Jubilee Sunday

Queen Elizabeth’s Jubilee, celebrating 60 years on the throne, is Tuesday, June 5th.  We are visiting Bill’s home isle during a very patriotic time. On Sunday the 3rd, Queen Elizabeth kicked off festivities in a pageant down the Thames: a parade of 1,000 boats.  It was pouring with rain, which the commentators explained “couldn’t dampen this day – typical British weather!”  The Queen looked royal and happy when we saw her lead off the parade.

Just after the Queen boarded the Royal Barge beginning her historical journey down the Thames, another group – Bill’s mum and sister, friend Jane, and I – embarked on a journey toward afternoon cream tea at Hanbury Manor, a stately hotel in the countryside near Ware, Hertfordshire, England. Not only is June 5th the Queen’s Jubilee, it is also Bill’s mum’s 80th birthday.  Jane was treating Bill’s mum to afternoon cream tea for her birthday, and Ann was treating me as an early birthday present.  In America I would say, “Wonderful!”  On the Island, I say, “Lovely!”

Tea commenced in the Oak Hall…

… and it really was lovely.

Dark wooden walls ensconced small conversation areas of big royal chairs circling tables of white linen set with fine English china.  Each of us had a pot of tea.  (Mine was decaf as the night before my heart nearly thumped out of my body after the rations of caffeine during the day… multiple cups of coffee and tea, dotted with a couple Diet Cokes at the pub the night before.)

I wondered about the tea strainer on the table.  Alas, this was real tea – with tea leaves floating inside each of our pots!  Soon the centerpieces were delivered: tiered trays of afternoon delights.  On the bottom plate were finger sandwiches of smoked salmon, beef, egg salad, and cucumber.  The middle plate – to my heart’s delight – scones, clotted cream, and strawberry jam.  And finally on top, was dessert.  Tiny pastries of chocolate, fruit, custard, and walnut bread.  Two hours later,  we drove home in the rain.

And as for the Queen?  The river parade had ended by the time we returned home.  I think the Queen’s – and her court’s – enthusiasm waned a bit during the water parade.

On the far left, Princess Kate, holding up that new-princess smile.  Next to her, Prince Philip consulting Prince Charles over… the weather?  Between the two of them, Camilla.  To the far right, big brother Prince William consoling little brother Prince Harry over… the weather?  And, finally, Queen Elizabeth between the sets of Princes.  Personally, I think she would have enjoyed an afternoon cream tea.  (Double-click the picture to enlarge the story.)

Despite the rain, both were historical events.

By the way, great pictures from the royal parade on the Thames are on the Daily Mail’s site.

Canal Transport

I’m game to try all modes of transport – or most anyway.  If it’s a one person doo-dad, I do best on my own.  Not as a passenger.  Ski-doos, bikes, and mopeds fall into this category.  As with ballroom dancing, I like to lead. Our journey to Bath landed us on the River Avon, one of four such named in England.  Long skinny barges were parked along the river’s edge.  The definition of barge and lock widened -- or narrowed -- in my mind when I first saw these in England. Until then, my point of reference was barges and locks on the Mississippi River.  Barges in England carry charm and quaintness, unlike their floating counterparts on the Mississippi.  I have always thought this would be a lovely way to see the English countryside, to find small out-of-the-way pubs… to relax.

Barges first sailed canals and rivers via horse power – the four-legged kind.  A tow rope would run between barge and horse; then the horse would walk along the canal slowly dragging the barge with it.  Today, canals have towpaths next to them which were worn by horses' hooves years ago.

Lock systems are in place to move boats through varying depths/heights of water.  This engineering feat still amazes me; however, I had never seen anything like this which is outside Bath.

A series of 14 locks built in the 1800’s.  Under the bridge we were on and farther downstream was another series of 13 locks.  These are all manual locks.  It takes 7 hours to move through them.  Ahhh.  Seven hours of solitude.  Perhaps writing or reading.  Similar to walking 26 miles or stirring a pot of risotto for a half hour.  That’s it.  That’s all you could do: focus on one thing.

Would there be enough books, drawing paper, origami paper, LEGOS to manage a creeping voyage for 6-, 8- and 50-something year-olds?  For the Malcolms, this vehicle might work best if I flew solo, like the moped, because this looks incredibly boring in the best possible way.

(When Bill thinks about traveling with me, the word vacation isn't what comes to mind... Book Draggin'.)

