Rainy day stubble
The clock stops counting hours
Spring weekend in bliss
Pursuing new experiences is exhausting and requires days when you do absolutely nothing on a schedule, only shower if you feel like it, and soak in the warmth of your husband's sleepy-weak embrace. A whole day spent watching The Office U.K. with a brief pause for Thai. Talking consists of insightful observations about the show's dialog and your favorite characters. You are light and haven't any worries about grown-up topics like bills, appointments, and to do's. It all seems possible again because you are laughing, snoozing, and forgetting that tomorrow you too are back in the office.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
Variety Show
Elvis serenades
Memories of yesterday
Unbroken hips swing
Sometimes you find yourself in unexpected situations experiencing glorious displays of American kitsch and piles of pork sausage.
I woke at 3 AM to catch a 4 AM carpool to the airport for a 6 AM flight to Milwaukee via Detroit. It was cold, wet, and I had only gone to bed at midnight so I was a bit punchy already. My colleagues, a student, and I were going to visit a 120 yr old family sausage company to say thank you for a scholarship donation among other things. The night of our arrival they had proudly arranged for us to be honored guests at a local family restaurant, The Fireside Theatre, which boasts, "The Midwest’s best combination of fine dining and professional theatre. Broadway musicals cast from New York talent."
That night we entered a bright pink, dollhouse-like hallway that lead to the main restaurant that seated 1275 and had faux vines weaving around staircases that led to various dining areas. The owner and our host stopped at our table to share his family history, restaurant concept, and faith. Enlightened, we chose our feast at the buffet and once our bellies were taut with sticky sweet mounds of orange mash and several variations of deep fried meat, we headed in to watch the show, "The best of the 50s and 60s." Soon our host was guiding the audience through twenty years of pop history with a radio-ready, professional voice and well practiced routine of variety show stunts, games, and comedy. As he introduced each tune, the orchestra in the center of stage would magically rise from the pit to take the lead, then fall as dancers and singers would perform in colorful new costumes each set. The Beatles, Patsy Cline, Elvis Presley, and many more artists were resurrected for our entertainment. At one point, our host appeared in old-lady drag and ran across the stage in a glee of lust after one of the stars. Recalling the days of Ed Sullivan, he pulled giddy audience members on stage for a game of beanbag toss and the chance to win THE BIG PRIZE. Looking around it seemed most of the audience were being taken back to their youth. Most were elderly; likely this was a stop on their casino tour. It was hard not to clap, swing, sing, and tap to the familiar oldies but goodies. At 10:30 that night, we finally headed to our hotel for the night. I was feverish with exhaustion and made silly by the night's activity.
The variety show continued the next morning but in a new form. The family we were visiting took us on a tour of their pork processing plant and after seeing exactly what cool innovations kept the business thriving--like seemingly knowing machines that expertly removed boxes stuffed with sausage links--we headed to the kitchen for a tasting of their finest products. At least 20 different types of sausage were piled onto each of our plates for a sampling. Comparisons and ingredient identification ensued before "it's time for lunch" was announced. Our eyes grew wide along with our hips. At the end of the day, we were sent off to the airport with a bag of goodies including pig key chains that oink, a pig tape measure (you pull the tongue which is the ruler), a stuffed "pig" animal designed to honor one of the elder family members (one of a series), and many, many, MANY, more thoughtful gifts to help us remember our visit. A food coma took over two of my group and another fell fast asleep on the airport floor while waiting for our flight. I wonder if he dreamed a little dream . . .
I feel less stuffed having hiked each day since my return home. Elvis and pork are off the menu for a while. I am in a familiar coffee shop with students from Vassar who have stayed behind for Spring Break. Today is a holiday for me too although the need to prepare for work tomorrow keeps resurfacing. I am sub-teaching ESL tonight and am unprepared but I think I can wing it ok. Nora Jones is cooing in the background.
Memories of yesterday
Unbroken hips swing
Sometimes you find yourself in unexpected situations experiencing glorious displays of American kitsch and piles of pork sausage.
