The Monthly Visitor My Husband Dreads

Posted on April 4, 2013 by Coming East

No, no, no, not that.  I’m waaaay past that.  I’m talking about my monthly subscription to Better Homes and Gardens. This time of year it is filled with ideas for make-overs and projects for the house and yard. I have subscribed to that magazine for years, and countless times my poor hubby has been dragged into doing projects that take a great deal of work…on his part, of course. My job is scouting out these projects and finding ones suitable to his abilities. I think my husband has the ability to do nearly anything, much to his chagrin.

One year I found this herb garden idea that I just knew would be perfect for our big Texas back yard. It involved many landscape timbers, cut and fitted together in a certain pattern like Lincoln logs, making three interconnected raised beds. Large raised beds. Requiring large amounts of garden soil deposited by delivery truck to our driveway and carted wheelbarrow full by wheelbarrow full to our backyard by guess who. But, oh, when sweet hubby was finished, the herb beds were glorious! I filled them with enough basil plants to keep us in pesto all summer, plenty of rosemary, thyme, sage, parsley the butterflies loved, oregano, and many other herbs that were added to my culinary endeavors. That was hubby’s reward for a job well done. We also planted a Meyer lemon tree and a fig tree in those beds.

imageNow we no longer have a yard but a small brick patio with a narrow strip of soil along a little path. Because of its small size, the patio is nearly filled by a table and chairs that occupy it. I saw this great idea for a handcrafted sitting area for a small outdoor space. The wheels began turning in my head, and now we are beginning to redo the patio to fit my new vision. We are going to remove the table and chairs and make a seating area around the perimeter instead to open up the space. Though I have full confidence that with some carpentry demonstrations at our local hardware store and several hundred hours of building, my husband is completely capable of making that sitting area himself, he has convinced me we should look for a ready-made conversation set instead. I’m fine with that. That way he’ll have more time to work on the beautiful planters I saw in the latest edition of Better Homes and Gardens.

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Life is Just Like That

Posted on April 2, 2013 by Coming East

imageToday my beautiful little baby girl turned forty.  Lest you say, as you surely will or should, “Susan, you are much too young to have a daughter that age,” our joke is that she is actually my husband’s daughter by his first marriage.  (Yes, I am indeed his one and only wife.). We stayed up and talked with each other until after midnight last night, and she told me that turning forty bothers her a bit because she is not where she envisioned herself being at this stage in her life. Even less than a year ago, she said she was more focused than she is now. “Mommy,” she said to me, “I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.”

I had to chuckle because I’m sixty-four and feel the same way. I think this is the cycle of life for most people. Most of us would like to have do-overs, make different choices, know what we want at every stage of our lives, have no regrets, be satisfied with who we are. And we are, more or less…sometimes. Sometimes we really can sit back and take a look at where we are and feel content, even happy, with the path we’ve taken. It’s those other times that get us down, when no matter what we’ve chosen, we’re not sure it was what we really wanted, though it might have been right at the time.

As long as we have breath in our lungs, I think most of us will always feel we are not quite where we wanted to be. I think that is the nature of life. And it’s not a bad thing. It is what keeps us striving to keep trying. We have periods in our lives where we are focused and driven, and then we have those other times when we can’t seem to get out of our own way. We can’t do the simplest things that we know we should be doing, that we desperately want to be doing.

And then there are those huge moments when we look back on our lives and think we should have gone in an entirely different direction and now it is too late, and we bewail the fact that we weren’t bold enough to make the choice we really know NOW that we should have made.

Here at sixty-four, I see things a little differently. If we are really honest with ourselves, what is really our heart’s desire is to be loved and to love, and to feel that we have contributed in some way. At the end of the day, if we can say we have accomplished that, then that discontentment we sometimes feel really has no more sway over us.

As I look at my beautiful daughter and see how much she is loved by so many people, not just family members, and see how much she has done for so many others and continues to do, when I see her happy family and lovely home she cares for, I think she is in a good place.

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Where Has the Time Gone?

Posted on March 27, 2013 by Coming East
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With her grandpa

Fifteen years ago today, I became a grandmother.  I could have phrased this differently:  My beautiful, talented granddaughter is fifteen years old today.  But this is my blog, so it’s all about me.  As I was saying, I became a grandmother fifteen years ago today.  I was much too young, of course, because grandmothers are supposed to be be old ladies. Wasn’t that how I thought of my grandmothers, pretty and perky though they were?

SCAN0991This grandbaby of mine was a tiny thing, less than five pounds when she was born. She arrived eight weeks early but  was healthy, nonetheless, though she had to stay in the hospital for a few weeks before we could bring her home.  I wouldn’t say her grandpa and I were gah-gah over her or anything, but she was the cutest, smartest little baby we (or anybody else in the world, for that matter) had ever seen.  I am not saying this because I am her grandmother.  I am merely stating a fact.