A Picture Worth 2,000 Years

The four of us had a 3-day excursion to Bath this week.  While the 80-degree weather brought on a drought of bottled water, it did make for great blue English skies and dry sight-seeing. We spent most of one day at the Roman Baths.  We each had handheld audio-guide sets with separate recordings for adults and kids.  Bill Bryson occasionally provided narration about areas within the baths, including one from the vantage point of this picture.  In this one picture is a short story covering the years AD 43 through 2012.

The Romans landed in England in AD 43 and eventually built baths around the hot springs and named this small town Aqua Sulis: today’s city of Bath.  In the picture, the lowest floor level is from Roman times.  The pool and the broken pillars to the left are original.   Zooming in on the picture, the dark bottom portion of the walls is also from that period.  As the Romans lost power, they vacated these baths in the 300’s, and four feet of mud and land filled in the site, preserving the lower part of the Roman construction for hundreds of years.

Since 757, three different churches have stood next to the ruins of the Roman baths.  The third, founded in 1499, was the last medieval cathedral built in England: the Bath Abbey in the center of the picture.  It was in ruins for 70 years beginning in 1539 and gradually brought back to her current state with additions and repairs beginning in 1616 continuing through the 1800’s.

In 1880 – just yards away from the abbey – the Roman Baths were discovered and excavated from their cushion of earth.  By the end of the 1800’s, the colonnades & statues were added to the bath ruins.

Finally, to the right in the picture, is a “modern day” building that houses 21st century shops with blue awnings.

Love this.  Nearly 2,000 years of history in one single picture.

Small things

Today, I can only manage small pieces of thoughts on paper. Fire in the hole.  The orange glow of my hair dryer frying in England and the orange glow of the afterburners on jets at the air show six hours later: identical.  By smell, the jets were powerful and the hair dryer… well, just that yucky "shouldn’t-have-done-that" smell.

Before having kids, I didn’t know that you could go to bed six times in one night.

Dreaming the impossible.  Liam, “Mom, could we just move our whole house next door to Grandma’s so I can cuddle with her whenever I want?”

Air shows and walking:  a juxtaposition.  This weekend’s sport was very sedentary compared to last weekend’s.  Air show observation: Many male spectators in the same age bracket… about the same age as Tom Cruise was when he filmed “Top Gun.”

Getting paid as a mom.  I paid to ride the bird to England and to hear a flight attendant say, “Your boys are so polite and well-mannered.  You wouldn’t believe what we have to put up with sometimes.”  My voice: “Thank you!”  My silent voice: “Oh my gosh, thank you, thank you, thank you.”  Followed by my thought: “You mean like when 2-year-old Will had pneumonia and screamed all the way home from England – in the row right behind 1st class?”  We have all had our moments, but as related to flying – sometimes thankfully – we will never see those people again.

The English population doubles when the sun comes out and it’s 80 degrees.  Petrol stations run out of water, “Well, the sun is shining you see!”  Hoards of delicately colored English dash outside without sunscreen, only to see who looks more like a lobster Monday morning at work.  Screaming red is a painful color.

Liam, observing Grandma’s iron goose door holder that had fallen over.  “It’s dead right, Mom?  It’s RIP.  It’s with God.  Right, Mom?”

“I can’t do this!!!” Will, facing the line of at least a couple hundred people ahead of us at immigration.  Thank you, Steph, for the year of ancient civilizations.  A game of “What Greed god starts with the letter “X”?” got us through, dare I say, happily?  Then those Greek gods smiled down upon us as a woman opened the cordoned path and said, “You have small children.  Go to the front of the line.”

The Avon Lady is Still Walkin'!

Coming into the home stretch, I’m walking 3 -5 times a week, 4 – 6 miles.  A week ago Sunday I did 8 miles.  This week I did 4 miles of hills in Breakheart in the drizzling rain.  I figured a little rain training would be good… just in case. Thanks much to Marcia at Silver Clay for last Friday’s fundraiser!  We had a great crowd and Marcia donated $120 to my walk.  I have reached the $1,800 needed to walk, and I am nearly at my personal goal of $2,400.  Today I’m at $2,315.  (And... just as I am about to push the "publish" button on this post, I see that I am at $2,401!!! Thanks for the push over the top, Wendy!)

My walking partner, Amy Buckley, is training hard.  She will be walking 39 miles over the two days and is inspiring me as she walks 14 miles or more a few times a week.  Amy’s mom survived breast cancer several years ago.  Our husbands and kids are making plans for which “Cheering Stations” to go to during the walk.  Recently, Amy’s 8-year-old little girl told her, “Mommy, I’m so proud of you.  You are walking to help women you don’t even know.”

