Savannah

My, it has been quite a while since I posted here.


A few weeks back I had surgery to blast the gravel pit of stones in my kidneys. No one seems to know why I am prone to them, but this has been my fifth go round with surgery. And once again the anesthesia confounded me. Martha complained that on the surgical waiting room board, everyone who finished surgery about the same time I did went home and I was still in the recovery room. But I did eventually wake up, drank, peed and went home with foggy anesthesia brain that seems to still be lingering. Later in the week the doctor very kindly came into his office on his day off to remove my stents before my vacation, and then the next two days I found myself writhing in excruciating pain as I apparently passed the remaining stone fragments.


But enough about that because then I got to pack my bags and go to Savannah.


The original plan was booked when Peachie was still living in Boston. “Come to my new house for Easter” she said. “I will take you to the Boston airport the next morning and pick you up when you come home Friday and you can visit for the weekend.”


Perfect. Until her fiance got a promotion and they moved to Florida.


So because we had an early Monday morning flight, Martha and I spent Easter driving to Boston to stay in a hotel. It is usually a 3 hour drive but because of traffic, it took us 5 hours. This is the lovely Easter dinner we shared at a Mass. Turnpike rest stop.

A brief and expensive night in a hotel and then an Uber to the airport in more heavy traffic. But at least our flight was on-time and uneventful.


We rented a car and drove to our Airbnb - an amazing restored warehouse right on the Savannah river.

Savannah has such an interesting history, both from the Revolutionary and Civil Wars. I hadn’t known that General Sherman, while burning his way through the south, was so awestruck by the beauty of Savannah that he left it unscathed as a gift to Lincoln. And while I understand that the city had deteriorated considerably in the following century, the Savannah College of Art and Design began buying and restoring buildings and today the historic district is a model of antebellum beauty and preservation.

Still, it is the south. We toured a plantation owner’s house, and it’s slave quarters. And while the language has become more accurate (the enslaved rather than slaves) I still struggled with the untold history of these people. I could feel their pain and prayers soaked in the walls and I felt a deep inner trembling when walking through the square that had been the slave market.

Our first night we ate in one of the oldest inns, a place that had a secret tunnel out to the river. If a man got drunk, he might find himself being carried thru the tunnel and awaken as a deckhand on a ship.

I usually order seafood but my eye was drawn to “world famous pecan chicken” which turned out to be fried chicken swimming in a butter, brown sugar, bourbon, pecan sauce with a sweet potato casserole that was mostly butter and brown sugar.

The following day I ordered a salad to try to balance the richness of the night before. But my salad had perhaps three leaves of lettuce, two heavily coated fried green tomatoes, bacon and was drenched in a buttermilk dressing. Why haven’t all these people keeled over from heart attacks?

The next day we ate at a crab shack and my shrimp and crab were again floating in a butter sauce. I also wanted to try sweet tea and found that to be about 1 part tea and 5 parts sugar. Heart attacks and diabetes must be quite prevalent.

One day we drove to the original Georgia colony at Wormsloe where the driveway was lined by this stunning array of live oaks dripping with spanish moss.

I was advised not to touch the spanish moss as it it inhabited by spiders and chiggers. Yikes. You don’t have to tell me twice.

Interestingly the original rules of the Georgia colonies were no catholics, no alcohol, no lawyers and no slaves. But apparently since the colonies couldn’t compete with the enslaved free labor of the Carolinas, slaves were eventually allowed. Sadly, it always comes down to money and greed.

One other thing I found mesmerizing was spending time on our little balcony, watching paddle boats and container ships coming up the river.

It is hard to describe the enormity of these ships.

Martha, who is into history, spent most of her time reading plaques and learning about the monuments. But I was more fascinated by the grid layout of the city and the numerous squares and parks laid out as a fire barrier - lessons learned from the great London fire. I roamed up and down back streets and alleys, chatted with park buskers and artists, and generally found myself conflicted between the architectural beauty and the disturbing history of this city.

We had an early flight back which was of course delayed, so we wound up spending yet another night in a Boston hotel, but finally made it home, tired but safe and sound. 

And quite a few pounds heavier.

Full of Grace

The magic of cortisone shots into my achy, creaky knees. Although the effect is starting to wear off, the shots have given me a month of pain free mobility that made me feel ten years younger.

Being able to zip down to Florida for a short visit with friends and enjoy morning walks along the ocean.

And having my flight back NOT cancelled even though every other flight to the northeast was cancelled due to a storm. It was a little eerie being the only passengers in the entire terminal and a little frightening to keep reading about how much snow and ice we were about to encounter. We hit a lot of turbulence as we approached but the pilot put us safely down in the storm to a huge thunderous applause from the passengers. “Grateful” feels like an inadequate word.


Peachie’s fiance got a huge job promotion that required them to move to Tampa. After much flurry of arrangements, they have rented out their Boston home and moved into company sponsored temporary housing. Peachie has also landed a dream job for herself. They will soon be closing on their own home with a lovely guest room I intend to use quite frequently, especially in winter.


