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Sadness and Joy

Twice on Tuesday the light just captured my imagination.

Here, the morning light is just hitting the studio and I loved the glow. It was a promising moment, and rare that I had my phone in my hand that early in the morning as well. I felt my heart swell with the rising light. Later, in the early afternoon, feeling more tentative and subdued, I posted a photo of the watery nature of reflected light in the downstairs hall on Instagram (here),

So much happened in the week that I was off that I struggle to make sense of it, while in a completely different vein of thought, so little happened that I now feel a bit like there are mountains piling up and threatening to fall. But that is not really due to the stuff, or time, or tasks piling up but simply due to sadness and grief. You see, when I signed out for a blog break, Poncho was sick, and I had a heavy week scheduled with a zoom conference occupying four days. It seemed like my whole week was mind-expanding zooms and inward pulling snuggles with my little guy.

Poncho didn't make it. He went into the ICU last weekend and never made it home. He died on Tuesday, shortly after I took the photo I posted on zoom. His absence has left a bit of a hole in my life. His collar is sitting on my desk, beside me as I write, just as a mere week ago Poncho lay at my feet as I sat at this same desk.

Poncho had just turned 12. He had lived with me for 3 months and one week. And they were a precious three months. He was loved. I was loved. I don't believe those studies or opinions that say that animals don't love. Perhaps not in the same way people do, true, but my argument there is that we humans let our brains get too much in the way, and that we don't really know or understand love. It is a lesson that takes us a lifetime.

Anyway I have no regrets. I am not the person I was three months ago. I am not the person I would have been today had I not adopted Poncho three months ago. And so there it is, the basic struggle, the enigma, of life. We cannot live without love, we cannot live without touch, we cannot know joy without pain. A life without these things is a life without meaning, no matter how much we might yearn for it to be otherwise.

The hellebores in east garden are in full flower. Those in the north (front) or west, not yet. They are just budding, their lives are shaped by more variation in sunlight and shadow, but they too will bloom, and soon. Yet it is this very progression across even one small garden that I find so simultaneously poignant and filled with hope: Light; shadow; death; decay; new buds; the tender petals of new flowers, all these elements of life existing together in one moment of time in one small piece of earth. Hope is fragile, sometimes fleeting, and yet part of the very earth of our souls and therefore always present, always ready to burst forth if given only. a moment's light.

I am posting pictures of flowers and of light shining through flowers not as a distraction, but more in the mood of a reflection. The flowers lighten my heart, but they do not mask or take away the sadness, nor the poignancy of loss, I often feel I find myself living in a culture that tries too hard to distract from pain, to shove it under the covers and mask it with happy things, and I don't find that beneficial to anyone really. That does not mean we cannot acknowledge beauty, cannot acknowledge grace.

One of the most beautiful things about winter flowers like hellebores is that they emerge in the midst of the remnants of winter, of death and decay. The leaves of the plants are browned. The earth is evident, not hidden by lush foliage, and this seems to elevate their beauty, making it both more precious and more fragile. I tend to be slow at the cleaning out of the garden, reluctant to keep everything groomed and polished, as if pretending this is a pristine world, leaving the old to replenish the earth, the seeds to feed the beasts. Perhaps I simply wish to hold on to the reminders that life is not so neat.

Poncho loved to bury his nose in decaying leaves, but also in the new shoots, as if he could breathe in the very essence of life. It is in these fragile moments we find meaning. In love and in the very act of putting aside the pressures we put on time in order to simply be present in time for those we love, we find ultimate meaning. And we are changed.

Farewell sweet guy.

February 26, 2021
The Battle of the Beasts

It is a very mild battle to be sure, but the lines have been drawn.

Moises is fascinated by Poncho’s food. He wants to eat Poncho’s food. This is odd because M has never shown any interest in any food other than his own. He didn’t eat Tikka’s food. He doesn’t eat people food. But now things are different. Perhaps it is just simple jealousy.

Poncho pretty much ignores Moises, and Moises has come to learn this. Except when it comes to food. Poncho smells that this cat has been around his food dish (although the dish is ceramic and perhaps does not smell, but the wood floor surely does), and he has started taking a few bites, then walking a foot or two away and peeing. This has nothing to do with needing a walk, and everything to do with marking territory. “My food! Stay away!” says Poncho.

The problem is that cats don’t necessarily follow dog rules.