I woke at 3 AM to catch a 4 AM carpool to the airport for a 6 AM flight to Milwaukee via Detroit. It was cold, wet, and I had only gone to bed at midnight so I was a bit punchy already. My colleagues, a student, and I were going to visit a 120 yr old family sausage company to say thank you for a scholarship donation among other things. The night of our arrival they had proudly arranged for us to be honored guests at a local family restaurant, The Fireside Theatre, which boasts, "The Midwest’s best combination of fine dining and professional theatre. Broadway musicals cast from New York talent."
That night we entered a bright pink, dollhouse-like hallway that lead to the main restaurant that seated 1275 and had faux vines weaving around staircases that led to various dining areas. The owner and our host stopped at our table to share his family history, restaurant concept, and faith. Enlightened, we chose our feast at the buffet and once our bellies were taut with sticky sweet mounds of orange mash and several variations of deep fried meat, we headed in to watch the show, "The best of the 50s and 60s." Soon our host was guiding the audience through twenty years of pop history with a radio-ready, professional voice and well practiced routine of variety show stunts, games, and comedy. As he introduced each tune, the orchestra in the center of stage would magically rise from the pit to take the lead, then fall as dancers and singers would perform in colorful new costumes each set. The Beatles, Patsy Cline, Elvis Presley, and many more artists were resurrected for our entertainment. At one point, our host appeared in old-lady drag and ran across the stage in a glee of lust after one of the stars. Recalling the days of Ed Sullivan, he pulled giddy audience members on stage for a game of beanbag toss and the chance to win THE BIG PRIZE. Looking around it seemed most of the audience were being taken back to their youth. Most were elderly; likely this was a stop on their casino tour. It was hard not to clap, swing, sing, and tap to the familiar oldies but goodies. At 10:30 that night, we finally headed to our hotel for the night. I was feverish with exhaustion and made silly by the night's activity.
The variety show continued the next morning but in a new form. The family we were visiting took us on a tour of their pork processing plant and after seeing exactly what cool innovations kept the business thriving--like seemingly knowing machines that expertly removed boxes stuffed with sausage links--we headed to the kitchen for a tasting of their finest products. At least 20 different types of sausage were piled onto each of our plates for a sampling. Comparisons and ingredient identification ensued before "it's time for lunch" was announced. Our eyes grew wide along with our hips. At the end of the day, we were sent off to the airport with a bag of goodies including pig key chains that oink, a pig tape measure (you pull the tongue which is the ruler), a stuffed "pig" animal designed to honor one of the elder family members (one of a series), and many, many, MANY, more thoughtful gifts to help us remember our visit. A food coma took over two of my group and another fell fast asleep on the airport floor while waiting for our flight. I wonder if he dreamed a little dream . . .
I feel less stuffed having hiked each day since my return home. Elvis and pork are off the menu for a while. I am in a familiar coffee shop with students from Vassar who have stayed behind for Spring Break. Today is a holiday for me too although the need to prepare for work tomorrow keeps resurfacing. I am sub-teaching ESL tonight and am unprepared but I think I can wing it ok. Nora Jones is cooing in the background.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Center Stage
A house stands empty
Waiting to be filled by sounds
New memories made
A trumpet blasts from the attic. Sitting in the foyer, I know what sorrow sounds like. If this were a play, Mark and I would be the new, young couple who sit with our lap tops oblivious to the sounds of the past echoing from the other rooms. Stage left, grown children who once occupied the home sift through closets extracting memories of mama’s favorite dinner dress, her slips and nightdresses. A brother’s favorite stuffed dog and books worn from several readings sit high and dusty on shelves. Memories continue to flow . . . Papa’s hats he wore on Sundays, sister’s black and white photos from her college course, and the distant echoes of a house warmed by music, laughter, and wood burning in the brick fireplace. Stage right, children practice their instruments for the holiday concert and a little girl blows with all her might on a brass trumpet. Center stage, Mark and I check the thermostat and sit in silence surfing the Net while a family says goodbye to their past.