With her mom, our daughter

With her mom, our daughter

My memory might be a little foggy, though I think I’m quite accurate in this, but I distinctly remember she was walking by the time she was six months old and reading a couple of months after that, though it took her until she was nearly a year old before she could write more than a paragraph or two.  By the time she was two, her vocabulary was so astounding, I had to carry a dictionary around with me so I could interpret what she was saying.  Ubiquitous was her favorite word at that time, though it was out of fashion by the time she was three, replaced by efficacious.

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With her aunt, our daughter-in-law

And now she is fifteen.  She will be driving in a year.  Off to college in a little more than three.  How does that happen?  My heart is so full when I think about her (as well as her little sister, but that’s another story).  She and I share this joke:  I sometimes text her with the words, “Stop it!” The first time I did that, she texted back, “Stop what?”  My reply was, “Stop whatever you are doing.  You are a teenager, so you must be up to no good.”  Now it’s just my way of letting her know I am thinking about her.  If only she knew how much of my day is taken up thinking about her.  The real joke, unbeknownst to her, is that when I text her to “Stop it,” I really mean for her to stop growing up.  Stop turning into an adult.  Stop getting ready to leave home.

20100808_Olga & Ben_7013I have no fear that she will stop feeling close to me or stop thinking I’m fun.  I felt close to my grandmothers as long as I had them.  There is a special bond between grandchildren and grandparents that time cannot erase.  Besides, I’m a cool grandmother.  I let my granddaughters do pretty much what they please, within reason (I put that in for my daughter’s benefit), a prerogative of grandparenthood.

With her cool grandma, me, of course

With her cool grandma, me, of course

So, fifteen years have passed since that spectacular, incredible baby was born, and I wouldn’t say that we are still gah-gah over her, but did you know that she has the singing voice of an angel, can speak several languages (does teen-speak and texting count?), and is smart enough to know that her Mimi and Papa are the luckiest grandparents on Earth?
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In Your Easter Bonnet

Posted on March 26, 2013 by Coming East

It is rare today to see women wearing fancy hats to church, but when I was growing up, it was quite a common site and included my mother and me.  It brings to mind Irving Berlin’s song, “Easter Parade.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AcZWvjbSw7o

As Easter Sunday approaches, I am reminded of the fashion side of that special day as it occurred in our household.

My brother and me on Easter morning

My brother and me on Easter morning

For most women, Easter Sunday was an occasion to buy a new outfit, including a frilly hat, referred to as an Easter bonnet, new shoes, and a new pair of white gloves. My mother followed that tradition to a point. Where she varied was that she would not let us wear our new outfit on Easter Sunday for the first time. She made us wear it on Palm Sunday, the Sunday before. We could wear it again on Easter, but that could not be the first time. Her reasoning was simple. She wanted us to focus on the meaning of Easter and not on our new clothes.

With my little white gloves

With my little white gloves

I have to admit that in my childish understanding, I wish my mother didn’t have that rule. I wanted to wear my new clothes on Easter Sunday for the first time like everyone else so I would feel special. Wearing them the week before took a little of the shine out of them. I still remember trying to button those tiny pearl buttons on my new white gloves. I also remember how my mother would use Vaseline petroleum jelly to shine my patent leather Mary Janes if I scuffed them up. My mother had such good taste in clothes, and she extended that to clothes she bought for me.

By the time my daughter was growing up, Easter bonnets were already on their way out, and no one wore little white gloves anymore. I see young people today wearing very casual clothes on Easter morning, some even in jeans. I’m just happy to see them in church, no matter what they’re wearing. I guess they learned the lesson my mother was trying to teach me.

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Waiting for Spring

Posted on March 22, 2013 by Coming East

Snow flurries. Seriously? Yesterday was the second day of spring, at least according to the calendar, and I woke up to snowflakes. To add insult to injury, it actually got colder as the day wore on, not warmer. Grey, windy, and temperatures in the thirties. THIS IS VIRGINIA, for crying out loud! Sorry, I had to vent.

imageMy chives are coming up, my daffodils are making an appearance, the new crop of weeds is adorning my front yard, there are buds on my knockout rose bushes, my hostas are pushing their way out of the ground, and my hydrangeas are waking up. Wouldn’t you think that the sunny, warm weather would get on board? Where is global warming when you need it? I’m getting worried because my girlfriend from Connecticut is coming to visit in a few weeks, and she jokingly said I better have some warm weather waiting for her or else. I promised her that by the time she comes, our beautiful Virginia spring will be plenty warm enough. I’m afraid to ask what the “or else” is because the way things are going, I may not be able to make good on my promise.

My husband thinks we will skip spring altogether and go right into summer. I’m still holding out hope that he is wrong. After seeing these snow flurries, though, I think waiting for spring may prove to be like waiting for Godot. I may be waiting in vain.

