I'm actually working hard this weekend spitting and polishing, so while I have my next post in mind, I'm saving it for now.
Instead, I'll direct you to Meanderings and Muses where Kaye Barley graciously requested I 'guestblog'. Check out my post there and read some of the other guests' posts as well as those Kaye wrote.
Enjoy yourselves, and I'll have my new post here soon.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Lookee What I Got: Fabulous Blog Award!!!
Now, you just never know what’s going to happen in cyberspace. Kaye Barley of Meanderings and Muses has just awarded me a Fabulous Blog Award! Considering how much I respect Kaye’s taste and discernment when it comes to good writing, this is indeed an honor.
Kaye is known at Blackwater as “my-friend-Kaye-in-Boone-whom-I-haven’t-met-yet”, a status I hope to change as one of our girls goes to Appalachian State next year. Anyway, Kaye was always a frequent poster on DorothyL (a LISTSERV of mystery lovers – writers and readers alike, named after Dorothy L. Sayers). I loved what she had to say and how she said it. But I never knew where Boone was. Until we moved from Tennessee to North Carolina and I saw road signs for it.
When Kelsey was getting ready to apply to App State, I screwed up my courage (having never done this before) and emailed Kaye to ask her for some information about the college. Her reply was so warm and gracious and welcoming! A friendship was born. When Kaye wrote her first piece about Bouchercon, I was among those who urged her to start her own blog, and the rest is her-story.
There is just something about Kaye that makes her near and dear to your heart, no matter how far apart you are, or if you’ve never even met her. And that quality comes through in her writing. It makes you just want to sit down and listen to her ‘chat’. She reminds me of Fannie Flagg, actually, but maybe a little softer around the literary edges.
Anyway, this all goes to say that I value this honor and I’ll try to pass it on properly. For that is a requirement for accepting this award. And there are a few more. You must pass it on to 5 other Fabulous Bloggers in a post. (You might find their email addresses on their Profile page or, if not available, post as a "Comment" to their latest post.).
You must include the person that gave you the award, and link it back to them. You must list 5 of your Fabulous Addictions in the post. You must copy and paste these rules in the post. Right click the award icon & save to your computer then post with your own awards. This is not only a nice tribute to the blogger, it widens the reading audience.
Well, like many others, I hate limiting this to 5, but you can always check my sidebar for other blogs I enjoy. Here are my picks for the Fabulous Blog Award.
1) BEYOND Understanding
2) BookEnds, LLC – a Literary Agency
3) Editorial Anonymous
4) Cake Wrecks
5) Poe’s Deadly Daughters
5 of my Fabulous Addictions? Family, technology, music, reading, renovating. (Writing and chocolate go without saying, right?)
Kudos to all the Fabulous Bloggers out there!
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
There's Wildlife Again
It's spring, and the wildlife is at it again. That is to say, it's resurfacing.
Today, resting on the logs that we are just going to have to move, were not 2 or 3 or 4 but 5 turtles! Three brave souls let me get close before they dropped off into the water. And I was so busy concentrating on not scaring the turtles, and on holding the dogs back so they wouldn't scare them either, that I was totally unaware as we turned toward the lagoon. Up flew the ducks we've been trying to track!
We seem to have a pair (or more) of either green-winged teals or wood ducks that are trying to make up their minds whether or not to set up housekeeping in our back yard. They might, if we don't scare them off. We've seen the wood ducks at least three times. And we've heard what we think are the green-winged teals whistling, especially at night. We're hoping something will decide we're not going to bother them and will take up residence.
Tonight we heard the teals, and also an owl. The bats have also been out, and some little bird keeps rustling through the leaves along the creek. Once the water clears up, I'm sure we'll find the fish are back, too.
This year I hope we will also create a little wild life in the backyard ourselves, as the teens invite their friends over and we invite ours, too. There's been talk of a block party, and maybe this year some family will get to visit. Aah yes. A new spring at Blackwater -- and isn't it great we've got that name to ourselves now!
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Comfort Books
“I’ve taken this out from the library so many times,” my 18-year-old daughter told me, a happy smile lighting her face as she settled in the passenger seat. “I just love this book. It’s my comfort book.”