Waiting to be filled by sounds
New memories made
A trumpet blasts from the attic. Sitting in the foyer, I know what sorrow sounds like. If this were a play, Mark and I would be the new, young couple who sit with our lap tops oblivious to the sounds of the past echoing from the other rooms. Stage left, grown children who once occupied the home sift through closets extracting memories of mama’s favorite dinner dress, her slips and nightdresses. A brother’s favorite stuffed dog and books worn from several readings sit high and dusty on shelves. Memories continue to flow . . . Papa’s hats he wore on Sundays, sister’s black and white photos from her college course, and the distant echoes of a house warmed by music, laughter, and wood burning in the brick fireplace. Stage right, children practice their instruments for the holiday concert and a little girl blows with all her might on a brass trumpet. Center stage, Mark and I check the thermostat and sit in silence surfing the Net while a family says goodbye to their past.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Grateful Gardener
Deer graze on wilted flowers
Unafraid of the grateful gardener smiling
Sitting in a room, on a bed, not mine. Surrounded by photos of family also not mine. A disconnected phone decorates a writing desk along with a crucifix and two awards recognizing Margaret Koniz, R.D. I’m writing from Margaret’s window. The window she lay looking out into her neatly groomed yard, at its trees and flowers and four-legged visitors, this last year of her life.
I’m amazed at how one little woman could fill such an enormous house where Mark and I roomed upstairs. Three floors of space not including the basement and attic—that’s a lot of house. She would say, “I love my home, it’s a good home” practically every day and multiple times. She’d sing her alma mater’s song “Alabama” or delightfully express her distaste for something by chiming “You can have it, I don’t want it, Its not the thing for me . . . “ Every corner of the house seemed to warm with her presence. She was perpetually happy and good spirited even at the end when she was in pain. Margaret was sunshine.
I moved into her home with some trepidation. Margaret’s daughter, Mary, was a colleague at the CIA. Before I left for Budapest, Mary overheard me saying that I needed a place to live when I returned six months later. She volunteered Margaret’s home saying there was lots of space and the company would be welcome by Margaret who was suffering at times from dementia. I balked because I like privacy and did not think I was much of a caregiver. But the following January I moved in nonetheless to the corner room on the second floor. Mark joined me a few months later.
Mark and I grew close to Margaret and when we left for a 4-week road trip, Margaret asked that we not forget her. How could we? We sent her postcards from the various states we traveled through and when we returned August 1, we resumed the routine of returning home to her cheerful greeting, “Well hello there. Have a seat.,” then dinner and sitting on the porch. As the holidays neared, we began looking forward to the famous Koniz Christmas party when friends, neighbors, and family would sing Christmas carols all evening before Margaret would read “The Night Before Christmas” in front of the fire. Margaret, however, changed becoming still and eating less. Her old nemesis, cancer, had returned.
Margaret made it to Christmas and into the New Year. The Koniz Christmas party was everything we had been told and more. There was dancing, children playing with puppies, and the house was filled with music. Faces from photos came to life and drew us into their circle as if we belonged. For the first time, Margaret could not read so the family read together. A few weeks later, she was in the hospital. When nothing more could be done for her, Margaret returned to her beloved home to say her final goodbye. Family gathered and Mark and I were invited to stay as part of the family. Her vigil was all that you might imagine for a woman like Margaret—family singing, laughing, holding her hand. For the first time in Mark and my life, we saw a person we love take their last breath. And then we cooked for the family.
The services reflected the Margaret we knew and shed light on the Margaret we never met. She was an accomplished, intelligent professional and remarkable in her influence on others and her community. Margaret seemed to have a magical influence even in death. Her children are so different from one another it is hard to believe they are from the same womb. We were amazed that they and extended family, old friends, and even ex-wives could peacefully, even merrily, be in one room. At her wake, they celebrated in the spirit of Margaret by singing, dancing (yes, it’s true!) and telling stories that captured the lightness of Margaret. What is it to be the kind of person who draws the very best out of everyone even in times of sorrow?
Mark and I have remained in Margaret’s home temporarily—while plans for her estate are being settled among her children. The house feels lonely without her. Sitting on her bed, though, I’m warmed by her memory and feel so fortunate to have been invited to stay in her home. For a woman who loved flowers but lacked a green thumb, she cultivated beauty in other ways and inevitably grew in me the ability to nurture a stranger. I’m glad that I overcame my hesitation to share my life and space with someone, and equally grateful to have been welcomed in by a truly magnificent woman, and her family. I am forever changed and grateful for it.