Last week, I cleaned out the breast cancer corner tucked away in our bedroom.  I had been putting it off for over two years.  I threw out all the literature on getting through chemo, side effects of treatment, etc.  Held onto the wig receipt and the outline of the study I’m participating in.  Plus, laughed and cried over all the cards and gifts many of you sent.

A couple pictures hit home: ones of my brother in Iowa with his little girl on the 4-wheeler and of my nephew, who also lives in Iowa.  My niece was one when I was diagnosed; I didn’t see her toddling around at two.  She jumped from baby to little girl in the year I went through treatment.  In the other picture, my nephew was bald – he shaved his head when I was going through chemo.

Finally, there was the card that then 6-year-old Will had given me.  It was a musical card and he had overlaid it with his own drawings.  On the inside, he had written, “Good job at chemo, Mom.”

Cool kids.

New Neighbors: The Vulpe vulpes

A new family has moved in behind us.  A mom, a dad, and nine kids.  The mom and dad were here last year at this time but with six different kids.  How could this be?  (Will & Liam love word play.  It’s rubbing off.) We have a fox family living in the ledge that we share with three to four of our human backyard neighbors.  For non-Massachusetts residents, ledge is another name for rocky soil – I think.  Picture yourself digging a hole with a spade, putting all your force into the “push,” expecting dirt to give way to the metal, only for the spade come to a dead stop, and feeling that “push” reverberate back through your body.  That’s underground ledge.  We have a row of ledge – above ground it’s made up of large boulders, underground who knows – in our backyard.

Summer and fall, our woodchuck lives in it, but now it’s a fox den.  The woodchuck was there first, which makes me wonder:  Is he the landlord or just dinner if he doesn’t agree to move out for a few months?  We saw the dad in late January, cozying up in the sun.  Perhaps he was working out rent payments with the woodchuck.

Last year we watched six babies grow up, first spotting them after they had started to turn red.  This year, they are younger: brown with little white tips on their tails.  They are cute, strange little things.  They look like dogs but move like cats.  Pouncing & rolling on each other without a sound.

I didn’t bother to mention the family to our builders.  With all the noise they were making, I didn’t think the fox family would come out while they were working.  But the day after we first saw the babies, I got a call from the builder.  “I wasn’t sure if you know that you have an interesting... family living in your backyard.”

Yes, we have a family of Vulpe vulpe: the scientific name for "red fox."

Done with the LEGO Designs

A two-handed catch at 10 p.m. Friday night ended the LEGO designs for a few weeks.  Bill broke his right hand and dislocated his ring finger playing softball.  Put a baseball glove on a cricket hand and 27 years later… boom.  The strange splayed nature of his finger had the whole ER talking.  The doctor straightened his finger, put a cast on his hand/wrist, and told him to see an orthopedic surgeon on Monday – just in case. When I met Bill 23 years ago, softball was his summer love.  He even convinced me to play – but the first time a grounder hit my glove and flew up into my face, leaving lace marks and blood on my nose… Yeah.  Not my sport.  A new arrival from England, Bill was eager to try out this version of America’s favorite pastime.  While watching a group of co-workers playing softball, he was invited to come in and try his hand at batting.  He made contact with a pitch and started running.  Then he heard shouts from his teammates-to-be, “Drop the bat!  Ya gotta drop the bat!  You can’t run with the bat!”  Obediently, he dropped it.  Then tripped over it, rolled around a little bit in the dirt, and made it to first base – only because the short-stop was laughing so hard he couldn’t make the throw to first.  A career batting average of 1,000.

So now as the boys start their Little League season, Dad is on the sidelines.  “Can we tell them you were playing lacrosse?” I didn’t want them to see the cast and  fear the baseball field.  “No, it’s important that we show them how to play the game correctly.”

Baseball: Catch the ball in the glove, not barehanded, then transfer it to the other hand to throw.  Drop the bat before running to 1st.

Cricket: Catch the ball bare-handed with two hands.  Carry the bat when running.

The two do not combine well.

As Bill points out, married to him, I will never run out of material.

Heading out to play catch.

 

Next to the Bee

Swinging clubs since he was two, Will’s choice activity for his Forever Family Day was a family golf outing. What you get when you combine four bags of clubs, many balls, two carts, water holes, geese, and bees:

Two boys who generally hit straight, short balls down the fairway. One grown man who hits the ball with a great deal of strength – and a 50/50 chance of it veering off to another fairway.

And me. Generally, I play with three clubs, plus my putter. However, many worms lived through the day since Liam wanted to play every hole. I dedicated my course time to caddying and chauffeuring for Liam. (Pretty much like most other days now that I think about it…)

“I’m really liking this, Mom.” Liam declared as we zoomed down the fairway.