‘Comfort book’, I thought, like comfort food. Hmm.
… a comfort book is one you return to to re-read, despite a hectic schedule that would seem to prohibit the re-reading of even prescription instructions.
… a comfort book is one with dog-ears, cracked spine, and smudges in the margins from repeated use.
… a comfort book is one you will take to your favorite reading spot and bury yourself in its pages, oblivious to the world – or sit at a lunch table, book propped against the nearest sturdy food container, and hunker down behind it, hiding away in its world to escape from your own.
You get the picture.
I realize that in a world where reading time has been diminished by the electronic media, social networks and lack of interest, there is concern about getting people to read a book at all. People who are reading usually protest they can’t squeeze multiple readings of the same material into their hectic lives.
BUT – we watch our DVDs repeatedly. We have favorites. And who among us can state truthfully that they don’t watch TV reruns? “7th Heaven”? “I Love Lucy”? “M*A*S*H”? It’s about comfort, familiarity, and feeling good.
It’s putting Mozart or the Rolling Stones on the stereo or iPod, sitting back with an apple or some Oreos and milk, and opening up a book to a familiar scene, returning to a place that intrigued us, gave us joy or prodded our intellect in some satisfactory way.
If I can’t get my hands on a new book by a favorite author, I’ll re-read one. DO NOT ASK me how many Agatha Christies I’ve re-read. I started re-reading favorites by her when I was still a teenager. I will re-visit Pern to ride ‘between’ on dragonback, cook with Goldie Schulz, garden with China Bayles, quilt with Bennie Harper Ortiz, and bask under the Tuscan sun with Frances Mayes. I will even build houses in a town of schoolchildren with Tracy Kidder. And – through less often – travel almost anywhere with James Michener and Isaac Asimov.
Of course, the shorter books are easier. They are quicker to read and easier to put down if I remember them well enough. Longer ones take, well, longer. Still, in times of life that are difficult or even just mildly stressful, familiar faces and places that can be delved into at a moment’s bread are truly comforting. I don’t count the time spent in re-reading against my new-book reading time. Instead, I count it as re-grouping time, stress relief, self-indulgence. I don’t go to spas, or get my hair or nails done; I don’t party or even dine out frequently. I don’t go on retreats. But I read and re-read my favorite books, my comfort books. What are yours?
‘Comfort book’, I thought, like comfort food. Hmm.
… a comfort book is one you return to to re-read, despite a hectic schedule that would seem to prohibit the re-reading of even prescription instructions.
… a comfort book is one with dog-ears, cracked spine, and smudges in the margins from repeated use.
… a comfort book is one you will take to your favorite reading spot and bury yourself in its pages, oblivious to the world – or sit at a lunch table, book propped against the nearest sturdy food container, and hunker down behind it, hiding away in its world to escape from your own.
You get the picture.
I realize that in a world where reading time has been diminished by the electronic media, social networks and lack of interest, there is concern about getting people to read a book at all. People who are reading usually protest they can’t squeeze multiple readings of the same material into their hectic lives.
BUT – we watch our DVDs repeatedly. We have favorites. And who among us can state truthfully that they don’t watch TV reruns? “7th Heaven”? “I Love Lucy”? “M*A*S*H”? It’s about comfort, familiarity, and feeling good.
It’s putting Mozart or the Rolling Stones on the stereo or iPod, sitting back with an apple or some Oreos and milk, and opening up a book to a familiar scene, returning to a place that intrigued us, gave us joy or prodded our intellect in some satisfactory way.
If I can’t get my hands on a new book by a favorite author, I’ll re-read one. DO NOT ASK me how many Agatha Christies I’ve re-read. I started re-reading favorites by her when I was still a teenager. I will re-visit Pern to ride ‘between’ on dragonback, cook with Goldie Schulz, garden with China Bayles, quilt with Bennie Harper Ortiz, and bask under the Tuscan sun with Frances Mayes. I will even build houses in a town of schoolchildren with Tracy Kidder. And – through less often – travel almost anywhere with James Michener and Isaac Asimov.
