Category: Home

  • Ch…Ch…Ch…Changes

    I've been not particularly present on this blog the last month or so and that has partly because big changes have been afoot but had not yet been settled enough that I was at liberty to reveal the good news.

     

    An opportunity presented itself and we have seized it with all four hands.  Yesterday we signed contracts and committed to building our new home in a PUD (planned unit development) in Knoxville, Tennessee.  We hope to be there by the end of the year, with an anticipated closing date, at this point, of mid-December.  My mind is whirling with all the things that need to be done, and yet at the same time I am strangely calm, calmer than I have been in a while because I know this is the right decision at the right time.  

     

    I'll still be blogging, although I may be a bit erratic at times.  I hope to do a bit of sewing, and of course a bit of knitting as well, although I will be taking my new sewing room down and returning it to its previous master-bedroom status soon.  Everything I started, thinking I had time, is now in overdrive.

     

    Right now I have family visiting (step-son and his wife) and I am stealing a moment to write this, but I hope you have patience with me while I drag you through even more transitions.

     

     

  • New (Old) Sewing Table

    The trouble with letting things go for a long period is not that you eventually have to catch up with everything, but that sometimes, just when you think you are gaining the upper hand something lets go on you and you are plunged back into chaos.

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    Monday the sewing table collapsed, strewing sewing machines, buttons, thread, and various other things I about the room in a loud clatter.    This time it wasn't my fault, or I don't believe it was; I hadn't neglected anything.  I had sturdy legs under the table; I had used them for years under my desk, and they had been in the basement where G thought he would use them when he rebuilt his workbench, a task he never managed to get to.  They were adjustable by a large screw handle that held them in place.  Apparently the threads of the screws gave way and the table collapsed, apparently worn down over the years and the locks no longer hold.

     

    Vika-moliden-leg-nickel-plated__0104920_PE252090_S4 Between cleaning up the mess, making a trip to Ikea in New Jersey, and just dealing with other previously scheduled activities, it has been a busy week, but I managed to get the table back together.

    I believe the new configuration is an improvement.  The metal legs, Vika-Moliden have a much smaller footprint than my original table legs, which will give me much more room to work, and the other cabinet, Vika-annefors, gives me some much needed storage space and is narrow enough that I will still have room for three machines on the table.  

    Vika-annefors-table-leg-with-storage-white__0087437_PE216748_S4 Leg space was always an issue in the old sewing room as I had bigger cabinets under the countertop, and the table served as my desk as well.  It was usually far too crowded for effective work of any kind.

    As you can see in the top photograph, the unfinished end of the countertop is now exposed, as it was in the opposite corner in the old sewing room.   I have a plan to a compact sewing table that fold up in that location, giving me a little more workspace and hiding the unfinished end.  Two of the original cord holes are no longer functional either, but I have a gap at the back of the counter where I will run the cords so it doesn't matter.  I can live with the black rubber cord holders, maybe they will work as cup holders so that the cats don't keep knocking my beverages over as they chase each other across the table.

     

    Next I need to get the sewing machines back up on the table, and thoroughly inspect them and hope that they still function.  I am a bit worried that crashing to the floor did not do them any good.   

     

     

  • Relief

    Yesterday I hung the pots back up in the kitchen.

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    Such a small thing.  And yet it is not small, not small at all.  

     

    Until we had someone in the house that G actually likes and trusts, someone whom I actually like and trust, I hadn't really recognized how stressed I truly was.  Our home feels like our home again.  

     

     

  • 77 Shirts

    I was never one of those wives who had to dress her husband, until recently at least, but many many things are different now than they used to be, which perhaps partially explains why I let things get so out of hand.  G always did his own shopping, and although I did most of the laundry, he ironed his own shirts, polished his shoes and generally handled most of his wardrobe maintenance himself.  Oh I would occasionally buy him something nice, just as he would buy nice things for me, but generally we were of like minds where clothes were concerned and neither one of us was likely to show up in something that would embarrass the other, so we left each other to our own devices.

     

    Only in retrospect, did I realize how much of a burden the weight of maintaining his clothes had become to G.  He never asked for help; in fact he turned it down when I offered, but as he grew more confused his closet became a burden and it became more and more chaotic.  It was so chaotic in fact, that after I managed to unearth some of his clothes when he came home from the nursing home and moved downstairs to a new bedroom and closet, I dreaded the thought of ever having to open those closet doors again.  I put it off.