“I hit a goose!” Will, on the 3rd hole.

“When it’s my Forever Family Day, I’m making all of you play Wii. You too, Mom,” declared Liam. Then, “Ohhhh, I stepped in dog poop!” Goose poop.

On the 18th hole, teeing off over a pond. Will’s 1st ball: Plop. 2nd ball: Plop. “Just one more ball, Dad.” That “one more” sailed over the pond and onto the fairway. Loved the fist pumping and grinning on that shot.

Liam walking up to me with a golf ball: “I hit my ball into the trees, and I found it, but I saw a bee and then I dropped my club.” Searching for the club in thick pine needles, I asked, “Do you know about where you dropped your club?”

“Next to the bee.”

Happy Hump Day…

The Avon Walk - Update

I’m very excited that I have nearly reached my goal of $1,800 for the Avon Walk Boston!  I am hoping that a few more donations will put me over my goal by the end of the weekend.  If I make my goal by midnight Monday, I can participate in “Early Check-in” on-line – rather than going into Boston the Friday night before the walk.  The pink wig, below and to the right, is still ready and able!  Clicking on it will take you to my donations page on the Avon Walk site. My 8-mile walk last Friday was probably closer to 9 miles!  Lake Q is a half-mile longer around than I had thought.  From that long afternoon walk, I know what one of my biggest challenges will be: the heat.  Hopefully, the 19th & 20th will be cool walking mornings.  This morning I did 3.3 miles, picking up the pace a little bit, I finished it in 52 minutes rather than 60 minutes.

My feet are sore for the first mile or so when I walk.  I have a little “flashback” neuropathy going on, plus a little arthritic-like pain that is a side effect of the test drug that I’m taking.  However, with Advil and perseverance through that initial mile, it’s very manageable.  We went to Wingaersheek beach on Tuesday.  It was high tide when we arrived, and as the tide went out the sand bar appeared.  The water was only calf-deep so we trudged across 50 years (LOL… typo too funny to take out!  It was only 50 yards…) or so to make it to the sandbar.  The water was frigid.  First our legs were cold; then they hurt; then they were numb – and felt pretty good!  That pattern made me think of my walking feet, particularly when they’ve stretched out after that first mile.

I’m happy and shocked that I have made a 9-mile walk – and know that I need to kick it up a bit over the next four weeks:  More walks during the week, including back to back long walks in about three weeks.

Weathercasters & Builders

Both have that peculiar gleam in their eyes when something big is approaching. Can you imagine how difficult a forecaster’s job must be with a winter like we had in Boston last year?  Showing concern and empathy for their viewers when they have to say something like, “We will probably see another 21 inches of snow in the next 24 hours.”  Their eyes are screaming, “We live for this!  So cool!  This is why I went into meteorology!  Epic weather!”

This week was epic for our builders.  The wood for framing was delivered last Saturday.  The foreman was here to make sure it was placed close enough to the work spot so they didn’t spend the next several days carrying lumber rather than fabricating it.  “Framing starts Monday!  It’s supposed to be 85 degrees!”  He was ecstatic.  “Nothing I like better than building in the heat!”  I wanted to crank up the air conditioner just thinking about that.

With bright sun, four or five framers daily, and a bunch of lumber, amazing things can happen in five days: from foundation up to the the floor of the master bedroom.  I imagine the walls will be completely framed by the middle of next week.

Below are some of the week’s highlights, beginning with the view of the new family room (where the kitchen door used to be).

After two days of framing… double-hung windows will flank the TV and a row of narrow stationary windows will allow more light into the room above the TV.  May need strong shades for morning TV watching.

After two days of framing.  Our current – and still functioning – kitchen is behind the insulated walls.  Fly-away beam still supporting the house.

The truck below was delivering stone for the patio wall.  Yes, I asked to drive the 3-wheeled forklift.  No, I didn’t.  “Liability.”

Cool contraption!  The forklift tines load right into the slot at the back of the truck.  And hydraulics pick the machine up, raising the wheels off the road.

After three days of framing.  The bay windows are framed in AND the fly-away beam is gone!  Permanent corner supports and cross beams replace that temporary support.

Picture on Day 3 of framing: Where the patio will be from the walk-out basement.  We are recycling the old steel spiral staircase from the original deck; that will provide access from the drive to the patio.  Wall blocks waiting on a pallet.

After four days of framing, 1st floor is framed, including the walls.