Today we saw a bit of an escalation. Moises went right up to Poncho and tried to sneak his head in the bowl. Poncho pushed him aside. Moises backed off. Poncho took a few steps from the bowl to mark his space. Moises saw his opportunity and seized it only to be chased away by Poncho. Luckily I had towels at the ready, having already set up “oopsie stations” in the house, simply because my house is twice the size of Poncho’s former home and accidents will happen, although they are already happening with far less frequency.

This is not an accident however.

The whole scenario is really rather humerous. No one is biting or scratching. One simply has to laugh. The solution, at least for now, is that Moises will have to be locked out of the kitchen when Poncho is eating. I had already learned that if there is no cat there is no pee-behavior.

In the meantime, Poncho and I have gotten more and more in sync and are doing fine, except for this morning perhaps, but I am siding with Poncho on this one. When I left the kitchen a few minutes ago, Poncho’s food bowl was surrounded by a semi-circular ring of towels, which had been laid out on his marked perimeter. I can’t pick them up and mop because Poncho is lying on the towels guarding his bowl. He is alert and wary. He might not see the cat, but he can smell him and he knows where he is.

Soon enough, a temporary cease-fire will occur, at least until the next meal time, and life will continue on its merry way. Change is a bitch, isn’t it? But in another day, or another week, or three, it will all be forgotten. Poncho will have adapted. I will have adapted. Moises as well. The world keeps changing. More often than not that change is not the one we wanted, and so we just laugh and try to keep up.

Here come my weary soldiers. It must be time for me to go mop up

November 16, 2020
A Couple of Bright Spots In A Tense Week

No need to talk about the tensions of this past week. We’ve all been through it.

Instead, I present Poncho. Poncho is a Brussels Griffon, Yorkie, Shih Tzu mix. He is 11 years old, blind, and diabetic. I spent the week driving up to Chicago to adopt him, and we have spent the last 24 hours mapping the house and settling in.

We are going to be just fine. The world is going to be just fine as well, although sometimes it does not feel that way. From my perspective the world feels more on track today than it did earlier in the week, but I am also certain that there are people who do not share my feelings. May we all have patience for each other.

And so I shall end with a hydrangea blossom. Why? Hydrangeas are not alone in reminding me of what is important in life, but in all their stages, through the occasional unexpected rebloom, to dormancy and dried flower heads in the winter landscape, they remind me of the importance of living through the full cycle, remind me that there is nourishment, and hope, in everything. I don’t always see it, but that is almost irrelevant. It is there anyway. Besides, is there such a thing as too many photos of hydrangea blossoms?

Have a good weekend and a good week-to-come.

November 7, 2020
Five Things

Hopefully still on a Friday.

I am home. I am supposed to be out again but have been a flake and cancelled at the last minute. I don’t know if I had a allergic sinus infection or a cold/but all I want to do now is sleep. I’ve taken three naps today, and lost this post more than once, so I accept that this is where I find myself.

1.First, for pleasant surprises. I was sorting through photos this morning and through one of those marvelous serendipitous alignments, a photo I took of a hydrangea blossom in California showed up directly above the lettuce from last week’s farmer’s market (posted on instagram). Aren’t they both marvelous?

2.Next, I am marvelling at how life’s little upsets sometimes deliver new joys and suprises. My computer is nigh unto death. Granted, I grumbled about troubles with Safari months ago, and have suffered a series of fixes and subsequent failures. Then, one system failure became two, then three. Still, I managed to put off a decision. When application failure number four occurred I accepted that the impending demise of the Mac, but my budgetary priorities will not accommodate a new computer at this time. Enter the iPad, which formerly did not use enough. Perhaps that is changing.

I’ve been blogging on my ipad, which, with a keypad, is proving quite useable, aside from minor glitches like needing to save my work more often to avoid loss. The iPad has easily allowed me to easily play with collages and manipulating photos, like the picture above, of my cute new travel blow dryer. I went to the sewing retreat with a book I didn’t reead and wished I had a blow dryer as my hair was at an awkward stage of the growout process. Then I discovered this tiny dryer in a tiny case that also holds all my styling supplies and fits in my little 21” suitcase with plenty of room to spare. I took it to California and still had room for a knitting project, which I ended up not needing. I came home with 20 new balls of yarns for class projects (only 2 of which I purchased)

3. One of those projects is this wonderful Trailing Vine Pillow (seen in inset) by Dee Hardwick, from the new Seasonal Palette book. Although I haven’t resume work on the pillow yet, I love every project in that book and every color in that palette.

