You Have to Take the Good With the Bad

Posted on August 28, 2012 by Coming East

Yesterday I went to the podiatrist, and she said the x-rays looked great!  My broken foot has finally healed.  So I don’t have to wear the boot or the surgical shoe anymore.  No more scooting up and down stairs on my butt.  No more sleeping on top of the covers with a pillowcase over my booted foot.  No more hop, hop, hopping with my walker.  No more sitting in a wheelchair, watching everyone else having a great time.  No more sitting down to take a shower.  No more electric carts at the grocery store or Target, bumping into things.  No more feeling like a prisoner, trapped inside my  house all summer.  No more George cooking dinner.  No more George scrubbing the pots and pans.  No more George washing the laundry.  No more George…well, as I said.  You have to take the good with the bad.

Posted in Just Blogging | Tagged , , , , | 35 Comments

How Blogging Has Enriched My Life

Posted on August 27, 2012 by Coming East

It is darn hard to make new friends when you relocate right before your sixtieth birthday.  We’ve been living in Virginia for nearly four years now, and though we have met many lovely people, we have not made any real friends, the kind you have over to dinner or go out to lunch with or just hang around with.  Then I started this blogging thing, and voila!  I’m finally making great friends. My husband, George, benefits from my blogging, too, because my new friends become his new friends. I don’t know if it’s that way in your house, but it seems through all our forty years of marriage, my husband has left it to me to come up with friends for us, whether it was through church or my job, or bringing them along with me from my childhood or college. Now it’s through blogging.

Last night we spent the evening with Big Al and his lovely wife, Patty.  It is the second or third time we’ve been with them, and we’re going to get together next weekend as well. We enjoy many of the same things, and George and I love the relationship Patty and Al have with each other because it is just like George’s and mine.  They even like to play word games and pulled one out last night called Bananagrams, a game we had never played before.  (Okay, maybe I shouldn’t  bring that up.  Sorry, Patty and Al.  Beginners luck.  There’s not a competitive bone in my body.  I swear.)

My other friend I’ve met through blogging is another Patti. She came over to lunch the other day, and we sat and talked for several hours. The time flew by. Patti is another one who shares our values and has the same loving relationship with her husband as I have with mine.   Our husbands have yet to meet, but we’re working on it.

Another wonderful thing about Patti is that she is so creative in all the ways I’m not, and she wants to teach me some of those ways. I have never been artistic, though I’ve always wanted to be. (I did help my husband make Crayola Halloween costumes one year with poster board and Magic Markers. Does that count?), so I intend on taking Patti up on her offer to help me try my hand at creating something visual artistic.  Oh, wait! I take that back. I’m visually artistic when it comes to something I care deeply about. Food. Here is how I presented lunch to Patti last week.

Posted in Just Blogging | Tagged , , , , , , , | 38 Comments

Some People Are List Makers and Notetakers…

Posted on August 23, 2012 by Coming East

…and then there are the rest of us. I admit I am a forgetful person. Some people, like my husband, are natural list makers.  My husband usually makes a list of things for me to do each day, now that I’m retired and he is still working. Without that list, too many things wouldn’t get done. Once he tried to get me to make my own lists. I did. Then I forgot I had made a list, and when my husband reminded me I had made one, I forgot where I put it.

My father was the king of list makers and note takers. He was Head of Structures for Sikorsky Aircraft and was chief of the team that designed the airframe and landing gear of the Blackhawk helicopter. For an engineer, my father was amazingly well-rounded. He loved classic literature and often quoted Quo Vadis or recited a poem of Francois Villon, a French vagabond poet of the Fifteenth Century. When he was eighty-one he took up water color painting. He had dabbled in painting many years before when he created a little art studio for himself in our basement in Connecticut. When he painted his first nude, my mother asked him where he got his model. My father’s reply? “It’s from memory.”

I came across some of his notes the other day while I was going through some of my desk drawers. He kept his list and notes on 3X5 cards prior to the computer age. I found cards that listed every house he had bought, when he had purchased it and what the purchase price was, the square footage, the size of the lot, and what he had sold it for. Another card listed all his automobile purchases, beginning with his 1942 Nash, the list price and what he actually bought it for and the mileage when he sold it. It was a fascinating look at the changing value of a dollar, and I didn’t have to research it online.

Who graphs their salary record? Oh, yeah, my dad.

Anyway, I’m just dragging my feet right now. I need to go look at the list my husband has left me or nothing will get accomplished today. Now where did I put it?