Of course, the shorter books are easier. They are quicker to read and easier to put down if I remember them well enough. Longer ones take, well, longer. Still, in times of life that are difficult or even just mildly stressful, familiar faces and places that can be delved into at a moment’s bread are truly comforting. I don’t count the time spent in re-reading against my new-book reading time. Instead, I count it as re-grouping time, stress relief, self-indulgence. I don’t go to spas, or get my hair or nails done; I don’t party or even dine out frequently. I don’t go on retreats. But I read and re-read my favorite books, my comfort books. What are yours?
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Flowers Currently Blooming at Blackwater
Pink camelia in the woods across the causeway.
Daffodils and beginning Stars of Bethlehem by fallen tree across Little Cross Creek.
Daffodil closeups.
Daffodils and beginning Stars of Bethlehem by fallen tree across Little Cross Creek.
Coming Home
I've not posted to this blog in a while. Too many things have been happening, one in particular that I had to think about before I was ready to write.
We sold the house!!!!!
Our Nashville house finally sold, and we closed late in January. We actually finalized the offer on December 31st, answering the prayers of a lot of people that we sell by the end of the year. This was a second piece of good news; I started a new part time job the beginning of January (a job I thoroughly enjoy, by the way). It's only three weeks ago, so there is still dust settling as we complete our first month with only 1 set of mortgage payments.
Wow. Not used to that.
So. The question on everyone's mind is, how do we feel?
That's what I've been pondering, how to describe what we feel.
Relieved, for sure. Our future was looking pretty bleak. And I sure did make a lot of homemade soup these last few months!
Awed, because now we can really think of Blackwater as home, and you know how I've raved about this place. We'd been feeling a little nervous, as if the repercussions of our financial stretch could have resulted in our losing it. After all, the economic climate is making everyone imagine a Foreclosure Bogeyman lurking behind their front doors. Now we're feeling more assured, and we can enjoy the beauty we're blessed with this spring.
We were walking the dogs in back yesterday, and I stood looking up at the pines and around at the magnolia saplings and thorn olive bushes and gardenia bushes, the irises and peonies poking up, the crocuses and daffodils blooming, and I actually felt giddy that we get to own this place. We get to feel excited about it again.
We get to feel .... normal about our lives. We live in one place, instead of having one foot in Nashville and one in Fayetteville. We can commit to the place and the people here. Life is no longer about what has to be done there, or what left undone here. We can actually live and plan for here.
And while this was going on -- this huge hurry-up-and-wait on the house sale, our lives were quietly taking root around us. Now they are sending up tendrils in new and unexpected directions. The girls are making college visits and college plans. My new job has taken me to a section of town where I've discovered the sweetest group of people who have a similar take on the importance of diversity that we have. David is getting involved in planning and working on Blackwater, and photographing everything in site OR sight. (He even actually likes some of his own photos!) We have, thanks to the Internet, reconnected with old friends from Nashville days, as well as adding new friends online. Our universe is expanding.
I pull in our cul-de-sac, swing up in front of the magnolia and redbud that blend at the corner of our property, and switch off the engine. Getting out, I check to see if our woodworking neighbor across the way is home, or if the neighbor next door has his dogs out. I stride up the newly-swept walkway under the saucer magnolia whose buds are turning purple, checking the flag waving from its pole in back. The dogs are at the windowpanes, watching me. A lizard darts across the bricks of the front wall. It's 1:00 pm as I turn the key in the lock.
A few hours from now I'll pick up the kids. We'll come back amid discussions of what went on in school and who has the better music on their iPod or MP3, and we'll circle the cul-de-sac again, checking for Dave's car in front of the garage. We might even arrive at the same time as him; it happens. Then we'll all troop into the house together.
We've come home.
We sold the house!!!!!
Our Nashville house finally sold, and we closed late in January. We actually finalized the offer on December 31st, answering the prayers of a lot of people that we sell by the end of the year. This was a second piece of good news; I started a new part time job the beginning of January (a job I thoroughly enjoy, by the way). It's only three weeks ago, so there is still dust settling as we complete our first month with only 1 set of mortgage payments.
