Moving Rocks in the Hot Sun…

The sun wasn’t actually hot today. It was around 50 degrees F out this afternoon. And the rocks were actually chunks of concrete. Remember those front stairs I posted about early last year? If anyone thought that story was done, they were wrong.

The stairs are still fabulous. The contractor did a great job. But we foolishly paid him before he finished hauling away all the rubble from the old stairs. He promised he’d be back in about a week to take it all away. That was the last we ever saw of him.

I am using PTO from my day job this week for a staycation / catch up at home week. Yesterday, I cleaned out my clothes closet and dresser. I also finally took down our outdoor Christmas lights, which explains why I felt the need for a catch up week. I wanted to pat myself on the back, but I guess putting away your Christmas decor three months late isn’t really that admirable.

Today, I spent the morning on a creative writing project. Then I went to the hardware store to buy several necessary items, including vanity lights for our upstairs bathroom. Of the four bulbs in there, two have been burned out for…I forget. I kept not replacing them because we didn’t have the correct ones on hand. Well, that’s checked off the list now.

Later in the day a roll-off construction dumpster we arranged to rent was delivered. Unfortunately, we hadn’t realized my husband would still be recovering from a case of COVID (no longer contagious, just still weak and tired.) So it’s up to my son and me to move all this:

Big pile of concrete chunks, with a foot in a black tennis shoe.

The strapping young man can’t help until tomorrow. But I got to work today loading the pieces I could lift on my own. We have four days to finish.

Large yellow roll-off construction dumpster with a flat cart holding chunks of concrete.

Chunks of concrete piled inside a dumpster.

Phew! I’m tired. I will be extremely happy to have this rubble gone from beside our house, though. I assume the next-door neighbors will be, too.

Wish us good weather!

***

New Experience: Clydesdales!

Two large red barn-like structures in background. Horse corral with two clydesdale horses in foreground. Large puffy clouds in sky. — Warm Springs Ranch, Boonville, MO. Home of the Budweiser Clydesdales

Today is my birthday. Thanks in advance for the well wishes. It feels like a good day to get back into the swing of posting to my blog.

So in my quest for new experiences, I planned an outing I’ve wanted to do for a while. I live only about a 20-minute drive away from Warm Springs Ranch, home of the Budweiser Clydesdales. I’m not much into beer, but I was intensely into the idea of seeing the magnificent horses up close and learning more about them. Unfortunately, my hubs was under the weather. But my son-in-residence went with me to take a tour.

Other than being a bit chilly, it was an excellent morning for it. I’d never seen a Clydesdale except from a distance. These are BIG animals — 1,800 to 2,200 pounds fully grown. They weigh around 150 pounds at birth!

Here’s the most surprising thing I learned. New drivers start training by working with bicyclists harnessed something like the horses are. Sorry for the blurriness in the photo.

A set of six bicycles, paired two-by-two and harnessed together. Red pickup truck and red building behind. — I never would have guessed this is how they train Clydesdale drivers.

And here’s the best birthday surprise:

Shoulder and head of grown clydesdale horse on left. Infant foal lying down in lower center. Inside a stall. — Mama horse and new foal, 36 hours old.

Sign on outside of horse stall with text: Mare: Gemma, Foal: ?, DOB 3-24-2023 — Too new for a name. Welcome to the world!

This brand new baby came into the world only 36 hours before our tour. How often do you get a chance to see such a recent arrival? It’s too new for a name, even. Welcome, baby!

The whole time we were there, I couldn’t help thinking of the Jethro Tull song “Heavy Horses.” So I’ll end this post with a link to it.

Heavy Horses, Jethro Tull

Message From the Universe?

A few days ago, an Amazon package showed up on my porch. It was for someone who does not live in our household. I would have been happy to take it to the correct person myself, except the address label was sheared off on the left-hand side so I couldn’t figure out the address. I tried online directories and local social media, but couldn’t track the person down.