     

    Until last week.  Last week I tackled the master bedroom closets, his and hers.  I am still working on them.  I would think that my closet would be easier, as I had been weeding clothes as I lost weight, but the difference is only marginal.  My closet was filled with yarn and fabric and things I moved from other rooms in the house during the big switch.  It was unusable.  In fact I had been using the "sewing table" as a closet, stacking the dozen or so non-handknitted pieces I had been wearing on its surface in lieu of a closet.  Something needed to be done.  I needed to find spring clothes.  I needed to finally claim my space as my own and stop using it as a dumping ground for all the stuff that littered my life, both physically and mentally.

     

    G's closet is both easier and more daunting. Together we pulled out the few pieces that he remembers and wants and are still in good shape.  The rest can go. I am overwhelmed by the quantity, 77 shirts alone, most of them forgotten.  My plan had been to pull out the better things and donate them and I started with the shirts, separating the better labels:  Brooks, Charvet, Paul Stewart, Robert Talbot, but as the pile grew, I realized that the dust was overwhelming, that everything would need to be washed, and that if the shirts were washed they would also have to be ironed and the task would be never ending. As I looked at the shirts again, I realized how worn they were, how old, worn, used, loved, pushed back in the closet as new shirts were acquired and simply never discarded, a personal history in old shirts.

     

     

  • Morning on the Hudson

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    Sometimes life catches me by surprise and takes my breath away.  This photo doesn't capture the glory of the light on the Hudson River yesterday morning, but it is close enough.

     

    Saturday had been cold, dreary and rainy, a day befitting my mood which was sad, depressed and lonely. Sunday filled me with joy and accomplishment and refilled my reserves and reminded me of all the good things, the things I have accomplished, the things I love about where I live.

     

    I have no regrets about the decisions I have made; they have been the right decisions for me and the people I love.  But accepting a course of action, even knowing it is the right thing to do, does not necessarily always make actually living with the consequences of the decision easy. Sometimes the weight of responsibility, of the choices I have made, seems like a burden to heavy to bear and despair overtakes me.  All I want is my house back.  All I want is my life back.

     

    But this is my life.  These are my choices. And I knew what I was doing even if I didn't fully appreciate the repurcussions.  I suspect that this is a necessary state, this not fully understanding what we are getting ourselves into until after we have jumped in feet first.    Otherwise why even get out of bed in the morning?

     

    But then, if I hadn't gotten out of bed I wouldn't have seen the sun on the Hudson.

     

    And I am lucky to have friends who support me and support me when the dark winds blow and when the sun shines through, who know that these moments are just wisps and hold my hands as I walk through the fog.

     

     

     

  • Monday Miscellany

      1. I'm still here and still sorting.  However, I was so encouraged by the response to my post on weeding books that I went back and managed to eliminate several hundred more books.   They were all delivered to our local library this past weekend and I am relieved to note that the remaining books will all fit in the available space once the process is complete.  

     

    IMG_46212. My step-son and his wife were here last weekend and we had a lovely and relaxing visit, with some interesting excursions, much companionable visiting time, good food, a gift exchange and a shot of pineapple tequila.  I was given this book, which I had been lusting after for some time, and there are several recipes that will be appearing on our dining table in the very near future.

     

    3. The next weeding project is my cookbook collection, although I am still welcoming this new cookbook.  There will not be as heavy of weeding here, but there still seems to be some chaff, and I will probably eliminate most of the bread-baking section as I no longer make bread and am not likely to resume doing so given my celiac status.  This does not mean that I will eliminate all pastry and dessert options however.

     

    4. One section of books that has been isolated from the rest is a cabinet of books to read, mostly books that I have purchased in the last couple of years with full intentions of reading, as well as a group of books that I wish to reread before giving them away.  The latter group included Isak Dineson's Out of Africa, which I just finished reading and sent it on its way, although I did have a few moments of regret following that move.  I only had a paperback copy though so it pains me less than some books, and I feel certain that I shall be able to find it again should the desire to read it recur.  Of course this is the big point for me now, that there is no reason, unless a book is difficult to find or personally meaningful in some way, to keep books which I can get digitally or from a public library.

     

    But back to Dineson.  As was true the first time I read this book, 30 some-odd years ago, I initially found it hard to get into the flow of the story, but eventually Dineson's prose, her lyrical way with words, and her charming observations and descriptions won me over.   The high point of this particular reading occurred one morning when I found myself sitting out on the edge of the deck watching the sunrise with a cup of coffee as I was reading Dineson's description of coming across a lion and and killing it in the dark, only to return at sunrise and find another lion.  When I write it here, it all sounds brutal and cold, but it is not so in the book, and as I read that passage I was linked through sunrise in the Hudson Valley with a sunrise in Africa in a time long ago, all through the magic of words and imagination.