Posted in Just Blogging | Tagged , , , , , , | 39 Comments

Planning a Trip

Posted on August 21, 2012 by Coming East

My husband has given me a task that I should be enjoying, but it’s driving me crazy.  He has a conference coming up in Philadephia, and he is taking me with him.  We will be going a day early so we can rent a car and do some sightseeing before the conference starts, and my husband is letting me do all the planning for that one day.  That’s right. Just one day, and I can’t figure out how to spend it in the best way.

The problem is we used to live there, but we haven’t been back since 1980. Our youngest son was born there. My husband’s career really started there. We want to drive back to our old apartments and see if we can remember which one was ours. We want to eat at our favorite restaurant, The Country Lawyer, in West Chester (easy one to cross off the list…I checked, and it isn’t there anymore). We want to take pictures of our daughter’s elementary school, Fern Hill, so she can see where she started kindergarten.

Waiting for the bus on my daughter’s first day of school at Fern Hill Elementary

Of course we have to visit the college where my husband worked, and drive through Valley Forge because we spent many wonderful picnics there. Oh, and we want to go to Lancaster to see the beautiful Pennsylvania Dutch farms, and Chadd’s Ford to see the art of the Brandywine artists. And what about the world’s largest flea market? Is that in Coatsville or Downingtown? I can’t remember. Thirty-four years have dimmed my memory. More research is obviously needed.

I perused websites all day yesterday and got nothing else accomplished. I planned out routes and times using Google maps. I looked at restaurant menus. I can’t tell you how many hours that took. Food is very important to me, as you know if you follow my blog. I think I’ve already decided what I’m having for lunch at the brew pub. Well, maybe I better take another look at the menu, just to be sure. It’s so hard to make decisions.

If we had a week or even a few days, it wouldn’t be so hard. It’s narrowing the choices down and sticking with a plan that’s hard for me. I’m one who usually just goes with the flow. I’ve never wanted the job of setting our itinerary. Too much power for me. What if my choices stink and we’ve wasted the entire day? What if I leave out something important? This is too much pressure. One day. One lousy day, and I can’t make up my mind. Wait! I’ve got it! I’m ordering the Thai mussels. Or…maybe the burger. No, definitely the mussels. I feel so much better.

Posted in Just Blogging | Tagged , , , , , , | 31 Comments

A Snapshot of Ireland

Posted on August 17, 2012 by Coming East

Today’s post is a guest post by my brother, Mark Rich, who recently returned from Ireland after a two-week stay with his wife.  My brother has always been a talker and loves to engage strangers in conversation.  His gentle and affable personality puts people at ease, and they end up pouring out their life stories.  Here, then, is my brother’s post, a vignette from a day in Ireland.

We stood in front of the coffee booth. The large man assured us that the coffee would be ready soon.  But we were patient, just enjoying the ambience of this little coastal village farmers’ market in southern County Cork in Ireland.   This was our third farmers’ market in three days: Friday was in Bantry, Saturday was in Skibbereen, and now this one in Schull (pronounced “skull”).  The large man joked with us and then a smaller man came over and joined the conversation. He was a friend of the large man. The smaller man started talking about coffee and the weather and I said, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Heavens no, I’m from England originally but live here now.” He added that both of them were from England. I suspected this but was just trying to start a longer conversation.

When we finally got our hot coffee, it was much appreciated in the chilly morning air. The men asked where we were from. We said “Virginia,” and they knew where in the U.S. that was. Somehow the conversation led to them telling us how experienced they were, owing to their being older. I said “I bet that I’m the oldest.” I figured if I was right they’d be surprised, and if I was wrong, they’d feel complimented.  The large man was in his late 50’s and the smaller man was 63.  At 65, I was the winner.  I should have made a real bet, like free coffee.

The large man was increasingly more occupied with customers, many of whom were regulars from the village and nearby areas. So the smaller man stayed with me and kept up a good conversation. He had four grown children and was on his second marriage.   From England he had moved to New Zealand and lived there for seven years before finally settling down in Schull. They loved the West Cork lifestyle – rural, small quaint towns and villages, no traffic, rugged coastline and lots of hills and small mountains. He was a free range chicken farmer and loved it (his wife was staffing their chicken booth) but said he did it as a hobby because they didn’t really need the money.

We talked a little about politics – always a dangerous proposition – but it was limited to healthcare and taxes. The most welcomed and unexpected comment he made concerned, well, us. We were talking about healthcare and healthy living and about taking responsibility for your health, preventative care and such when he paused and looked directly at us and said, “I don’t mean to say anything that might offend you, but Americans tend to be, well, rather large and, with no disrespect, and I mean this in a good way, you two are fit and skinny.” Wow! Skinny! To be truthful we were wearing light jackets (after all, this was peak summer in Ireland and it does get warm) and that may have contributed to his (mis)observation. Skinny may not have been good in the 6th grade, but at 65 years old it sounded grand.