Wow. Not used to that.
So. The question on everyone's mind is, how do we feel?
That's what I've been pondering, how to describe what we feel.
Relieved, for sure. Our future was looking pretty bleak. And I sure did make a lot of homemade soup these last few months!
Awed, because now we can really think of Blackwater as home, and you know how I've raved about this place. We'd been feeling a little nervous, as if the repercussions of our financial stretch could have resulted in our losing it. After all, the economic climate is making everyone imagine a Foreclosure Bogeyman lurking behind their front doors. Now we're feeling more assured, and we can enjoy the beauty we're blessed with this spring.
We were walking the dogs in back yesterday, and I stood looking up at the pines and around at the magnolia saplings and thorn olive bushes and gardenia bushes, the irises and peonies poking up, the crocuses and daffodils blooming, and I actually felt giddy that we get to own this place. We get to feel excited about it again.
We get to feel .... normal about our lives. We live in one place, instead of having one foot in Nashville and one in Fayetteville. We can commit to the place and the people here. Life is no longer about what has to be done there, or what left undone here. We can actually live and plan for here.
And while this was going on -- this huge hurry-up-and-wait on the house sale, our lives were quietly taking root around us. Now they are sending up tendrils in new and unexpected directions. The girls are making college visits and college plans. My new job has taken me to a section of town where I've discovered the sweetest group of people who have a similar take on the importance of diversity that we have. David is getting involved in planning and working on Blackwater, and photographing everything in site OR sight. (He even actually likes some of his own photos!) We have, thanks to the Internet, reconnected with old friends from Nashville days, as well as adding new friends online. Our universe is expanding.
I pull in our cul-de-sac, swing up in front of the magnolia and redbud that blend at the corner of our property, and switch off the engine. Getting out, I check to see if our woodworking neighbor across the way is home, or if the neighbor next door has his dogs out. I stride up the newly-swept walkway under the saucer magnolia whose buds are turning purple, checking the flag waving from its pole in back. The dogs are at the windowpanes, watching me. A lizard darts across the bricks of the front wall. It's 1:00 pm as I turn the key in the lock.
A few hours from now I'll pick up the kids. We'll come back amid discussions of what went on in school and who has the better music on their iPod or MP3, and we'll circle the cul-de-sac again, checking for Dave's car in front of the garage. We might even arrive at the same time as him; it happens. Then we'll all troop into the house together.
We've come home.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Inauguration Day at Blackwater
I have to say that I think God was awful nice to give North Carolinians the day off so that we could watch the inauguration. Blackwater was transformed by 4 inches of snow. Some areas got 6 inches, the most snow in 5 years. School was out, my new boss said to stay put (I worked a little at home), and my husband's work was shut down. So we played in the snow and took pictures, then watched the inauguration. Which meant I cried, and we stood for the oaths and the National Anthem, applauded the speeches, loved the music.
I don't think we've played in the snow with the kids for a few years now. It was nice to have a chance to do it again before the girls graduate. And it's really nice to know that North Carolina can have snow, even if it doesn't happen all that often.
Here are a few pictures of Blackwater in the snow on Inauguration Day 2009.
photos courtesy dkminnick
I don't think we've played in the snow with the kids for a few years now. It was nice to have a chance to do it again before the girls graduate. And it's really nice to know that North Carolina can have snow, even if it doesn't happen all that often.
Here are a few pictures of Blackwater in the snow on Inauguration Day 2009.
photos courtesy dkminnick
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Who Said a Person Has to Downsize?
It's a dreary day outside. We might even be getting snow later, the first we've seen it since we moved here over a year ago. It won't stick; it's too warm out, even though it feels damp and cold inside.
Football games await. We're all working on computers, stopping periodically to check in with each other, tease a little, give a hug, lend an ear. We all have tomorrow off, which will probably be more of the same. It's the last semester of high school for the twins. Next year they'll be in college. That will make 2 college graduates (1 now married), 1 college senior, 2 college freshmen, and 1 high school sophomore. And only 1 of those will be at home. Hmm.