After five days of framing, bay window framed, new entry door framed.  Under blue tarp is new framing for kitchen window.  (We may get a lot of rain this weekend – tarp is protecting exposed insulation.)

Picture on Day 5 of framing: First row of patio wall blocks, each one 8”x 12” x 18,” made the patio feel too small.  There would only be three feet between the door and the spiral staircase.  Back to the drawing board. We need to widen the patio to make more room for the staircase.  A mini-excavator will come in next week.  If it’s the same driver as the big CAT, I won’t ask to drive it.  I know the answer.  :)

The Beginning of Forever

While my short term memory bumbles along, thankfully, some moments in our lives are so strong and edible that they are branded into my mental memory album forever. Eight years ago tomorrow, April 21st, Bill and I awoke early, packed our bags, and went downstairs.  The beginning of a new forever was minutes away.

The air was cool.  The bouquet of flowers was enormous.  Another couple we had met earlier in the week had suggested we give flowers to Mrs. Lee, Will’s foster mother, so she would leave the agency with something beautiful.  The previous afternoon, we watched the florist as she built a spectacular hand bouquet.

The other couple was from Maryland, and their beginning was the next day.  They joined us on our morning and chatted after we signed a few papers and collected a sealed envelope to handover to immigration officials when we landed at O'Hare.  We anxiously watched the door.  Soon, six-month-old Will arrived, riding on Mrs. Lee’s back.  We were greeted by the same dimpled little smile we first saw a week earlier.  Mrs. Lee unbundled Will and he sat on her lap.

Young Dr. Kim, the head of Eastern Social Welfare Society in Seoul, gave us encouraging, thankful words.  Then, with his hand on Will, he said a prayer in Korean.  We stood up.  Awkwardly, bowed and shook hands, not knowing which was appropriate.  Mrs. Lee and I looked at each other.  I thanked her and then hugged her.  We spoke different languages.  A hug was the best way I could convey all that I felt for this woman who was Will’s “omma” from when he was just days old.

We all walked to the van waiting outside.  I passed the flower bouquet to the woman accompanying Mrs. Lee.  Bill and I got into the van, wondering if this was really happening.  So gently.  So quickly.

Mrs. Lee held Will until we settled. Then…

Bill and I looked at each other as the van pulled away from the agency, out of Seoul, and toward Inch eon airport.

No tears.  No music.  No fanfare.  No car seats.  No seat belts. No instruction manual.  No English-speaking driver.

Will sat quietly, calmly in Bill’s long arms.

I looked at them both, a smile replacing the shock.  “This is it?  …This is it!”

The beginning of forever.

The CAT

On Friday, I nearly got to drive a CAT digger. After dropping the boys off at school, I came home, parked on the street, then watched as the digger maneuvered with amazing precision excavating our basement. The driver saw me, idled down the machine, and said, “Do you wanna come in?” with a hand motion toward him.

“YEAH!” I nodded wide-eyed as I dropped my purse and keys on the ground and headed toward the cab. How cool would it be to drive an International 1486 tractor and a CAT digger all in one week?

Then, I got the look. Like I was a crazy woman. “I meant do you want to get your car in...” The gleam in my eye was quickly extinguished with those words. No, I want to drive the digger. Then, the word “liability” was tossed around.

Later that day, after he had pushed and pulled the two gi-normous boulders to where I wanted them, I waved him down. “You know, I think those boulders would look better at the back of the lot. I don’t really like them here.”

“Awwww… are ya kiddin’ me?” There was anything but excitement in his eyes, and I got the crazy-woman look again.

"Yeah, I just don't think they look as good as I thought they would here."

"I don't know if I can get those over there..."

"I'm kidding.”

“Really?”

I nodded.

I think he's ready for the next big dig gig.

Happy Hump Day…

One's Creation... or a Chocolate Truffle Torte

During a guilty pleasure cookbook reading session, I found this quote from the Introduction of Terese Allen’s amazing (The) Ovens of Brittany Cookbook. “Cooking, like writing, is not wholly satisfying until one’s creation is shared, and hopefully, appreciated.”

Thank goodness she found those words, organized them just right, and put them on paper. I have been looking for that sentence for years!

Terese's recipes are journeys: tons of delicious prep time and many layers of decadence. I read Ovens more than I cook from it. And if I do make the Irish Potato Chowder, Chicken Pot Pie, or the decadent Chocolate Truffle Torte, it's for special occasions. As Terese describes it, "...Chocolate Truffle Torte takes some effort, so make it when there's something extra-special to celebrate. Or make it for someone who really deserves it. Like yourself."