Eventually, I contacted Amazon customer service and gave them the tracking number, asking if they could send someone to pick it up and take it to the intended recipient. Turns out they don’t do that. They said they’d send a new one to the customer and I could keep or dispose of the package as I saw fit.

I could tell it was a book and joked about it being a gift from the universe. Then I opened it and saw the title: Overcoming Compassion Fatigue, a Practical Resilience Workbook.

Book cover: Overcoming Compassion Fatigue

If this is a gift from the universe, the universe is extremely on the nose. My day job involves working with the public a lot. Like a lot a lot. After years of cuts in social services (and now basic human rights) in my state combined with three years of pandemic, the public isn’t doing so well. Many of the people with whom I interact are stressed or even in outright crisis. And there’s only so much help I can give. I often go home from my shift exhausted. Part of that is on me — I allow myself to absorb the emotions of others. Burnout seems about half a step away lately.

I’m not sure whether I believe in divine intervention. But whether coincidence or cosmic help, I’m willing to accept it with gratitude. I finally cracked open the cover today. It can’t hurt to see what the book has to say.

First New Experience of 2023

White cream cheese frosting in a reddish glass mixing bowl — cream cheese frosting

If memory serves, one year ago, I stated a goal in this blog to experience new things and report back on them, even if they were tiny things. Well, life kind of bowled me over sometimes in 2022 and I didn’t do that much. But I didn’t put an end date on it. So here I am in 2023 giving it another go.

I decided we should start the new year with cake because it’s a good excuse to have cake. As I’ve stated before, I’m not hugely domestic. However, I did ask for and receive a new hand-held mixer for Christmas after being without one for several years now. Up above is my new accomplishment/experience. For the first time in my not-short life, I made frosting from scratch. If I had realized how easy it is, I would have been doing it a long time ago. It’s simple cream cheese frosting for a simple yellow cake. I don’t intend to get too radical with this baking/domesticity shtick, after all.

The cake fell and has a valley in the center, so I didn’t photograph it. It tastes okay, though. And the frosting is pretty darned good.

New accomplishment number one recorded in the 2023 ledger: cake frosting.

Happy New Year!

Christmas Ornaments

I know folks who do a knock-out job decorating their Christmas trees. They have sets of ornaments, bows, garlands, and lights that are coordinated, all fit a color theme, are placed perfectly, and result in spectacular displays. I admire those works of art, and am a little in awe. But it’s not something I would try to replicate because it’s simply not me. The decorating aesthetic in our household is more one of eclectic, happy chaos.

Our ornament collection has grown through the years with pieces that came to us through happenstance — inherited from my parents, gifts from friends, etc — or selected one at a time for personal meaning. Here are a few of my favorites:

Two that remind me of my mother. The one on the left was one of her favorite Christmas ornaments, and is also a bell, something she collected. The Rosie the Riveter I bought because my mom *was* a Rosie, working at age 18-19 as a welder on battle ships during World War II.

tree ornament - bell shaped like a girl with a hat and braided hair, pine cone like skirt.

Kansas City Royals ball ornament — Celebrating my baseball team! I am no fair-weather fan. I love them all the time.

These two are meaningful because they were gifts of creativity from friends. The child with tree was hand-painted by a former coworker who has since passed away. I have fond memories of her when I see it. The bead creation was crafted by a friend who is still in my life and whom I appreciate a great deal.

Tree ornament, child wearing snowsuit hugging small tree

Tree ornament - round and made from green, red and brown beads.

Speaking of handcrafted, my younger son made this book ornament with the help of an art teacher when he was about seven years old. Notice that it’s a real book, with content you can read.

Tree ornament - handmade book with marbled cover

Child's drawing of four faces with text saying "I love my family"

Glinda and Dorothy grace our tree thanks to my other son, who had more than a slight obsession with The Wizard of Oz. I had no intention of purchasing it and couldn’t *really* afford it. But he saw it in a store when he was four years old and fell in love with it. He promised to be good and help me with house cleaning and give me all his dimes and quarters to help pay for it. I think he had about about 60 cents worth of dimes and quarters at the time. I don’t know if I’ve ever made anyone happier in my life than I made that child when I agreed to buy this ornament.