     

    5.  Today I washed the front door, the door frame and the front porch, then moved on to cleaning the windows above and around the front door.  Now everything is welcoming and sparkly clean and I feel a certain lightness in my spirits.

     

  • The Enormity of it All: or Trying to Contain that Which has been Unbound

    Looking back at my post of a week ago, it seems so distant now, that simplicity and that happiness.   I do know that even as I wrote that post, things were slipping, perhaps only imperceptibly to all but the most attentive, the most involved on a day to day basis, and yet I am happy to be reminded.

     

    In the meantime I have been absent from my normal pursuits, from this blog, from blogs and the internets in general although I do keep up, somewhat marginally with personal mail.  Rather I have been focused on the big push to tackle the piles that have accumulated and which I had been happily ignoring throughout January and February.  Perhaps it is a spring cleaning sort of thing.  Perhaps I see bits of confusion and randomness poking out of the cracks here and there and tackling the piles at least is something I can control.  Control I must.   

     

      IMG_4607 And so I have been tackling the books which have been piled on the floor.  When I created a room for the caregiver, I dismantled my small library, my favorite the room in the house and the contents have been piled on the living room floor ever since.  I took the shelving system and put it up in the family room.  I lost a few shelves.  There are radiators here, and windows that were not present in the original location.

     

    I have not really gained much space.  There were shelves here before on the wall to the right, and between the window and the corner.  But the aluminum system from Rakks looks much nicer than the old sytem of mismatched wall brackets and boards.    The simple truth is that I lost 126 board feet of shelving and have only added 36 feet to the family room storage so there has been much purging and much metaphorical pulling of hair and mental angst.  There will be many books that will end up going into boxes until some future date as well because I cannot bring myself to get rid of them all.

     

    When I read Larry McMurtry's story about collecting books I thought I was not a collector, and in a sense I am not, in that I cannot collect a subject just for the sake of having a complete set.  I have to like each book.  But I do collect the books I love, look for better copies, consider each one old friends, and have multiple versions of certain things, such as my five versions of the various works of the Pearl Poet including one version in the "original" text, one cleaned up middle english version, and at least three translations of Gawain, each different and each prized.  I suppose that the love of early English literature never dies just as I cannot imagine life without an occasional foray into Spenser or Skelton.

     

    So it is about condensing and making choices.  I learned that coding books, especially the newer ones, are often available as PDF files, and I can purchase PDF files of paper books I own very cheaply, hence one small shelf has been freed.   And I am still on the fence about mass-market paperbacks versus digital copies of books.  Most mass-market paperbacks are sent on their way after I read them, but there are a few favorite authors I hold on to but feel no need to upgrade to hard copies.  I increasingly find that I prefer the portability of the kindle to even a small paperback at the gym or when out and about, but the kindle does not lend itself to picking up a book and reading a random page here and there before putting the book back on the shelf.  There is a stack of books that are currently in this kind "save, toss, or go digital" limbo, and I suppose I will eventually make a decision as I continue to catalog books and decide what will fit on the remaining shelves and what will get boxed until the next phase.

     

    Reading Thomas Cahill's How The Irish Saved Civilization, has kind of played into this general mental turmoil in unexpected ways as well.  I picked it up thinking I could read it and get it off the shelves, which will indeed happen.  It is entertaining and a good, light, introduction to the subject.  It served as a bit of a refresher course in a way, as I have, and have read, many of his primary sources:  Bede, Augustine, Ausonius,  even Kinsella's translation of the Tain, as well as many of the referenced works on Medeival and church history.  Again it is that fascination with the medeival that serves me well.  It served me well in a career too, as I was hired for my first computer programming job precisely because of my interest in medieval literature, and would agree with my former mentor that there is much similarity in the mind-set requried for both.

     

    But what surprised me about Cahill's book was the way I started questioning my decision to transfer more of the less important stuff to digital copies.  I suddenly started wondering what would happen if the computer networks went down, or there were no more electricity, and I would undergo a momentary flight of panic.  I am sure the tragedy in Japan has also fed into these musings for, as unimaginable as it all is to me, and as sorry as I feel for these people for the pain and tragedy of their loss, it is also a reminder of how tenuous our hold on life and civilization really is in this world.  The Romans were just as confident that their world would endure forever as we are that our digital information system is the future of all knowledge.    At the moment I shall take comfort in my computers but also in my own small space and my own volumes of cloth and paper.