4. I also came home to grass, mulch, and plantings. The house looks great. Trees and some shrubs are not in yet. The summer was hot and dry and long, and neither the trees, nor the remaining plantings for the front street-front border, are available yet. I picked up 13 blueberry bushes down at Overhill Gardens in Vonore a few weeks ago, and am happy that they were planted, as were another 14 azaleas I purchased a few weeks ago for the back border. Below are the blueberries being loaded into my trunk for the trip home, probably a silly photo, but I thought it was marvelous that all thirteen shrubs fit and travelled home safely.

5.Last, but far from least, below is a picture of my grandson playing Bongo at his school’s “Grandparent’s Day” celebration. His class choir was singing “Jolene” and I believe the solo was an improvisation; he pulled it off quite well, and it was by far the best part of that particular performance.

It is still Friday. I can post this, and perhaps go turn the heel on a sock before calling it a night. Have a wonderful weekend.

October 25, 2019
A Few End of Year Projects

This will be my last post for 2018. My mom is here until the end of the year, and although we aren't doing anything significant, just hanging out, my thoughts are elsewhere, not on blogging.

I have been entertaining myself with small knitting projects however.

First, I started this cowl for myself, using some yarn in my stash, a skein of Manos del Uruguay's Wool Classica in the deep wine color, and a skein of Colinette's discontinued wool, Skye. The cowl started with different yarns and a pattern. My original yarn choices didn't really work and I ended up ripping and restarting the pattern several times because I didn't like the way the color bands were turning out. Eventually I modified it into something I liked. Consider this my practice cowl.

About the time I figured out what I was doing, and just before the final ripping and reuniting of the wine cowl, I decided I needed to change up my planned gifts for my step-daughter Miriam and knit her a cowl. Family Christmas was on the 23rd and I made this decision around mid-day on the 22nd, so off to the yarn store we went. I picked four yarns, two by Luisa Harding (Trenzar), a variegated yarn by Auracania (Alumco) and another blue yarn for the background. I've already lost the tags so I have no idea what yarn I used.

I tend not to be drawn to high contrast, and I was a little worried, as I knit this, that there would not be enough contrast in the final fabric. But we are both happy with the results.

Family Christmas was a lot of fun. Mom carried on the family tradition of wearing one's bows.

I restarted, and finished my cowl. Historically, I tend to knit cowls and scarfs on a whim, often inspired by a particular yarn. Apparently there is a theme. It seems that all of my scarves, except the grey one I knit earlier the year, all fall in the same color family. Luckily my coats are wine, grey and taupe, but I do think that perhaps I should. branch out, just a little bit, in 2019.

See you next year.

December 28, 2018
Continuation

The process of sorting continued last week. It is almost finished. Only the coat closet remains. Aside from that small space, I have tried on every piece of clothing I own and everything has been sorted. Things that fit, both physically and psychologically, have gone back into the closet. I've rediscovered some new old favorites, including some hand knits I hadn't managed to give away, and I am usually good at giving things away. There is a small pile of things that need only minor alterations, or which can be reconfigured or reimagined, in a corner of the sewing room. A few alterations have already been made. And there is a bigger pile, still in the living room, of garments that need to find new homes.

I bought two new things. There is a striped mariner-style tee from J Crew, which works perfectly with the shawl I bought in Scotland last fall. I wore them Friday for grandparent's day at Owen's school, and ditched the shawl later, as the afternoon warmed, for a game of bocce.

I also bought a pair of my favorite jeans, J Brand Marias, in deep blue velvet, partially solving my party clothing problem. I haven't worn those yet, but will. I have been much better of late, better about buying only things I will actually wear, better about adding things to my closet that actually play well with other pieces. Getting rid of excess also helps. One of the things I've discovered is that although I don't mind holding on to things for long times, even things I might very rarely wear, I also increasingly become overwhelmed by excess. My closet was too full, and it was mostly full of things that do not fit and/or I do not wear. Those garments have voices, and their voices weighed heavily.

Some mistakes were made. I wore a dress to church on Sunday that was too big. I had only tossed it on briefly, without really looking. On Sunday the deep u-neckline kept shifting, revealing more than I wanted to reveal. Luckily I was also cold and was able to employ my jacket and my shawl. When I got home I took a closer look and realized this dress was never going to work. Aside from the fact that I would need to take 4 or 5 inches out of the bust, I realized that the deep u-shaped neckline was also simply too wide for me. Yes I could add a seam, yes I could recut the garment into something else, but the more I looked at it the more I realized, that much as I had loved that dress, its time was over. We had good times together and it was time to move on. I could use the fabric to make something else, but I didn't love the fabric all that much, and the dress itself would never be the same.