Glinda the good witch and Dorothy tree ornament

Here’s one related to my profession, which is work I love.

And finally, our tree topper, purchased at a time when the entire family was really into Doctor Who. My oldest kid was still living at home when we got it. After I undecorated the tree that year, I stealthily placed the weeping angel in his bed while he was asleep, along with a note that said, “You blinked.” Fans of the show will get it. Gee, I’m not sure why he ever wanted to move out with a mom like me at home.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, EVERYONE, WHATEVER YOU CELEBRATE!

The Lingering Earworms of Motherhood

A friend of mine recently asked on Facebook, “What’s the longest you’ve ever had a song stuck in your head?”

Sister, my brain has been leasing out space to Baby Beluga for nearly a quarter century, ever since my now 27-year-old fell in love with it and wanted to hear it several times every day, often insisting we both sing along. The song isn’t there non-stop, but it has consistently popped in to say hello at least once a week for all these years. Raffi has some catchy tunes, I’ll give him that. At this point, I assume that if I reach a stage in aging where my memory loses information like my own address or the names of my children, I’ll still have a “little white whale on the go” to think about.

Also, I read the book Madeline aloud so many times that I can to this day recite *several pages* of it from memory. I could really use that headspace for things like staying current with technology changes or keeping track of my to-do list, but nope — “an old house in Paris covered in vines” it is. And let’s not even get into “One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish.”

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t dislike these songs and stories. In fact, I adore Madeline. But I don’t know what use they are to me now, echoing around in my mind, so irrelevant to my current life. Unless…I could analyze them to figure what I can do in my own writing to make it so memorable? Or… if I become a grandmother some day?

Mostly, I take it as a sign that my brain has a mind of its own that’s not entirely within my control, and that it was shaped in some permanent way by the experience of motherhood. Thoughts come and go as they want. You might even say “Waves roll in and the waves roll out.” Maybe I shouldn’t overanalyze and just accept it as the rhythm of my internal life. After all, there are worse things that could be going on in my head…

“You are the dancing queen.”

Oh lord.

Candy for the Teens

Photo by Kristina Paukshtite on Pexels.com

I gave candy to my 15-year-old next door neighbor last night and also his friend. No, they weren’t wearing costumes. I did not mind. They joked that they were dressed as normal people, which constituted disguises for them. I laughed. They weren’t the only teens to come to our door. As the evening wore on, the ages of our candy seekers inched upward.

I’ve heard a number of folks state that teens shouldn’t trick-or-treat, and if they do they should dazzle you with their creativity. I’m sure everyone’s dying to know what I think about this, so I’ll share. Do you know what teenagers could be getting up to that’s so much worse than trick-or-treating? A lot.

We live in a society where kids are pushed to grow up fast. High school students are under pressure to excel at everything, to pack that resume so they can have a shot at the American dream. Some are stepping into the role of adults in households with dysfunctional parents, perhaps working at night to help pay the grocery bills, maybe taking care of younger siblings. Previous generations have messed up the planet they’re inheriting. Drugs are everywhere (except in Halloween treats — that’s a debunked urban legend.) Conflicting messages and expectations are everywhere. It’s not easy being teen.

But it’s too easy, as an adult, to react with fear based on the worst news stories or rumors we’ve heard. Too easy to make assumptions that adolescents are necessarily bent on mischief. In my observation, it’s really not the case the vast majority of the time.

And if any teen wants to hold onto an altogether wholesome vestige of their childhood for one more Halloween, I’m there for it. Come to my house. I’ll give you candy.