     

    But I suspect I shall be preoccupied with these tasks at least through the end of this month, so postings will be light.  I am oft exhausted and although I think of things I want to write, by the time I sit, my brain is a scrambled up bit of connections and images and incoherent fragments.  By the end of the day  I crave mindless visual stimulation and the simplicity of stockinette stitch in my hands.

     

    IMG_4603 After the books I shall tackle the closets, including G's old closet, and the piles of fabric and yarn that were also displaced.  But I shall emerge in time for spring perhaps with a flowering of creative energy to accompany the flowering of the landscape.

     

    As you can see, Spring is most definitely arriving to the Hudson Valley.  The first crocus bulbs burst into flower yesterday, and I have a nice batch of small irises as well, even though there are still also a few piles of snow scattered here and there across the lawn.

     

    IMG_4604 I would not also be surprised if, just as I say that I will be absent because I must finally deal with all this stuff in my life before it drives me batty, just as I think I am overwhelmed, my voice decides to emerge from the hole in which it has entrenched itself.  At the moment, however,  I continue to feel more overwhelmed by piles than inspired by flowers.

     

  • Burnt

    Yesterday I packed up my kitchen and put it away.

     

    No, that is not exactly true, but it felt like I was putting my kitchen, and by extension a part of myself on hold, like I had made some kind of bargain with the devil without reading the fine print.  I brought my sweetie home.  I was able to start carving out a niche for myself again, only to find that the things that are important to me are slowly being chipped away.

     

    Here's how it happened.

     

    On Monday evening I went to use a particular pot, a beloved pot, and as I pulled it out of the cabinet I noticed that the color had changed from the soft gray of stainless steel to a deep burnished orange-brown on the inside with orange and black spots all over the outside.  This did not scrub off, even with Barkeeper's friend.  It had melded with the metal.  I was, at that point, far too upset to cook.

     

    I did ask E what happened to the pan, and he said it wasn't his fault, he made popcorn using oil from the "waste oil" can, the jar where I store used oil waiting to be discarded.  

     

    Now, one shouldn't use the old oil, but the more I think about it, there had to be more than that because the pan had to be very hot, hotter than is necessary for popcorn, for the oil to scorch into the metal like that.  I've made popcorn in that pan.  I've fried chicken in that pan.  I suppose I should be grateful he did not start a fire, and I am, but I am also still sad about my pan.  

     

    But overheating is an ongoing problem..  Countless silicone spatulas, the kind that are supposed to withstand 600 degree heat, have been melted, including my favorite, the one I use for eggs in the morning, even though it was in the jar labeled "gluten free do not use."  I suppose I shall have to change that to "Mardel only do not use."   He always cooks on high heat. He leaves the pans on the heat with nothing in them.  I smell the hot metal and the burning oil from across the house long before I see the smoke.  Although they are only things, I can't help but feel like my babies are being slowly tortured in front of me.

     

    I've purchased new utensils to separate gluten from gluten-free.  One of my favorite nonstick skillets is scratched and warped.  I need a new slow cooker.  Now I need to replace my 18 year old 5.5 quart Demeyere casserole as well. It is not the price.  I am just as upset about my green silicone egg turner and by favorite blue colander as I am about that pan, although the thought of constantly replacing things is daunting.

     

    Nor is the problem exclusively with this aide, it has been ongoing.  It is a question of care, and the people that come to help G just don't take care, not with things.  They are good with G, and ultimately G is more important than things.  I know this.  And yet with each thing that is lost I feel little bits of myself being lost as well.  I can say that G is more important, but I can't say that the things are not important because each thing is purchased with care and thought:  for years I have been eliminating the chaff, saving only the essential, the things that matter to me, and now those things are being slowly taken away.

     

    I can teach someone not to take a hot pan off high heat and immediately run cold water over it.  I can teach someone not to plunge the electric base of a slow cooker into a sink full of water.  But then someone else comes, and I can't think of everything I need to teach them because so much of this is second nature to me.   I can't come running and screaming into the kitchen every time a pan has been left on high heat empty for 10 minutes "so it will get hot" when I smell it burning from 20 or 30 feet away.  I can't teach someone to take care of things that they don't care about.  I care.  They are my things. I feel ripped apart with each gash in the finish of my favorite skillet.  And yet we need them, the aides.  I can't abandon G just for a spatula or a pan or any other thing that may exist in the house.