Beaner and her fiance are closing on a house locally next week. It is really amazing to watch my daughters truly come into their own, professionally and personally. One nearby to take care of me and one to visit in a warm sunny place. Yup, that works.


Finally, I have begun to plant seeds under grow lights and plan out my veggie garden for this year. I am going to set aside an experimental space for some veggies I have never tried before. We still have significant snow of the ground but I do love the anticipation of Spring.

Full of Grace

Surviving the storm - 20 inches of snow followed by a couple of days of this:

And oh yes, very grateful to have a new, efficient furnace that kept us toasty warm.


Being able to recuperate from multiple passes of snowblowing with some really good hot chocolate and skimming the many seed catalogues now appearing in my mailbox. There’s nothing like perusing seeds to set the heart to Springtime.


Peachie was home this week and has finally decided on some wedding logistics. She has asked me to walk her down the aisle and Martha to have the first dance with her. I am very relieved as I walk so much better than I dance. Actually I do almost anything better than I dance.


Beaner and her fiance are buying a house and I have been able to call on some experts to help. House inspector, check. Closing attorney, check. I could never ask while I was still employed as it would be a conflict of interest. But now retired I have been able to call in some big favors and save the kids a lot of money.


Lastly, this from Dorothy surrenders:

It has come to my lesbian attention that Cate Blanchett is in a new play where, if Twitter is to be believed, she walks around half-naked while wearing a strap-on and kisses at least one woman.


Unfortunately the play is already sold out in London so please join me in sending a plea into the universe that it comes to New York.

The Journey

When I was going through the worst of trauma related therapy, my therapist introduced me to the poetry of Mary Oliver with this poem:


The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

The only life I could save.

This poem broke me into a thousand pieces at the time but later gave me the inspiration to start building again.


Since then there have been many, many of her poems that helped keep me afloat during rough times and I have often benefited from her sense of the divine healing power of nature.


I was saddened to learn that Ms. Oliver passed away yesterday at the age of 83.


Her words were recited to me at the end of most therapy sessions and they stay with me as part of my daily morning meditation:


"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"


What, indeed ?


Thank you, Ms. Oliver.

2018

“Beginnings and endings are so very sacred, to give honor to all that has transpired, every experience, every joy, every pain, is a doorway to the magical. Hold your entire year between your hands, every day, every thought, every breath. Now bless it with gratitude, love and humility. You have done more to transform this year than a thousand resolutions.” 

- K. Allen Kay

Another year in the books. Looking back through blog posts and pictures I see that, despite the craziness that has been unleashed in the world, I have been anchored to a lot of love and beauty.

In February I visited dear friends in Florida, a warm, sunny break from winter’s cold.


I managed to get out shoesnowing a couple of times and enjoy the magical colors of glistening snow.


We showed some much needed love to our house by having it resided and some windows replaced.

I spent an splendid week in Chicago where I got to meet two amazing blogging friends and soak in the delights that are the Windy City.

Martha and I spent much of the summer rebuilding a room at our cabin but also relaxed for a week while my sister and brother in law visited.

I saved a chipmunk from drowning.


I did a wee bit of hiking in the mountains which awakened me to just how much my knees have deteriorated. This year has been a year of reconciling my new limited physical abilities. It has not been an easy adjustment for me.

My youngest daughter got engaged in July giving us a new son and wedding planning became the new conversation.

We shared a family beach vacation in Rhode Island and all joined up in NYC for a Yankees game.

Beaner and I travelled to Greece and made unforgettable memories together. I can still close my eyes and see those extraordinary Santorini sunsets.

I learned how to make macarons and helped rescue 6 kittens.

Beaner gifted Martha and I with a trip to New York City for a really cool Mickey Mouse exhibit, viewed some of the special holiday windows and had an incredible meal at a hole in the wall Italian restaurant.

And the final icing on the 2018 cake was my oldest daughter getting engaged and her fiance surprising her with a dinner that included both families and many of my bonus daughters - her friends from childhood and college, some of whom made long journeys to attend.



While that list is certainly more than enough to say it was a very, very good year. I am especially grateful that I have had the health and resources to work and travel and relax. But what strikes me most when flipping through these highlights is that whether they were experiencing wonders around the world or just sitting in an adirondack chair by a tiny mountain lake, they were all shared with people I love. And what could be better than that?


I wish you all many blessings in the coming year and for people you love to share them with.

Winter Solstice in the Winter of my Life

Today is the Winter Solstice in the northern hemisphere, the shortest and darkest day of the year. After today the sun will shine brighter, its rays will grow stronger and it will be visible in the sky longer and longer. Yet as winter inches on, each day will grow colder (my joints achier) and the snow deeper (I hope).

I do love the winter, especially really cold, snowy ones. I love when our little lake freezes thick enough to walk across (although I now fear falling on the ice). And when the snow is deep enough to snowshoe through back woods and stream corridors and I am awed at all the little creature tracks and trails (although my old age aches and pains now limit how far I can go).