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YouTube, You’reWonderful!

Posted on March 20, 2013 by Coming East

I’ve been spending a lot of time on YouTube. It started with my desire to play the bodhran, a traditional Irish drum.  A wonderful drum teacher, Michelle Stewart, who teaches bodhran in Scotland, has 51 videos explaining and demonstrating how to play, tune, and care for a bodhran.  She even conducts an online class I might look into and take, depending on the expense.  She’s amazing, and I’ve learned so much from her already.  Thanks to her, I can do triplets!  I also have learned a couple of hornpipe patterns, a killer jig pattern, and just started learning a reel.  All because of YouTube and someone who lives across the pond.

Yesterday I spent some time watching instructional videos on YouTube for Irish dance. I’ve always wanted to learn how to do that, too, even if it’s only a few simple steps. After watching the videos, I can tell you there are no simple steps, so my dream of being an extra for Riverdance ain’t going to happen. I did, however, watch enough Irish whistle videos to have a big “Aha!” moment. I’ve been playing my whistle like I play my recorders, and whistle players do not tongue like Renaissance and Baroque recorder players do. I will have to completely change my style, but now I will sound more authentic. Thank you, YouTube.

Besides instruction, of course, there are many more wonderful things YouTube can bring us. For instance, when I heard that Van Cliburn had died, I went to YouTube to hear him play and watch old media coverage of when he won the Tchaikovsky competition in Moscow in 1958. I’ve also watched old comedy routines of Bob Newhart and Victor Borge. I might check to see if YouTube has Smothers Brothers videos, too. I bet they do.

Those of you who have been watching YouTube for a long time now must be laughing at me that I’m just now catching on. If you aren’t one of the laughing ones, then you must be like me. Go catch up.

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Sometimes It’s Best to Let the Phone Ring

Posted on March 18, 2013 by Coming East

In our local paper this morning, I read a column by our grammar guru, Bernadette Kinlaw, concerning euphemisms. She explained the etymology of the word and then gave examples of some common euphemisms. We all use them, of course, mostly because it helps us feel less uncomfortable or embarrassed when we talk about certain things. When your employer fires you, unless he is Donald Trump, of course, he’d rather tell you that the company is downsizing or restructuring. A woman on a lunch date with friends, instead of coming out and saying she needs to pee, will say she needs to powder her nose. Much more polite and civilized.

This article on euphemisms was ironic because my brother and sister-in-law spent this past weekend with us, and my brother and I were talking about euphemisms for the “Big D.” Okay, I mean death. The closer you get to it, the more you seem to mention it because it is on your mind more. Our discussion came about because my brother and I were talking about our genealogy records. My brother has done some research, particularly on my mother’s side of the family, and my son had also helped when he was an archivist at the state genealogy library in Austin, Texas some years ago. I pulled out my notebook where I keep the information I have and asked my brother to look through it and make sure he had everything I had. When he came across the obituary for our great-grandfather, we started a discussion of euphemisms for death.

It seems more than anything else, Death is one of those words people avoid talking about. Even people who have a strong faith and feel they know where they are going, tend to use euphemisms to describe the trip. Their loved one is “bound for glory” or was “called upon to be an angel.” At the very least, we talk about people “passing away” instead of dying.

IMG_0478 However, when my brother and I saw this obituary in our genealogy records, we agreed that euphemisms can go too far. We are stating here and now that if Death calls, we are definitely not picking up the phone. We are going to let it ring and ring. Obviously, people didn’t have caller I.D. in those days. Otherwise, when Abijah’s wife received the same call, she would have had Death leave a message.
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The Rest of My Life

Posted on March 14, 2013 by Coming East

Now that I have finally finished the newsletter for Hampton Roads Writers, I’m sitting in the quiet in my favorite bedroom, the one of I call the Sea Room because of all its lighthouse and sea pictures and other sea paraphernalia, and reflecting on “life.” Every three months I have to get one of those newsletters out, and it’s like pulling teeth for me. I fret over whether or not I will have enough copy, many times having to write articles myself when people don’t send me things, and then I worry it will go out with mistakes I don’t catch. After all, this is the newsletter of an organization for writers. It better not have writing mistakes.

But this time was different. I usually do a four-page newsletter, and this time I made it eight with the help of three interviews I had with three local authors about their new books. I think my questions were pretty good, and they sent me interesting answers with enough material for a whole page for each of them. As I was writing it over the past four days, I was actually feeling pumped. I felt like I did when I was still working and had to come up with some big report my principal wanted me to prepare for Central Office. It was nerve-wracking and I was anxious, but I was also exhilarated as things came together and I was proud of the end result. I was proud of a lot of things I did while I was working.