Better to let it all go, to make room for promise and creativity, and to banish the weight of unfulfilled expectation. Better to let go, and to hold onto that which really works. I think that is what the whole Marie Kondo movement is getting at. It is not about being a minimalist if you are not a minimalist, but it is about not selling yourself short, about not accepting something that isn't right or doesn't suit you or make you happy just because of some false sense of expectation and worth. I have sweaters I may only wear once every 3 years in Knoxville, but every time I wear them I am so completely myself I cannot help but be happy. They will not go away until they literally fall apart. I had shirts that looked ok, but weren't right, that filled a role — that filled the idea of I need x to go with y — but in which I never really wore, of if I did wear them I never felt comfortable. Those things were not about me, about my life, but about some expectation of what my life should be. Far better to banish expectation for only then can you open yourself to joy.

October 23, 2018
Update

Work picked up steam on the house this past week. The deck was removed, and excavation was completed.

By Thursday there was a hole in my backyard.

Friday morning they were pouring concrete. I haven't been out to see it yet, but will take a look later today.

In the meantime I went to Texas to visit my mom. We had a mostly good time. We chatted, ran errands, did little things around the house, the things one does. It was lovely. Often that is all that is wanted, companionship. Someone who will laugh with you over a silly book. Someone who will sit and let you blather about this or that. Someone who will not tell you what to do.

We went to the ER one afternoon. I worried. I know mom worried too, but she went home and we were both grateful. I niggled where I shouldn't have niggled, as one does. Sussing out changing mother-daughter dynamics can be a challenge at times. It is hard, this adult child of an aging parent thing. It is hard separating Margaret the person, from Margaret, my mom. They may not always be compatible. But as an adult daughter I need to respect Margaret more than I need to hold onto "Mom". That is the hard thing it seems, hard from both sides of the fence.

September 1, 2018
Five Things Friday

I arrived home yesterday afternoon to find the Amaryllis bulb that I had been given for Christmas had finally taken off, growing long and leggy during the five days of my absence. With the cold that followed Christmas in Knoxville, it had been frozen in a state of what felt like permanent waiting. Of course I could have turned the heat up in my house, up into the 70s, but frankly I am rarely all that cold, and I relished he idea of actually wearing my wool sweaters. I am now excited to see this Lenten Amaryllis indoors at a time when the yard is rich with lenten roses and I see the tender leaves of bulbs massing everywhere around: daffodils, hyacinths, tulips, irises, the occasional daylily. The bulbs are not so much in my yard, as I haven't really planted bulbs yet, trying mightily to stick to my one year moratorium on new plants, but the neighborhood is flush with new growth.

This morning I carted my coffee upstairs to my desk in one of the silver coffeepots I have inherited from various grandparents and aunts. This one is silver-plate, and I am using it simply because it is the first one that I pulled out of the cupboard. I've been using it for my morning coffee for a couple of weeks now. Surprisingly, it makes me happy, and has made me realize that I should really pull those silver services out of the cupboard and consider using them, perhaps even make a decision about which services and sizes and shapes would be useful in my life. It does not keep the coffee warm for hours, like the stainless carafe that is in the kitchen, but I don't really need hours, and I am thinking that a similar pot, perhaps combined with the silver samovar, which has a burner, could even be used for entertaining. Well, idle thoughts anyway.

While my mind is revolving around food and kitchens, I thought I'd also post this photo I took at French Ranges when I was in New York. One of the things I did, since I was in a city with a large selection of showrooms, was look at options for kitchens and baths, both appliances and hardware and hard surfaces. The LaCanche is my dream stove, and although this is not my model of choice, this is my color. it is still early, and there are still options and budgets, and compromises to be considered, but I think the LaCanche will remain the centerpiece of my new kitchen, however that will evolve.

After a morning talking stoves, and wandering around showrooms at 200 Lex we were tired and ready for a rest. We found our way down to Union Square Cafe, where we snagged a table at the bar and settled in for a cocktail and a leisurely lunch. I had scallop crudo and a tuna burger, ending with an espresso, although Liana, brave soul the she is, tried the new dessert on the menu. I've realized that although I love good food and nice restaurants, it was George who was more the white tablecloth, formal presentation person. I'm usually happy in the bar, where everything feels more casual but the food is just as good.