But then... why wait for a milestone to "do it"? Whatever your creation, do it and share it. Make the torte, fry the big fish, go whole hog. The sooner the better.

Visit People to Know & Places to Go (under the big pink Avon Lady box to the right) for a sampling of some creative spirits I appreciate. They are doing it and they are sharing it.

Need a bigger kick, perhaps from an existential perspective? Try this: You are only here once.

So, what's your creation?  Or rather, do you have a fantastic torte recipe that would make the dessert world a better place?

 

The Fireplace Addition: Demo Done, Excavating Completed, Foundation Set & Framing Begins Today

Before the details, we picked the right builder: Black Hawk Builders.  A crew has been here five days a week since the demo started.  The same foreman has been here every single day.  Work is progressing faster than we could have every anticipated.  The site is clean at the end of every day.  They are a great group of guys to work with: They are responsive and courteous.  Plus, they all have a great sense of humor.  You need that around here. These are just a few of my observations about this process so far.

Builders are not late.  They arrive at 7 a.m. and work until 3:30 p.m.  If they are really excited about a job – say excavating or framing – they arrive well before 7 a.m. and pace a little bit before they can start making noise at the stroke of seven.

Given this, I have learned to get dressed rather than write in my unmatched pj’s early in the morning.  I believe I had stripes and flowers going this particular morning as the beginning of our deck demo happened outside my living room window.  Fortunately, I am experienced in crouch-running away from windows.

Below, a before and an after shot of the deck demo.  On the after shot, I had put a note on the door “Please use front door.”  Laughable.  Within 24 hours of posting it, there was no choice BUT to use the front door.

This will be the third addition to our house over the course of its life since 1880.  One addition converted a small porch into more kitchen space.  Not concerned with a level floor, those builders left a kitchen floor that was four inches higher on the right compared to the left.  The right-hand side of the kitchen was a crawl space.  That had to come out for excavation to start.  Below, is a shot of the house with excavation in-process.  The fly away beam to the right is supporting the house.  The crawl space is gone.

Our coffee  brewer is on the side where the kitchen is hanging in mid-air.  Brutal surprise on 32-degree mornings walking barefoot from an insulated 68-degree tile floor to a 32-degree tile floor for a cup of coffee.

Below are before and after pictures of our kitchen preparing for opening up the exterior wall.  This whole wall, with the door and flanking windows, will come down once the addition is up.  The fireplace will be in the added family room.

If you click on the picture above (taken from the same angle as the other pictures above it), the “little” piece of wood in the bottom left corner is the end of the fly away beam that extends outside and supports the house.  It comes into the kitchen about 6 – 8 feet.

These boulders were excavated and set permanently as landscaping highlights.  It was either that or pay for them to be jack-hammered so they could be loaded into a dump truck.  Orange cone is a full-size cone like the ones you see around road construction.  My mom is envisioning a hosta garden around the boulders.  Next year’s project.

Below, foundation is set for the basement. It cured last week.  There will be two windows along the east wall and on the back wall, a walk-out to a small patio.

Today, April 16th, the framing marathon begins.

Morels

Walking to Ada’s last week, I passed Mom & Dad’s neighbors’ house.  Herbert came out, said “hello” then asked why I was carrying two cornstalks.  When I told him it was to keep the mean country dogs from biting me, he raised an eyebrow.  He can raise one eyebrow higher than anyone I’ve ever met.  “Come here…  Take this.”  I had deliberately not picked up a stick, thinking that would be too heavy.  “It’s hickory.  It’s not heavy.  You’ll need it for the house on the corner.”  It was as light as my two cornstalks combined. We walked to the end of his drive and then he walked down the road with me.  I explained I was walking in the Avon Walk Boston in May and was putting in a few miles while visiting Mom & Dad.  “Hmm, I walked two miles yesterday, picked morels.”

I could smell them frying when he said that.  Dad had brought a few home from his travels earlier in the week; Mom fried them in flour and butter.  We each had a tiny serving.  An appetizer.  A tease.

(For those unfamiliar with morel mushrooms… They have a relatively short season and look like sponges.  They are earthy tasting and pretty common in Iowa, but ya gotta know where to look for them.  Any timber with cattle grazing won’t have them.  They sell for $40 or more a pound.  No one I know sells them.  They EAT them.)

Salivating, I say, “Where?”   A question no morel mushroom hunter answers.  The one-word question just tumbled out of my mouth.

“In our timber.”  Right next to the field I had been cultivating in on Sunday.

“Oh.”  Wondering if I could sneak in and pick just a few.