When we bought Blackwater, we were thrilled to be increasing our living space, both indoor and out. Although it's taken this long to even be close to selling our last home, we still have big plans for this property. But, my husband teases, common wisdom would say it's too big for us.
Well, it's not.
We all know the rule: physical property expands to fill available space. That's already begun.
Plus I share feelings with Dame Agatha Christie: I don't want a small house. They're harder to clean, because you keep bumping into things. I want space.
I want rooms that are just for books -- and for housing guests.
I want a room I can move Christmas decorations into without having to climb attic steps. When the season comes, I'll just slide boxes out.
I want multiple rooms to house kids, relatives, guests, all the people we couldn't have over at the smaller house when the kids were growing up.
I want rooms to put desks in. I love desks. In fact, a neighbor had one out by the side of the road for pick-up, and let me take it when I asked. I refinished it and put it in my son's room (the one at college; he was less than thrilled).
I want rooms to wander in and out of. I want to be able to change my surroundings to suit my task, or to inspire me when I write. My husband already has 3 -- count 'em 3! -- locations for his various computers in the house. I work in the office or the kitchen mainly, but I've also gone downstairs, or our bedroom, or even to that desk in our son's room for a change of atmosphere.
Frankly, I would love even more room -- more acreage, more rooms here in the house. Not so much for luxury -- I doubt we'll ever have the kind of luxury home some people have, but just for the space, the variety, the charm that many rooms allow.
My mother used to tell me about when they bought the 96-acre farm the year before I was born. She told me how she went out to the yard and stood there, just feeling all that space around her, knowing it was theirs. I admit to wanting our own land, our plantation, our Ponderosa, our kingdom. I want that connection. I want those roots. I want to make it mine. (okay, more correctly, ours). It's a desire I don't think will ever go away.
Are we at the beginning of the empty nest? Maybe, but it doesn't mean we'll be finding a smaller nest any time soon. Way too much to do yet.
Football games await. We're all working on computers, stopping periodically to check in with each other, tease a little, give a hug, lend an ear. We all have tomorrow off, which will probably be more of the same. It's the last semester of high school for the twins. Next year they'll be in college. That will make 2 college graduates (1 now married), 1 college senior, 2 college freshmen, and 1 high school sophomore. And only 1 of those will be at home. Hmm.
When we bought Blackwater, we were thrilled to be increasing our living space, both indoor and out. Although it's taken this long to even be close to selling our last home, we still have big plans for this property. But, my husband teases, common wisdom would say it's too big for us.
Well, it's not.
We all know the rule: physical property expands to fill available space. That's already begun.
Plus I share feelings with Dame Agatha Christie: I don't want a small house. They're harder to clean, because you keep bumping into things. I want space.
I want rooms that are just for books -- and for housing guests.
I want a room I can move Christmas decorations into without having to climb attic steps. When the season comes, I'll just slide boxes out.
I want multiple rooms to house kids, relatives, guests, all the people we couldn't have over at the smaller house when the kids were growing up.
I want rooms to put desks in. I love desks. In fact, a neighbor had one out by the side of the road for pick-up, and let me take it when I asked. I refinished it and put it in my son's room (the one at college; he was less than thrilled).
I want rooms to wander in and out of. I want to be able to change my surroundings to suit my task, or to inspire me when I write. My husband already has 3 -- count 'em 3! -- locations for his various computers in the house. I work in the office or the kitchen mainly, but I've also gone downstairs, or our bedroom, or even to that desk in our son's room for a change of atmosphere.
Frankly, I would love even more room -- more acreage, more rooms here in the house. Not so much for luxury -- I doubt we'll ever have the kind of luxury home some people have, but just for the space, the variety, the charm that many rooms allow.
My mother used to tell me about when they bought the 96-acre farm the year before I was born. She told me how she went out to the yard and stood there, just feeling all that space around her, knowing it was theirs. I admit to wanting our own land, our plantation, our Ponderosa, our kingdom. I want that connection. I want those roots. I want to make it mine. (okay, more correctly, ours). It's a desire I don't think will ever go away.