I love when the air is so cold that the sky turns the deepest blue (although my fingers and toes now turn numb) and the snow magically sparkles as it flutters down to earth. I love the joy when the night air is so crisp and clear that the stars are extraordinary bright and I can see all the way to the Milky Way (although my eyesight isn’t what it used to be).

With each passing year, winter still holds more magical delights than achy discomforts for me. I hope it will always be so.

I wish for everyone bundles of wonder and joy (and pain free joints) in this, the most enchanting of seasons.

Happy Solstice!

Rescued

When I started grocery shopping for Margaret it was summertime. She is an 87 year old, frail lonely woman living with her cat. But I noticed that whenever I came to her porch there were often one or two small cats eyeing me from behind the bushes. Then I noticed that Margaret was feeding these cats and had a very sweet relationship with them. She would call them and they came running to be pet and fed. A couple of them were small and thin but I didn’t think too much about it as they were being taken care of.

Then autumn came and I began to get concerned about what the cats would do once the cold weather arrived. Margaret did not seem bothered as she said there were stray cats around for as long as she lived there and they seem to take care of themselves. But then she told me a story of when there was a pregnant cat and she put out a box for her to have her babies in, When Margaret came out the next morning they had all froze to death.

This story gave me many a sleepless night, especially as the long term forecast was for single digit nighttime temperatures. I made some calls to animal shelters only to find out they were all full. Many places I called didn’t even return my calls. One woman I spoke to said that if I could trap them, she might be able to get them into a spay/neuter clinic. Although I was tempted, I had to decline because of the health threat they would pose my own pets.

Then I called the woman, Maria, who had fostered our cats last year. She has 6 of her own, but provides a foster room and care to strays until they can be medically cleared and are appropriate for adoption. Unfortunately her foster room was also all filled up. 

With images of frozen kittens still keeping me up at night I decided I could at least build them a shelter to stay warm and referred to YouTube, the ultimate authority on such things. There I found a great idea - to build a shelter from a large Coleman cooler - and went in search of one. Strangely they are difficult to find this time of year. (Don’t people still tailgate at football games?) Anyway, I bought the biggest one I could find, cut a hole in its side and filled it with a thick layer of straw as instructed. I brought it over to Margaret’s porch and she was thrilled. As were the kitties who began to use it within 10 minutes of me dropping it off.

But then Maria called me back. She too couldn’t stand the thought of little ones out in arctic
temperatures and offered to come and try to trap them and bring the back to her house. And so last Saturday she drove almost an hour and set out traps with food. There was a lot of tension between Margaret who thought she could just pick up ‘her’ cats and put them in carriers (not) and Maria who just wanted to trap them and get them back to her house. After much brouhaha between the women, two cats (one we thought was the mom) were lured into the traps but then the other two scattered in fear. Maria then offered to come back yet again that evening and try for the other two cats.

At this point Margaret was grumbling that she was losing her babies who depended on her. I was almost in tears thinking that now there were two motherless kittens who were scared to death and out on their own. But Maria generously offered to return that night and we trapped the two remaining cats. It was both traumatic and gratifying at the same time.

Maria sent me a few photos of the kitties, now adapting to her basement. They all had worms and will all be spayed/neutered and vaccinated. I was feeling pretty good about myself. But three days later Margaret called me again to say there was a 5th cat and it was only a baby. Crap. All I could think about was how this one littlest kitten had been all alone for 3 days in the freezing cold having no idea what happened to its family. I was distraught and weepy and once again called Maria. Once again she drive 2 hours round trip. Once again she brought yet another kitten into her home.

Throughout this process I was an emotional mess. I would tear up at the thought of a frightened cat, lose sleep over the dropping night time temperatures and agonize over where the kittens had spent the recent snowstorm. Martha kept (unhelpfully) telling me about all the other little critters who live outside and how there will always be stray and feral cats. “You can’t save them all” she kept saying, which only got me more depressed.

Then a friend reminded me of the story about the boy and the starfish which you’ve probably all heard:

A man was walking on a beach and saw a young boy throwing objects into the ocean. He approached the child and noticed that the young lad was picking up a starfish and gently tossing it back into the ocean.

The man said, “Young man, what are you doing?”

The child replied, “These starfish have drifted up on the shore and they need water to live, so I’m saving their lives by putting them back in the ocean.”

The man said, “You must be kidding me! Look at all these starfish. There must be thousands of them. How in the world can you save them all, and what difference could it possibly make?”

The young boy reached down, picked up a starfish and tossed it into the ocean. He then turned to the man and said, “It made a difference to that one.”


The world is such a mess right now with so much hate and divisive fear mongering. Sometimes it is so overwhelming and I feel powerless to do anything at all, much less make any kind of a dent in it. It can be pretty f*cking depressing.  I’m grateful that my friend reminded me of the starfish story because in the midst of all the meanness and hate, there are 5 little kittens who are safe and warm and fed and, when they are ready, will be placed in forever homes. It doesn’t make an ounce of difference to the world, but it makes a difference to them. It’s all I’ve got right now and it it will have to be enough.

Not all of us can do great things, 

but we can do small things with great love.

 - Mother Teresa