“We must have gotten four pounds yesterday.  But there were snakes everywhere.  Little baby ones.”

“Oh…”  80% chance this was a bluff.  Morel Mushroom Territory Protection Strategy.

“Just little garters?”

“No.  Some other kind.”

“Rat?”

“No.”

“Corn?”

“No… Fox I think.”

I had never heard of a fox snake.  90% chance this was a bluff.

“I know what you’re doing.  You’re just telling me there are snakes so I won’t touch your mushrooms!”

“Noooo!  I wouldn’t do that.  I’m not kidding.  There were snakes all over the place.”

He seemed honest.  Sincere.  70% chance this was a bluff.

We parted ways after a quarter mile; he returned home and I continued to Ada’s.  On the way, I met the three dogs on the corner.  They rushed to the road, angrily barking.  I held the stick and the cornstalks high and shouted “Stay!”  They stopped.

Back at home, I told Mom about my encounter with Herbert.  She laughed – 99% sure it was a bluff.

Snakes make me scream.  I could not go morel hunting back there to prove it right or wrong with the possibility of barging in on a snake family.

That afternoon, Mom & I took the boys to a wildlife exhibit featuring Iowa animals.  And there it was slithering in an aquarium tank: a fox snake.  Native to Iowa, it emits a smell like a fox to ward off enemies.

But the sign said nothing about their ability to guard patches of morel mushrooms, nestled amongst bluebells, jack-in-the-pulpits, ground ginger, and the plants that look like little beach umbrellas.  This specimen was at least three feet long.  No regrets in not calling Herbert’s bluff.

People to Know: Wendy

Some people see the world in black and white. And those people expect, well, to see black and white in everything. Then there are those of us who live in a world of gray hues. Where ideas bud, meld, refresh, intertwine… and that drives the other half a little nutty.

Take my friend Wendy Sue Web Guru. Wendy built my site. Then she built her site:www.wendysuewebguru.com. Wendy is a great web guru. She loves the stuff. Wendy is also a problem-solver. She sees through obstacles and can formulate a plan to get to the other side. Wendy believes in herself and has a positive outlook. She’s a good coach.

So… which is she? A web guru? A coach? My take: she’s both. Wendy took my personal endeavor and gave it a place to live and to grow. I don’t know “hosting” or “platform” or other web geek-speak. Wendy does. More importantly, she can translate web geek-speak for us non-speakers. I didn’t worry during the creation of my site. I felt comfortable saying, “I have no idea what you are talking about.” Wendy made sense out of it.

Together, we worked out what I wanted to do with my mountain of writing. She made the vision come to life from bare bones to what it became: www.lindamalcolm.com. Now, I know how to add stories to my site, and I know how to easily communicate with my readers. It has been an exhilarating journey!

If you have a passion and need a forum to share it – and have no idea how to do it – don’t think about it in black and white: “I can” or “I can’t.” Wendy is someone who makes things happen.  At the moment, Wendy is offering a great deal for a couple lucky people: creation of a website for $300.  If you are interested, take a look at her site for details.

Believe me, you “can.”

Besides, “can’t” died in the war. That’s what my dad always says.

 

Meet Harrison and Olivia

Harrison and Olivia are preschoolers moving too quickly through childhood. They keep their parents hopping with their provacative stories, innocent conversations, and random actions. Harrison and Olivia are an amalgamation of all the little characters I have met or heard about while being Mom. You may see their stories occasionally running through this site.

Thanks to the many moms who have shared their adventures along the way, providing sanity and comfort in knowing our experiences aren’t solitary. You may see one of your cherubs in Harrison or Olivia.

Here’s a classic conversation between Mom and preschool boy Harrison, who is taking a shower.

Harrison, ripping open the shower curtain: “Whoa, Mom, what are THESE?!?!”

Mom: “Testicles.”

Harrison: “Where did they come from?”

Mom: “You’ve always had them.”

Harrison: “Will my brains come out here?”

Pause.

Pause.

Pause.

Mom: “I hope not.”

Happy Hump Day…

 

Easter Sunday

Easter Sunday was a great day. In Iowa, four-plus hours working with Mom & Dad outside trimming 10-foot high bushes, transplanting flowers, and cultivating a 20-acre field. This morning, Monday the 9th, I decided yesterday could most definitely count as cross-training in preparation for the Avon Walk, particularly the trimming and digging: my upper body had a great workout. As for cultivating the cornfield, I convinced Dad to let me do it. The cultivating was much easier than the convincing. Inspiration: a pick-up truck, electric hedge trimmers, long-handled trimmers, and a big International tractor.

