perfect. Apparently, too young to keep up with all the bigger trees that have the fall routine figured out.
It looks like today’s precipitation is sliding to our south, which is both good and bad. It’s nice that the horses will get a break from needing to deal with wetness in these cold temperatures. Their natural winter coats are coming in nicely, but their shaggy look quickly flattens out in the rain or wet snow.
The bad part of missing out on some rain or snow is that Paddock Lake is dry and will make for lousy skating this year. The residual growth was almost fluorescent green in the low spots.
My footprint was a result of retrieving the horses’ Jolly Ball that had rolled into the middle of the muddy remains of the “lake.” It’s always interesting to find the ball has been relocated from the spots where I place it, handle up, in hopes of enticing them to play.
We rarely have the privilege of catching them in the act. Occasionally, the ball disappears from the paddock. When it happened one time when the hay field grass was tall, we didn’t find it until the hay mower had sliced into it.
Fourteen Novembers of wonder and joy.
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Still Resonating
Our weather yesterday was about as nice as could possibly be. Whenever the humidity drops in the summer, we are rewarded with fantastic days for getting things done. I jumped on the riding mower and cut grass. That exercise leaves plenty of room for my mind to wander.
Without attempting to direct my thoughts to any particular topic, the people and events of the wedding weekend in Chicago kept spinning around in my head. I am well familiar with the way good vibes linger after a hearty dose of happy people cultivating new connections and sharing time and stories.
There is only a slim chance I will cross paths with most of them again, but having been introduced to Haley’s relatives helps me to feel more familiar with who she is. I already know Alec’s side well, now coming up toward Cyndie’s and my 44th wedding anniversary.
One positive I can take from the annoying flight delay that had us stuck in the airport in Chicago for extra hours is that Cyndie’s brother, Ben, and his boys were on the same flight. It triggered more conversation than usual with the nephews. It’s not often that I, in my mid-60s, engage in more than a brief exchange with someone in their teens and twenties.
When I was stuck with all the people in Chicago for the previous three days, I longed to be home in the solitude of our fields and forest. Now that I’m here, my mind travels back to the good times we had with them. I think that is the power of love vibrating still.
Rolling along on the mower, I found myself returning again and again to the scenes and the sounds my brain was still processing. Our arrival at the wedding venue and claiming our seats as the string quartet performed off to the side. Taking in the view of Lake Michigan sprawled out to the horizon beyond the platform where the vows would be exchanged.
Feeling tears of emotion on my cheek as I watched the groom’s reaction to his bride’s first appearance on her father’s arm. The loving touch as the bride wiped his tears with her hand when she arrived to stand with him. Flower petals blowing back in our faces as people showered the couple after they joyously stepped off the platform as newlyweds, pausing for a bent-over kiss for emphasis.
Mingling for a moment in the absolutely perfect weather with drinks and appetizers before being ushered toward the dinner tent. The incredible dance band kicked off their first set with an energy that pulled guests in, seamlessly moving them directly onto the dance floor.
Food would have to wait. One song after another without stopping until it seemed like dinner might as well be entirely skipped. Finally, the band allowed the energy to subside, and folks moved toward their assigned tables.
Precious speeches from the father of the bride, the maid of honor, and the best man. First-class service bringing top-quality salad and entrees with an orchestration so precise it felt like a Hollywood production.
All the while, the band was expertly serenading diners as they enjoyed their meals, and the bride and groom worked their way around each table to personally greet everyone who had come. After the traditional series of sentimental first dances, the band revved things back into high gear, and the high-octane dancing picked up where it left off before the food was served.
It was a celebration for the ages. A wedding that will linger long in the minds of all who were in attendance. A rather exceptional distraction for me while I steered my way around objects to mow our grass on a similarly spectacular sunny August day.
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Memory Tests
Here’s a simple tip for managing undeveloped property: After you cut back any growing tree or plant, always follow up and cut back new sprouts that emerge from the stump. My challenge is remembering where to look for the new shoots that pop up since I tend to forget where I have left behind fresh cuts.
That grapevine sent out at least six new shoots that spread out in every direction. It had been a while since we cleared out this area and I discovered some of the shoots had traveled several trees away to climb branches. I think we need to start putting little flags in places where we cut something off to trigger me to come back sooner rather than later to follow up.
Our pile of extracted vines is getting pretty tall. It’s too bad I can’t seem to make progress on the thought of building an archway out of vines. At least I’m able to remember that I was considering the possibility.
Yesterday, I spotted a horse that I thought was Swings lying down for a nap and was planning to sneak closer to take a picture. Then she picked up her head and I saw it was Light, whom we wished would get more deep rest because she was acting sleep-deprived. I stopped my approach and took the picture from a distance because I didn’t want to disturb her.
She ended up getting to her feet shortly after my aborted approach. Hard to say whether it was my doing or a choice she would have made regardless of my presence.
Last night we had a humorous lapse in our memory for a dinner date with our friends, Paul and Beth. Cyndie picked a new restaurant to check out in Stillwater and made reservations. As I made the final turn into the parking area, I realized we’d been there before.