And finally, Tuesday night we went to Jacob Scharfman's recital at Juilliard. Jacob is George's cousin twice-removed, and his father, Dan, was a dear friend, whom I had been happy to get to know in our younger days, even though we had not seen each other often enough as the years passed. Jacob sang one of George's favorite songs, and I am certain he and Dan were both smiling down on this concert. which was incredible. With each work, especially the operatic selections, but also for the broadway song, I felt bereft that I couldn't hear the entire work right then, with this brilliant young man singing. I think Jacob is a young man to follow and I wish him great success. After the concert, Liana and I went for a late bite at Bar Boulud, heads and hearts still swimming with the music. Photo above courtesy of Liana Sandin.

February 16, 2018
Meet Scooter

This is Scooter. I have to say that for all that he is a sweet cat, he is not who I want licking the back of my neck early in the morning.

I am visiting my mom, and don't really have an activities planned except for breaking up her routine a little bit. There is some shopping she wants to do, some things I want to do, a few places that are new to both of us that are worth exploring. It will be fun, a mini adventure close to home. And in that spirit, that adventure can be around any corner if you just keep your eyes open and give it a chance, I hope you all have your own mini-adventures this weekend.

January 27, 2018
Weekend Review: Doing Much, Doing Little, and a Wizard Redux

The past weekend was a busy one, and although most of the busyness, at least on my part, was of the driving or sitting and watching with rapt attention variety, it was still enough for me, as I continue to recover from whatever it was I had. I never had a fever, so I never had blood work, and don't know if I had the flue or anything serious; more likely just a series of unfortunate sinus infections and unfortunate setbacks caused by doing too much too soon. But it could have been worse, and given my own tendency to not go to the doctor, I'll never know. The hardest part now is admitting that, although I am no longer sick, I am still tired, and that it is ok to tell myself not to do things, especially when those are things I would really like to do even though I know there would be consequences.

But on to the weekend. Saturday was the first Winter Farmer's Market of 2017, and as you can see above, I managed to pick up some lovely vegetables. I had also arranged to pick up my meat CSA from Jem Farm and was ready, sturdy bag in tow. The timing proved to be most propitious as somehow the available cuts proved to be exactly what was needed for the meals I had been dreaming of cooking. And, having recovered enough to cook, and finding myself with an almost empty larder, much of that local goodness has already been put to use, becoming stock, and soup and a large pot of spaghetti sauce.

There wasn't much time for cooking on Saturday however. I actually squeezed my farmer's market trip in between my grandson's basketball game and his black belt test. After basketball, where Owen scored twice, I headed east toward downtown to the farmer's market, shopped as efficiently as possible and headed home with my loot, only to head way out west to the tae kwon do studio for the test. Owen did fabulously well, and it was fun to watch and admire the focused young man he is becoming, and think about how far he has progressed since I would take him to TKD lessons 2 years ago..

After the test, we all headed out for a late and well deserved lunch. I had planned on going to the 4:05 showing of Fences, and since it was nearly 3 by the time we finished lunch and headed off on our separate ways, I thought I would stay in town. Luckily I had a book with me.

Or perhaps not so lucky after all, as I ended up not going to the movie. One of the books I am currently reading is Ronald C. White's biography of US Grant, American Ulysses, and it was the book I had with me that afternoon. Perhaps it was not the best choice. I love the book and am finding it fascinating, but on Saturday afternoon I started reading about the battle of Shiloh, and I got so involved in the reading, and the memories reading about the battle evoked, memories of going to the Shiloh battlefield site, of walking those fields, one of the most haunted and holy places I have ever been. In the end, although I was aware of the time, I couldn't go to the movie. Instead I went home and took a long walk with Tikka, and settled for a lovely dinner of salmon, bok choy and oyster mushrooms accompanied by more reading.

Sunday was another busy day, more running around, a couple of social gatherings and my grandson's school play. Once again I managed to take a walk, slightly less successfully this time, as the humidity was high, and the dampness in the air brought on a prolonged coughing fit which required me to sit back and rest for far longer than I would have liked.

I did make it to the play however, and had a fabulous time. I do think it was the best production I had seen yet, and the production and the set where charming and imaginative. Besides, how can anyone complain about seeing the Wizard of Oz twice, in two separate (and markedly different) productions in little over a week?

Owen really seemed to enjoy himself in the dual role of Professor Marvel/The Wizard, and it was a joy to watch him in the play. I admit I enjoyed my doting grandma role as well, snapping pictures like crazy, applauding and smiling constantly at all the perfect details.

Lucky, Lucky Me.

January 18, 2017