Unafraid of the grateful gardener smiling
Sitting in a room, on a bed, not mine. Surrounded by photos of family also not mine. A disconnected phone decorates a writing desk along with a crucifix and two awards recognizing Margaret Koniz, R.D. I’m writing from Margaret’s window. The window she lay looking out into her neatly groomed yard, at its trees and flowers and four-legged visitors, this last year of her life.
I’m amazed at how one little woman could fill such an enormous house where Mark and I roomed upstairs. Three floors of space not including the basement and attic—that’s a lot of house. She would say, “I love my home, it’s a good home” practically every day and multiple times. She’d sing her alma mater’s song “Alabama” or delightfully express her distaste for something by chiming “You can have it, I don’t want it, Its not the thing for me . . . “ Every corner of the house seemed to warm with her presence. She was perpetually happy and good spirited even at the end when she was in pain. Margaret was sunshine.
I moved into her home with some trepidation. Margaret’s daughter, Mary, was a colleague at the CIA. Before I left for Budapest, Mary overheard me saying that I needed a place to live when I returned six months later. She volunteered Margaret’s home saying there was lots of space and the company would be welcome by Margaret who was suffering at times from dementia. I balked because I like privacy and did not think I was much of a caregiver. But the following January I moved in nonetheless to the corner room on the second floor. Mark joined me a few months later.
Mark and I grew close to Margaret and when we left for a 4-week road trip, Margaret asked that we not forget her. How could we? We sent her postcards from the various states we traveled through and when we returned August 1, we resumed the routine of returning home to her cheerful greeting, “Well hello there. Have a seat.,” then dinner and sitting on the porch. As the holidays neared, we began looking forward to the famous Koniz Christmas party when friends, neighbors, and family would sing Christmas carols all evening before Margaret would read “The Night Before Christmas” in front of the fire. Margaret, however, changed becoming still and eating less. Her old nemesis, cancer, had returned.
Margaret made it to Christmas and into the New Year. The Koniz Christmas party was everything we had been told and more. There was dancing, children playing with puppies, and the house was filled with music. Faces from photos came to life and drew us into their circle as if we belonged. For the first time, Margaret could not read so the family read together. A few weeks later, she was in the hospital. When nothing more could be done for her, Margaret returned to her beloved home to say her final goodbye. Family gathered and Mark and I were invited to stay as part of the family. Her vigil was all that you might imagine for a woman like Margaret—family singing, laughing, holding her hand. For the first time in Mark and my life, we saw a person we love take their last breath. And then we cooked for the family.
The services reflected the Margaret we knew and shed light on the Margaret we never met. She was an accomplished, intelligent professional and remarkable in her influence on others and her community. Margaret seemed to have a magical influence even in death. Her children are so different from one another it is hard to believe they are from the same womb. We were amazed that they and extended family, old friends, and even ex-wives could peacefully, even merrily, be in one room. At her wake, they celebrated in the spirit of Margaret by singing, dancing (yes, it’s true!) and telling stories that captured the lightness of Margaret. What is it to be the kind of person who draws the very best out of everyone even in times of sorrow?
Mark and I have remained in Margaret’s home temporarily—while plans for her estate are being settled among her children. The house feels lonely without her. Sitting on her bed, though, I’m warmed by her memory and feel so fortunate to have been invited to stay in her home. For a woman who loved flowers but lacked a green thumb, she cultivated beauty in other ways and inevitably grew in me the ability to nurture a stranger. I’m glad that I overcame my hesitation to share my life and space with someone, and equally grateful to have been welcomed in by a truly magnificent woman, and her family. I am forever changed and grateful for it.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Taking a Bath
Floating in bubbles
Warm body weightless and raw
Spring's new beginnings
Typically when I want to escape but my brain is jumbled with thoughts about work or big projects, I watch a movie online. While in Budapest I discovered the luxury of taking a hot bath with lavender oil, a cup of tea or glass of wine (depending on the time), and a good movie. All of your anxiety fades away and you are suddenly in a wonderful new realm. This morning I’m escaping by writing. Mark will be so pleased!