Are we at the beginning of the empty nest? Maybe, but it doesn't mean we'll be finding a smaller nest any time soon. Way too much to do yet.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Screaming Meemies, I mean, Memes
Okay, so I have NO idea what I'm doing but Kaye Barley (Meanderings and Muses) went and tagged me for a meme which I had to look up the meaning of and which means (from Dictionary.com):
meme
–noun; a cultural item that is transmitted by repetition in a manner analogous to the biological transmission of genes.
[okay, end run-on-sentence here]
This particular meme is the Meme of Tears. It was passed to Kaye by Linda Richards who got it from Sandra Ruttan. Kaye has tagged a number of us with this question, and although she said we don't HAVE to respond, I find it hard not to.
The question passed on to me by Kaye went as follows: "What's hit you on an emotional level and made you cry?"
This is one of those questions that looks so easy. I could answer any number of ways, with responses that would resemble many other peoples'. But I hate being just like everyone else. Don't be insulted; I'm just in love with the concept of being different. It's something I've had to embrace over the years.
Anyway, I decided to try to analyze the things that make me cry. And two major categories emerged.
The first category seems to be Achievement. I cry whenever I see someone achieve. It may be a Special Olympiad charge the finish line -- even on a TV commercial. It may be our daughter's or son's or daughters' graduation. It may be my husband being recognized in his job, or someone winning a contest. There is that innate knowledge that these people worked really hard to reach their goal, and they did it. All their hopes went into the effort, and they made it. The energy, the heart that is being rewarded is worth a few tears from this sympathetic spectator.
The second category seems to be Truth. Truth in the universal sense. When I listen to a speaker, or when I am meditating for myself, or even when seeing a play or program that demonstrates or reveals a concept that I sense is a Truth of the universe, I find myself tearing up. Love comes under this category, and Beauty, and Forgiveness. There are some others in there, too.
It's easy to downplay teary moments. We are easily embarrassed by them, and we usually can't explain them on the spur of the moment. They are intensely personal. So we laugh them off and admit to being 'sappy'. I think we are just covering up for deeper feelings. Our tears mean something. They are our recognition of those moments when human touches human. These teary moments signify a deeper, more raw emotional incidence of connection where we acknowledge what's happening to another of our kind.
So, what makes you cry?
[Kaye, did I do all right?]
[okay, end run-on-sentence here]
This particular meme is the Meme of Tears. It was passed to Kaye by Linda Richards who got it from Sandra Ruttan. Kaye has tagged a number of us with this question, and although she said we don't HAVE to respond, I find it hard not to.
The question passed on to me by Kaye went as follows: "What's hit you on an emotional level and made you cry?"
This is one of those questions that looks so easy. I could answer any number of ways, with responses that would resemble many other peoples'. But I hate being just like everyone else. Don't be insulted; I'm just in love with the concept of being different. It's something I've had to embrace over the years.
Anyway, I decided to try to analyze the things that make me cry. And two major categories emerged.
The first category seems to be Achievement. I cry whenever I see someone achieve. It may be a Special Olympiad charge the finish line -- even on a TV commercial. It may be our daughter's or son's or daughters' graduation. It may be my husband being recognized in his job, or someone winning a contest. There is that innate knowledge that these people worked really hard to reach their goal, and they did it. All their hopes went into the effort, and they made it. The energy, the heart that is being rewarded is worth a few tears from this sympathetic spectator.
The second category seems to be Truth. Truth in the universal sense. When I listen to a speaker, or when I am meditating for myself, or even when seeing a play or program that demonstrates or reveals a concept that I sense is a Truth of the universe, I find myself tearing up. Love comes under this category, and Beauty, and Forgiveness. There are some others in there, too.
It's easy to downplay teary moments. We are easily embarrassed by them, and we usually can't explain them on the spur of the moment. They are intensely personal. So we laugh them off and admit to being 'sappy'. I think we are just covering up for deeper feelings. Our tears mean something. They are our recognition of those moments when human touches human. These teary moments signify a deeper, more raw emotional incidence of connection where we acknowledge what's happening to another of our kind.