And now I’m retired. Aside from that newsletter I do every three months, no one depends on me for anything more than a clean house and dinner on the table. My sweet husband comes home full of stories from the office: who did what, who said this, who said that, what projects he’s working on, etc. “I did the laundry today,” I say. “I found your missing sock.”

No, I don’t want to go back to work. I worked hard as dean, and I will never have a job like that again. Besides, the reason I retired and we left Texas is so that we would have more opportunities to see our children. If I were working, it would defeat the whole purpose. Still, I’m trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life. I want to feel as mentally stimulated as I did when I was working. How do you get that back? I worry that I’m losing what little mental acuity I have left.

So. I’m trying to figure out this new life. You would think I would have done this by now, after four years, but I haven’t. Well, enough boo-hooing. Time to go and beat that bodhran. Nothing like drumming to lift your spirits.

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My Bodhran Has Arrived!

Posted on March 12, 2013 by Coming East

Yesterday my bodhran was delivered to my front door, and it was agony not being able to play it for more than thirty minutes. I’m working on the April newsletter for my writers’ organization, Hampton Roads Writers, and the first draft needs to be finished by the end of the week. I have at least two more days of hard work before I can really take the time to enjoy playing my drum.

My bodhran is just the newest in a group of instruments I own and play poorly, unlike my children and daughter-in-law who are excellent musicians and play at least one instrument very well, and in most cases, several instruments very well. I can confidently say I play more instruments than they do…but not one of them well. Ask me if I care. Well, yeah, a little. Maybe with my bodhran I can at least rise to mediocrity.

I was  excited at the prospect of getting my violin repaired and learning some Irish fiddle tunes, but I got the bad news this weekend when we took it to a master violin maker/repairman that it basically wasn’t worth the money to repair it. It would have cost nearly as much as I paid for it, and it isn’t a great violin to begin with, though it was a decent one for someone like me who used to play with my students in our middle school orchestra. I bought a new E-string anyway, just in case I can get it in tune again with the ill-fitting pegs and play it before the sound post crack gets any worse. Someday maybe I’ll save enough money for another violin, if I’m not in The Home already. Would hate to never play again.

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imageAs you can see, I have a passion for making music. These are the instruments that I own now: A gorgeous Yamaha piano, my violin, my pennywhistle, soprano and alto recorders, my baritone ukelele, and my bodhran. I also have a practice chanter for Scottish bagpipes, but I need a reed and I can’t find the mouthpiece. I own a guitar, but my brother is still borrowing it, and I like to think of him playing his music, too. He used to have a group when he was in high school called the Cap-Sized Three. He was quite good. Hey, we should play together sometime, Brother! Anyway, if I’ve been absent from my blogging for awhile, it’s because of the newsletter and now my new drum. After so many years of working, I’m enjoying indulging my creative side. I have a lot of time to make up for. After I master this bodhran, I wonder what I’ll think of next. What about the uilleann pipes? How hard can they be?

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Kiss Me, I’m Irish

Posted on March 8, 2013 by Coming East

As everyone knows, the United States is the largest melting pot on Earth. Those of us whose families have been around for a long time have histories tied to many different nations and ethnicities. My mother’s ancestors are from England, Scotland, and Ireland. My grandfather told us his grandmother was full-blooded Irish. We have records of my mother’s family in America as early as 1745. My father’s family, on the other hand, was from Eastern Europe and only came here at the turn of the Twentieth Century.

Growing up, my brother and sister and I thought of ourselves more as Irish than anything else. I think that was because we all looked like our mother who talked about her Irish heritage so often, and my father liked to talk about the little Irish girl he married. That all changed for me when I married a Ukrainian from a big family. Fiercely proud of their Ukrainian and Belarussian roots, that’s all I heard at family gatherings. My Irish roots couldn’t compete. It didn’t help that none of my kids got my red hair and freckles. They all took after their dad with his dark good looks.

We ate Ukrainian food and listened to Ukrainian music. My children thought of themselves as Ukrainians. Helloooo! They had a mother, too, you know. The Ukrainian culture was so strong, it trumped my Irish heritage. But as Dylan so eloquently said, “The times, they are a’changing.” Now that we’ve moved close to my brother, who incidentally married a full-blooded Irish girl named Kathleen, there is strength in numbers. Now in my house we listen to Irish music, I’m making corned beef and cabbage for Saint Patrick’s Day next week, and I just ordered my bodhran, a traditional Irish drum. I’ve been practicing drum patterns for jigs and reels and hornpipes, using a bundle of bamboo shish kebab skewers and a cork placemat in preparation for getting my drum in a few days. I plan on sitting in at the local pub on Irish music night when the pick-up group arrives.

So, I hope my children read this because I’m putting them on notice. You’ve thought of yourselves as Ukies long enough. You also have Irish blood running through those veins of yours. And to my daughter-in-law who hails from Belarus and thought she married a Ukie-Belarus mix, I have news for you, Lassie. You married an Irishman.

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