Two old Irishmen (the one on the bottom is my brother):

Posted in Favorite posts | Tagged , , , , | 18 Comments

There Was Never a Doubt

Posted on August 14, 2012 by Coming East

Shortly after supper last night, my young neighbor rang our doorbell, her two-year-old little boy planted firmly on her hip.

“Do you think George could help my husband and his brother take something off my brother-in-law’s truck?” she asked. George was out the front door immediately, always ready to help. Then I looked at what was on the truck. It was a huge wardrobe, solid wood, and very heavy. That was confirmed by my young neighbor when she told me that it had taken four men to load it onto the truck, and there was no way just her brother-in-law and husband could do it by themselves.

I looked at those two strapping over-six-feet young men barely in their thirties and worried about my man. If it took four young men to load it onto the truck, how was my dear husband, twice their age and half their size, going to replace two of them?

“Are you sure you want him to help?” I asked. “We’re old people,” I joked. Sort of joked. George assured me he could handle it. I sat on the front step and watched, ready to call an ambulance at the drop of a hat…or the drop of a wardrobe.

My husband jumped easily onto the truck bed and took up the lead position. One of the young men said he wished they had something to help slide the wardrobe across the truck bed. “I’ve got just the thing,” George said, coming back into the house to get sliders. That was my opportunity.

“Honey, are you sure you can do this? That thing is awfully heavy and I don’t want you to get hurt. We’re old people, you know.” He laughed and assured me he could handle it, no sweat. He grabbed the sliders and returned to the truck. I sat out on the step again. Even though I was being devoured by mosquitos, I couldn’t desert my post. Maybe I should grab the phone in case I need to call for help without delay, I thought. But I didn’t want to leave, in case I missed something.

The young men had a beach towel they were using to try to protect the wardrobe from scratches. It was pitifully inadequate. George returned to get a big mover’s blanket and our handtruck out of the garage, and I again asked him to be careful. He reassured me this was not a strain on him and commented that he loved having the right equipment to help them out. You accumulate a lot of the right equipment over the years.

The young men were pleased with the blanket but skeptical of the handtruck, thinking it was too small to be of any use. Once they got the wardrobe off the truck, though, and were able to get it over the curb with the handtruck, one young man said, “This is going to work!” My husband just smiled.

My husband is in the doorway, holding up the wardrobe.

It was backbreaking work getting that heavy piece of furniture into the house, and my husband was at the heaviest end with most of the weight on him as the two young men towered over him and took up the rear. I was so relieved once the task was over and George emerged unscathed and with a spring in his step.   My neighbor’s brother-in-law said to me, “George is going to go to bed early tonight!”

“Naw,” I said. “He’s very strong. This was a piece of cake for him.”

Posted in Just Blogging | Tagged , , , , , , | 36 Comments

Cape Cod Photography

Posted on August 13, 2012 by Coming East

Sand dunes at Race Point

The beautiful blue water of Race Point

Sailboats with Corn Hill in the distance

Bicycles at Head of the Meadow Beach

Old life-saving station at Race Point at the tip of Cape Cod

Provincetown

Sunset on water at Corn Hill

Sunset at Corn Hill on our last night in Truro

Posted in Just Blogging, pictures | Tagged , , , , , , , | 34 Comments

Never Fear Sharks Again

Posted on August 10, 2012 by Coming East
Sign at Race Point at the tip of Cape Cod

Shortly before we were to leave for our Cape Cod vacation, I got an email from one of my friends informing me that Great White sharks had been spotted at Nauset Beach. There have always been sharks present in Cape Cod waters, but never these huge Great Whites. An abundance of seals, providing a shark feast in the area, has led to these huge sharks coming into an area they are usually not seen.

Truro, the area of the Cape we would be in, was just far enough away from Nauset Beach that, though I was a little nervous, I felt we would be safe. And then a few days later, the Great Whites were sighted at the Truro beaches. I debated telling my daughter but thought it might be a good idea to keep her informed. She wasn’t too worried about her children because they wouldn’t venture far from shore, but her husband was a strong swimmer who liked to go far out for a good swim. I told her we would go to Corn Hill Beach on the bay side where sharks are usually not a problem and the big ones had not been seen.

However, on our first beach day we went to Head of the Meadow Beach on the ocean side of the Cape because all the boys wanted the big waves for body surfing. We were all vigilant, and our two little boys were actually disappointed when no shark was spotted. The next two days we went to the bayside beaches, but on our last beach day, our little guys wanted to go back to Head of the Meadow for the waves and the possibility of seeing a Great White. I was nervous because the day before, someone had been bitten by one of the sharks in Truro waters and was still in the hospital.