I recognized the front seating area where we’d sat with Paul and Beth the last time we’d been there. They had picked the restaurant at that time because they had been given a gift certificate to eat there.
At least I remembered that the food was good.
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Trip Back
Not only did I make the trip back home from the lake yesterday, but I selected a route that was a trip back in time for me. I received a message that my boots were ready to be picked up at the repair shop in Stillwater, so instead of driving straight home, I cut over through Osceola to cross into Minnesota on my way home. It cost me $30 to get the flaps resewn on my boots. I’m satisfied with that outcome.
Before leaving the lake place, I checked a map to refresh my memory of the route we used to take over and over for years from the time the kids were born. We picked an alternative set of rural roads to avoid heavy traffic on the 3-plus hour drive from our Eden Prairie home to Hayward. It provided a good variety of potential places to stop when someone needed to use a bathroom or have a distraction in the form of a treat. We ended up locating a variety of off-the-beaten-path restaurants that became lifesavers when anyone became too “hangry” for the rest of us to tolerate.
When I passed the turn that would have taken me directly home, the road before me became like a weird dream of scenery I vaguely recognized mixed with things I’m certain I’d never seen before. A lot has changed in the fifteen or more years since I last drove that way to and from the lake place. There were no roundabout interchanges on that route when we used to travel in that direction.
As I approached the first of several key turns of the old routine, I sensed it, but the crossroad was labeled as a more significant state highway than I felt was right. I opted not to turn, and as I rolled straight through, I glanced to the left and recognized it immediately. That was what we called the “roller coaster road.” There were a couple of steep rises in a row that provided a second of that zero-gravity feeling if I hit them with just the right speed, which I almost always did.
I made a quick U-turn and went back to follow that road, regardless of what it was now called. Soon, I was passing familiar old farmhouses and Trollhaugen ski hills, “Ward’s Bar,” and the torn-down place that was named “Best Place by a Dam Site” that was beside a dam. I had a flashback to chanting “We’re nowhere, we’re nowhere” with the kids when we were in the middle of the bridge between Minnesota and Wisconsin. There was the gas station where we would pause for fuel and some candy bars. Julian and I recently remembered we would get a “Whachamacallit” bar. The Dairy Queen was still at the end of the bridge in Osceola.
There were many trips on the rural roads along the St. Croix River when Cyndie and I imagined what it would be like to live in a place like that compared to our tiny corner lot in the suburbs. We had no idea at the time how great a place we would eventually find.
The horses were successfully trimmed by the farrier while I was away. They are all looking their muddiest best. Where they once were making horse-angels in the foot of snow, it is now just a sloppy meltwater mess of muck that they are rolling around in.
I brought Cyndie a pizza from Coop’s in Hayward that we had for dinner. I had a great time away, but it is really precious to be home. I intentionally planned it so I will have a full day with Cyndie before she heads to Florida tomorrow for a week, just when our temps are about to climb to almost 70F. Our kids will be joining her for a visit to their grandmother’s winter getaway.
Here’s hoping they get plenty of sun and a complete lack of alligators.
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Varying Awareness
In an attempt to obtain my 1095-A tax form, I need to log into my Marketplace account on HealthCare.gov. It’s been at least a year since I had a reason to log in, so I referred to my password reminder and gave it a few tries. Failed. Failed. Failed. Hmm. I’m not proud. I clicked the link, admitting that I had forgotten my password even though I hadn’t.
My favorite solution is to update my password to the one that wasn’t working, yet I think it was supposed to have been. Even if they refuse that choice because their system recognizes it as a previously used password, I am more than willing to change one character just to get on with things. I never got that far.
When I clicked the link in the email sent by their system to update my password, I was met with the three questions I had chosen at the time I created my account. The instructions clearly state that I must answer each question EXACTLY how they were previously typed. Uh oh. Did I use a capital? Were my dates dashed or slashed?
I couldn’t figure it out. I’m locked out until I phone in and deal with everything that entails. I decided that I didn’t want to do my taxes after all.
Switching my attention to something less annoying, I checked the new sprout on our giant bird of paradise tree. It didn’t show noticeable growth. That wasn’t what I was expecting since all the other times, we’ve been shocked by how fast the new leaves unfurl. Closer inspection caused me some alarm because it was beginning to look like the tips of some of the existing leaves were shriveling a bit.
Maybe the time when we discovered the pot had been holding water that finally broke free and drained for days has taken this long to show up in the leaves. We figured the roots must have been unhappy, but the leaves were growing so well at the time it confused us into thinking maybe we got away with the soaking with little damage.
Now I’m thinking maybe not. I was not aware of the time-lapse of cause and effect here. Maybe we will see future improvement since we have been using a meter to measure soil moisture ever since discovering the excessive watering. We are also not certain that our two frigid weather spells didn’t cause that corner of our house to get chillier than the bird of paradise prefers.
Starting today, the forecast has us expecting six days of daytime high temperatures in the 40s(F). I’m hoping the leaves will find some comfort in that.
Seems like February is going to go out like a lamb.
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Relative Something 