Trick or Treat

For several years when my two kids were young, we’d gather a whole group of their friends on Halloween and take them door to door together. The hubs and I took turn about chaperoning the ghouls and staying home to pass out treats. Afterward, the whole group of kids, along with some of their parents, would hang out at our house to play games, negotiate candy swaps, and enjoy the full rush of the sugar buzz. We and the families in our circle weren’t ones to give allow junk food on the regular, so this was real debauchery for our kids — a day when food rules went out the window.

The absence of children in my household doesn’t mean I’ve grown any less fond of Halloween. I love that we have a day where it’s acceptable to dress in costumes and eat candy. Pumpkin carving is often the one single craft project I do all year. I enjoy strolling around my neighborhood taking in the creativity with which my community decorates. It’s fun to be a little scared in a safe way. Trick-or-treating is my favorite part. In fact, I might have overreacted when I heard a radio spot for an organized downtown activity touted as “a safe alternative to trick-or-treating.” I might have yelled something about propaganda designed to draw families to retail outlets instead of homes.

I still indulge whole heartedly in passing out treats at the front door while oohing and aahing over superheroes and ghosts and knights. We generally had pretty high numbers of kids coming by keeping me entertained until about three or four years ago. The count started tapering off as the children on our block grew up and flew the nest. Then the neighbors around us stopped participating, leaving their houses dark and uninviting. Then the pandemic hit and we really bottomed out.

But I decided to level up this year to try to lure the trick-or-treaters back. Though our family jack-o-lantern game is strong, we haven’t usually done much else in the way of decorating. And this year, we won’t even have carved pumpkins because the squirrels ate them. However, I fashioned a ghost to hang from a tree in our yard, as well as a few big, fake spiders. And then there’s this treasure I found:

That’s visible from the street. Wish me luck!

Happy Halloween!

Pumpkin Spice Pest Season

We have pumpkin woes at my house.

Earlier in the year, we realized a volunteer pumpkin vine had sprouted in our back yard. It spread and spread and flowered and flowered. I envisioned a bumper crop of orange gourds, going so far as to fantasize about homemade pies and homegrown jack-o-lanterns. What we got was one lonely little pumpkin that topped out about 6 inches in diameter. Nevertheless, I’ve conducted near-daily wellness checks on it, still taking joy in this unexpected, if modest, prize. I was only waiting for it to ripen before picking it.

Our home sits on a half-acre lot, so our yard is sizable. And in that big expanse, somehow a group of cucumber beetles knew to show up for the one single thing they could eat — our single solitary wee pumpkin.

Yellow beetle with black spots, eating a gourd. — Spotted cucumber beetle

Oh no, you don’t! We’ve already lost enough to the neighborhood deer herd. I wasn’t about to let this new pest win. I brushed the insects from the poor beleaguered thing (I’ve bonded with it, okay?) and brought it safely inside.

Small green (with a little orange) pumpkin on a countertop. — Wee little pumpkin

I’m not sure what I plan to do with it, other than let it sit in the dining room and look autumnal, but at least I have it.

As for jack-o-lanterns, the spouse and I picked up some nice big carving pumpkins from the grocery store, planning to cut our spooky designs two or three days before Halloween.

If only it weren’t for the hungry squirrels…

Large orange pumpkin with a large gnawed area

So it goes.

Nostalgia For Babies

I adore the people my adult children have grown to be. I appreciate not being constantly “on” and having more choice about how to structure my time. Though retirement is still several years down the road, I’ll tell you what my dream is for those years. I figure I’ll have time for more volunteer work, and the gig I want is to be the person who sits in a rocking chair at the hospital, holding and rocking the preemie newborns. At times I do miss the closeness of young children in my arms. I guess I’ve felt this way before because I just ran across a poem I wrote around the time my youngest graduated from high school.

Time Stole My Babies

My babies have been kidnapped
a little at a time
removed straight from my arms
by time itself.
In return I’ve received
adults who give me
reading suggestions and tell me jokes,
who hold my heart as much
but who do not fold up
into the space of me
as did the babies who are gone.
There’s no ransom
I can pay to unempty
my lap.