Two years ago this week, I finished radiation. The things I did yesterday were impossible then. "Every morning is Easter morning from now on... Every morning is Easter morning, the past is over and gone..." Part of a song I remember singing as a teen leading the 6 a.m. sunrise service at church. I found myself humming it most of the day yesterday. Easter Sunday was a celebration of life... His and, selfishly, mine.

 

Spring 2011 Boy Quotes

Up until last spring, I did a pretty good job of occasionally recording moments and quotes from the boys.  I haven't been as attentive to that in the last year. Probably because we've added gymnastics, scouts, trumpet, and piano to the weekly rotation.  I spend more time driving and listening to the gems than I do writing them down.  This week I found some old ones from last spring.

 

... journal entry from May 2011...

 

Will is a dedicated Diary of a Wimpy Kid reader and now a writer and a cartoonist.  Shopping for a journal, he first picked out a leather-looking journal.  Then he saw another red, material-covered hardback and changed his mind.  “Mom, this one is a little cheaper and it looks more like a New York Times best-seller.”

 

“No editing of this one, Mom.  I’m writing it perfectly, ready to be published.”  What’s the title?  “Diary of a Non-Wimpy Kid.”

 

“Mom, you are such a good writer.”  “Thank you!” I replied, wondering what he had read of mine.  “You never make mistakes.”  “I make mistakes all the time!”  “But even though you have cross-outs, I love your cursive writing.”

 

Liam, killer one-liners:

 

With his arm overhead, looking at his pit:  “Mom, is this my army pit?”

 

“Where are my hippos?”  Those would be hips.

 

A recent I-love-you-more game:  Me: “I love you all the way to Princess Peach’s castle.”  “Mom, I love you all the way to Mars and back with the sunshine on your face.”

 

In the bathroom getting ready for bed: “Oh, I peed in the eye!”  Me: “WHAT?  You peed in your eye???”  “No, the toilet’s eye.”  Three nights running, I still come running when he hits the target and makes the announcement.

 

... end of entry...

Uncovering the Real England: Spiders

A wolf spider sat quietly just inside Mom's back door tonight in an old Country Crock margine bowl.  Motionless.  But he was only playing possum.  He moved when I picked up the bowl and gently set it outside on the cement bench.  It reminded me of a brief spider encounter I had in England a few years ago.

... from a 2009 journal entry...

Hertfordshire Horror.  A large spider found in the county of Hertfordshire, England.  I've heard they can be as big as the palm of your hand.  Finding one in your house: the dread of that puts Horror in its nickname.  However, with no screens on the windows and the windows flying open to catch a breeze, the invitation is open for the Horrors and their smaller cousins to gravitate inward.

On the night we arrived in England, Bill’s mum announced from the upstairs bathroom, “There’s a spider in the bathroom!”  That set the next 15-minute scene into action.  My 40-something husband (despite being married to an Iowa farm girl for 18 years) and sister-in-law went into English spider-removal mode.  Fortunately, it was a smaller spider, not a Horror.  “Stay here, Anne, I’ll take care of it!”  I imagine an anti-spider cape springing from Bill’s shoulders as he ascended the stairs.  “OK, it’s under a glass... we need something to slide under the glass.  A lid.”  Finding this amusing, I simply stood back and watched. 

Anne came up to help, bringing some kind of a lid with her.  Then came the logistical challenge: how do you get the lid under the glass without the spider escaping?  With a loud combined effort, the three eventually worked it out.  Anne zoomed down the stairs, “OK, Bill, I’ve got the door open!”  Bill flew out of the bathroom and down the stairs.  They both went out the door… and disappeared.  I went out to see where they were: two blocks down the street they released the spider.  Probably after spinning in a circle three times to confuse it so it wouldn’t make its way back to the house.  Reminiscent of two teenagers, they walked back giggling with relief.  I met them at the door, amazed that getting rid of a spider could take that long.  “You make life so difficult!”

The next day, I saw a spider – not a Horror –  in June’s kitchen.  It was tightly tucked into the back corner.  I couldn’t get it without moving the table and chairs.  As the week went on, it gradually journeyed closer to the back door.  On day 7, and in the house by myself, I was able to reach it by standing on a kitchen chair.  Squish, wipe, flush.  Five seconds, job done.

I know spiders are good: they eat other bugs.  But there are hundreds of thousands of them out there.  I’m writing this secretly on English soil.  It feels like a confession of guilt.  I’ve broken an assumed spider-protection law. 

...end of journal entry... 

(More Dancing with a Foreign City Slicker...)