This week we are staying at the home of Mark’s former employers (Brooks & Brooks) and hanging out with Lilly and Recon. Lilly is a rather plump black & white, boots style cat while Recon is a gorgeous, black lab. They live in a rustic home on 10 acres of wooded property. It is like being on retreat.
I LOVE DOGS and other animals. Since our cat Cali died, it has just been the two of us. We tried fostering a kitten (Bleu later named Hamish) but became too attached. We aren’t in a position to adopt a permanent companion so we offer to pet sit friends’ animals.
Pets offer loads of adventure. Yesterday morning I ran out to rescue a squirrel from a determined Recon who wanted to play (I hope!) with it. I was too late. Recon’s little face was bloodied and the squirrel, well, it is in a better place with loads of nuts. The last time we were here we had a run-in with an opossum. No one was hurt thank goodness. The time before, Lilly had an infected tooth (and bad breath) and Recon went on TOO long of a walk by herself.
Mark and I will be well prepared for home ownership by the time we buy. Staying at various homes either as guests, renters, or sitters, we have experienced a range of conveniences. For example, double sinks in the bathroom are a nice touch but Mark always gravitates to the sink I’m using so we may as well have just one big sink. A double shower on the other hand saves time and hot water (no more arguing over that!). A professional stove is definitely worth the purchase but a fancy coffee maker doesn’t make better coffee. A dressing room with lots of natural light and space for sorting shoes . . . WOW! Several sitting rooms, however, seem like a waste of space. Fireplaces are the best, drafty doors and windows should be replaced. 10 acres are incredible . . . if you can still walk to the college library and bookstore and grocer and saloon and coffee shop and . . .
It will be quite some time before we settle down I think so the list has time to build. Eventually I’d like a place that can be filled with friends and family on any given night. A place where children bring their friends just to hang out and where there is a little room with lots of light for writing. And a big bathtub.
Warm body weightless and raw
Spring's new beginnings
Typically when I want to escape but my brain is jumbled with thoughts about work or big projects, I watch a movie online. While in Budapest I discovered the luxury of taking a hot bath with lavender oil, a cup of tea or glass of wine (depending on the time), and a good movie. All of your anxiety fades away and you are suddenly in a wonderful new realm. This morning I’m escaping by writing. Mark will be so pleased!
This week we are staying at the home of Mark’s former employers (Brooks & Brooks) and hanging out with Lilly and Recon. Lilly is a rather plump black & white, boots style cat while Recon is a gorgeous, black lab. They live in a rustic home on 10 acres of wooded property. It is like being on retreat.
I LOVE DOGS and other animals. Since our cat Cali died, it has just been the two of us. We tried fostering a kitten (Bleu later named Hamish) but became too attached. We aren’t in a position to adopt a permanent companion so we offer to pet sit friends’ animals.
Pets offer loads of adventure. Yesterday morning I ran out to rescue a squirrel from a determined Recon who wanted to play (I hope!) with it. I was too late. Recon’s little face was bloodied and the squirrel, well, it is in a better place with loads of nuts. The last time we were here we had a run-in with an opossum. No one was hurt thank goodness. The time before, Lilly had an infected tooth (and bad breath) and Recon went on TOO long of a walk by herself.
Mark and I will be well prepared for home ownership by the time we buy. Staying at various homes either as guests, renters, or sitters, we have experienced a range of conveniences. For example, double sinks in the bathroom are a nice touch but Mark always gravitates to the sink I’m using so we may as well have just one big sink. A double shower on the other hand saves time and hot water (no more arguing over that!). A professional stove is definitely worth the purchase but a fancy coffee maker doesn’t make better coffee. A dressing room with lots of natural light and space for sorting shoes . . . WOW! Several sitting rooms, however, seem like a waste of space. Fireplaces are the best, drafty doors and windows should be replaced. 10 acres are incredible . . . if you can still walk to the college library and bookstore and grocer and saloon and coffee shop and . . .
It will be quite some time before we settle down I think so the list has time to build. Eventually I’d like a place that can be filled with friends and family on any given night. A place where children bring their friends just to hang out and where there is a little room with lots of light for writing. And a big bathtub.
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