     

    I have to adapt. My only alternative is to put the things I care about away until this phase of our lives passes.  I took great pleasure in my heavy "good" pans, I took care of them, I loved using them.  As I cleaned them one last time, polishing the copper on the heavy copper skillet, I felt like I was saying goodbye to old dear friends.  I felt like I had lost "my" kitchen, like there was no point in cooking anymore, like I had lost a part of myself. 

     

    I put up new pans.  Not bad pans, a relatively inexpensive set from Macy's.  It is better to just have pans I don't care about. I don't care about these pans.  I don't care about using them.  I don't care about loosing them. But I also realize it is not about pans at all.  Things melt, things burn, it is a normal part of life, and in normal life, at home with family, I would laugh these things off.  

     

    But this is not about normal life, or not about normal life as I am prepared to embrace it. Even though I made the decision to make these changes, I hadn't really considered all the implications.  I suppose decisions would never be made if we actually considered all the implications involved.  It is about change, and control, and being dragged kicking and screaming to accept changes I was not really ready to make.  It is about opening up the walls to the cozy little sanctuary that is/was my home and accepting change rather than building walls with things. One moment I am embracing the future, and another I am retreating into the past, holding my pan up like a shield.

     

    Sometimes I feel like a stranger in my own house, like it is slipping away from me and I am powerless to stop it.  Here I am trying to reclaim my life but I gain a little something only to lose something else.  Life seems to be a lot like a teeter-totter, first I'm up, then I'm down, and I can't quite find the balance point.  I know we will get there, but sometimes it seems that I hit the ground rather hard.

  • Color me Gluten-Free

    When I first found out I had celiac I never really planned on keeping an entirely gluten-free kitchen.  G still ate bread and bagels and I managed to maintain some kind of separation of foods, at least for a while.  As dementia slowly took up residence in our lives however, confusion and contamination became constant issues.   So even though I hate fanaticism as much as I hate wasted food, I ended up with a gluten free kitchen.  I had my doubts at times, especially when family was visiting, but gradually I insisted on strict rules.

     

    IMG_4551 Until I didn't.  It didn't work with having other people in the house helping George.  It was difficult to deny someone the ability to eat their own food, and an environment of suspicion is never good in a kitchen or a house.  

     

    I was in fact ready intellectually and emotionally before I managed to have a full structure set up for different foods.  I realized that part of my own insistence that wheat and its ilk not enter the house was a desperate fight for control over something.  I couldn't control dementia.  I couldn't control most of what was happening in my life.  I could control what food went into my kitchen.

     

    Until I couldn't.  Surprisingly, I found I didn't mind. 

     

    Some simple changes were made.  Some were easy things like squeeze bottles for mustard and mayonnaise.  I deliberately chose different toasters, in different colors to help distinguish them, but just in case someone forgot, I also labeled everything.  

     

    IMG_4548 Although I like clean lines, I dislike being sick even more.  Blue painter's tape is a godsend.  Everything can be labeled.

     

    After the plastic utensils were used in hot pans with pasta and gluten-containing sauces, I set up separate sets, again labeling everything with blue tape.  I suppose the blue tape distracts somewhat from the lovely sleek stainless containers (these are wine coolers, which were half the price of the lovely stainless canisters I originally coveted) but they are safer too.  No one has to wrack their brain trying to remember where something goes or what they can use.  

     

    After pasta was drained in my fine mesh strainers I have new colanders and cutting boards as well, the gluten-free ones all clearly labeled "Mardel Only Do Not Use" — clear and to the point. Most other things are glass or ceramic or metal and can be easily washed.  With hard materials there is no risk of stray gluten being burnt into the plastic or caught in little tiny holes or cuts that can't be easily cleaned.  

     

    So far it has been a success, one week free and clear and I'm hoping for more.

  • A Carnival Beneath My Feet

    IMG_4538 The floors are finished and they are everything I had hoped they would be.  Perhaps everything I feared too, as I worried that they may be too bright, and there are moments, usually brief, when they shock my eye.  But overall, I am happier than I anticipated being, and I am thrilled with they way the colors in the floor marry all the disparate elements in the three rooms creating a much more harmonious whole, a much brighter, more harmonious whole.

     

    IMG_4539 Now just to get the furniture back, the bookcases rebuilt and all the little details settled.