A couple of the lifeguards got on their paddle boards and patrolled the swimming area. Suddenly they stopped paddling and stared at the horizon. Our little guys were getting excited as they scanned the horizon, too. But what we all saw was not a Great White but a whale. We watched its waterspout spewing into the air. We stayed at the beach for a while longer, our little men still hoping that a shark would make its appearance before we had to leave.

They devised a plan for protecting the beaches from these dangerous creatures. They were going to train an army of gorillas to ride on dolphins and shoot the sharks with crossbows. They were laughing and animated as they told us about their solution to the shark problem. Aren’t little boys so cute? Here are our two:

Oh, by the way, our two little boys are well into their thirties and one is an attorney and the other is a neurogeneticist. I guess little boys never grow up. I’m just surprised they didn’t consult with

their engineer brother-in-law. I’m sure he could have come up with some other devious device to add to their plan.

Related articles
Posted in Just Blogging | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 35 Comments

Little Pamet House

Posted on August 9, 2012 by Coming East

Last week there were eleven of us in Truro on Cape Cod:  The patriarchs, my husband George and I, my three children, my son-in-law and daughter-in-law, my two granddaughters, my daughter’s little dog, and Little Pamet House, for surely the house we stayed in was an entity itself.  The house we rented was the home of an artist, Kim Victoria Kettler, and artwork adorned every wall and nook and cranny.  Everywhere we looked we discovered another treasure to admire.  The house is not a rental house; it is Kim’s home.  While we were enjoying it, she was living in the big red barn next door.  She lives there in the summer while the house is being rented and moves back in when the summer season is over.

Little Pamet House, Truro

This was the first time my husband and I had ever rented a vacation home, and I don’t know how we got so lucky.  We found Little Pamet House on the Home Away site, a site one of my sons uses.  As soon as we saw the house online last Christmas, we knew it was the one we wanted.  We called immediately and found it was available for the week we needed it.  We booked it right away, afraid we’d lose it otherwise, and also a little afraid that it couldn’t possibly be as wonderful as the pictures.  It was even more wonderful.

Cooking was a delight in this beautiful kitchen.

We had many concerts on this piano.

Truro is the wild part of the Cape.  It is near the end, about twenty minutes from Provincetown.  There is almost no shopping there, it’s hilly, wooded, and private.  On the upper Cape, closer to Hyannis, the pace of life can be bustling and busy.  But in Truro, you can hear the silence.  Little Pamet House is nestled in the woods on a dirt road about a mile walk from Corn Hill, which was made famous by artist Edward Hopper.  The house was a huge part of our enjoyment of our family’s week together.

Now we are spoiled.  I don’t think any other house will ever match, or even come close, to this one.  There is a big difference between spending a week in a rental house and spending a week in an artist’s beloved home.  Thank you, Kim, for giving us that amazing week together in that amazing home.

Posted in Favorite posts, Just Blogging | Tagged , , , , , , , | 29 Comments

Back to Reality

Posted on August 8, 2012 by Coming East

After a delightful week hosting my 14-year-old granddaughter here in Virginia Beach, the three of us drove to Truro on Cape Cod to meet up with her parents and sister from Michigan, our two sons and our daughter-in-law from Boston. We rented a beautiful house (pictures and stories to come) and had the most amazing week together. Nine people in a house out in the country, sharing every waking moment together, and not one cross word. No hurt feelings. No misunderstandings. In fact, we couldn’t get enough of each other and were very sad when the week was over.

Yesterday morning, our first morning back in our own home, I had this notion that if I duplicated one of our great Truro breakfasts, I could prolong that Truro feeling. Didn’t happen. I didn’t have the right chorizo or tortillas. I was out of cilantro, and I forgot to use the Sriracha chile sauce on the eggs. Most important, my son wasn’t the one making breakfast, and we weren’t in Truro with all our kids. We are back to reality, and it stinks.

Making breakfast tacos on vacation.  Click to enlarge.

For years we all have dreamed about renting a house and spending a week together on Cape Cod, and this is the first time we were able to make that happen. You know how you dream about something and plan and plan and plan, and when your dream finally comes to fruition, you find that the experience doesn’t quite meet your expectations?  In fact, sometimes you build it up so much that you are bound to be disappointed.  Well, that didn’t happen with us. This past week was everything we had hoped it would be. In fact, I think it exceeded our expectations.

Of course, that makes it harder to return to our pre-vacation lives. But we have our wonderful memories and great pictures, and now that we know just how fabulous our Cape Cod vacation together can be, we will have to plan another one in a few years. Meanwhile, I’m really missing those chorizo and egg tacos my son and daughter-in-law made. I have a feeling that my son-in-law is, too.

Posted in Just Blogging | Tagged , , , , , | 47 Comments