So, what makes you cry?
[Kaye, did I do all right?]
Saturday, January 03, 2009
A Tale of Christmas
Christmas Window at Blackwater
photo courtesy dkminnick
Ahh, time to start the New Year at Blackwater.
We have just finished a momentous Christmas. We had our first caroling party at Blackwater. To understand the significance, you have to know that our family caroling parties date back to at least 1992. Their roots go back even farther, as I have caroled in some form or fashion since before 1967. It was sporadic, but each year I would doggedly try to find a way to carol. Sometimes it was with a youth group or organized choir. Sometimes just a couple friends and I. The year I was pregnant with our firstborn, our medical records group caroled through the hospital. For some reason we dressed in costume. I wore a Christmas tree outfit made of felt, and I carried a small tree for my ‘wee unborn one’.
By the time said firstborn was in 6th grade, the family had increased to 5 (ultimately it became 6). She was in a musical group at school, so we invited the whole crowd to come out to our house for goodies and a little caroling through the winding streets of our hillside neighborhood. A tradition was born.
As time went on, we continued to invite friends – everyone is told to invite anyone they wish plus the person’s family – to come out and sing and have goodies and watch movies. There is no time limit on the party, except for whether or not it runs overnight. Our caroling usually goes from 6:00pm to 9:00 pm.
I tend to get in a tizzy when preparing for parties. Cleaning and baking is done at top speed while my mind races to see what I can safely leave undone after all. Some years the decorating was complete, and other years a dark green undecorated tree or incomplete crèche stood watch as revelers filed in and out of the house. For me, probably the most significant memory of these years is the mad rush to finish cleaning the house, and the way the downstairs family room would swallow up teenagers as soon as they arrived.
For as children grew into pre-teens and teens, the parties grew. And grew in importance, too. The year of our last party in Nashville, we sent out written invitations to accompany the directions to our house. In the invitation, we noted that it was our last party, as the next spring we were moving to Fayetteville. The response was overwhelming: we had over 50 people! 50 people from all parts of our lives, accompanying us on our last round of caroling.
We made a point to let the recipients of our carols know it was the last year, too, and with hope we encouraged a few of them to take over the tradition.
Last year was our first Christmas in Blackwater, but we couldn’t get everything together in time for a caroling party. We did hear, however, from various friends, including some high school friends of our now-college students, that our party was sorely missed. In fact, even this year, our two oldest, age 27 and 22, informed us they still had friends who complained of missing our party.
So it was with high hopes that we planned a party for 2008. Again we invited friends, although not nearly as many as previously (it does take time to build a following). We tried to set the party for after the older siblings got in, but this year it wasn’t possible. We also set out flyers letting people know we were singing, and asking that they leave a porch or Christmas light on if they wanted to hear us, and that they feel free to join us on our musical journey if they wished.
Cleaning and cooking went the smoothest it ever has. Well, we’re all older and more organized now. We had a half-dozen guests, but put that with our four (my husband stayed home to send along any stragglers), and we had a nice-sounding group. So nice, in fact, that we surprised ourselves. When asked if we rehearsed, we had to say no, but we were able to perform Carol of the Bells in parts with no problem. The key appears to be that even though we didn’t rehearse in a group, almost all of us had sung with someone else in the group, so we were all attuned anyway. We even picked up a couple neighbors who joined us along the way, and they came back to our house to sing to my husband.
We sat around with goodies and good cheer afterwards, promptly making plans for next year’s party. The interesting thing is, with 2 out of the house, and 3 in college, I’m just not sure when we’re doing it!
This was important for us in so many ways. Caroling is a gift we give to our neighbors, and the party is a gift we give ourselves. We love sharing Christmas. We’d been forced to skip one year. It hadn’t felt right. This was a homecoming for us. We really have made the transition to Fayetteville and to Blackwater. While we may not know what comes next, we have indeed finally made it here.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Keeping Focus
It's not my habit to cross post, or to post much about writing here at Blackwater Tales, but this has been on my mind. Many of us at Blackwater -- and Blackwater extended -- are creative types who are easily affected by the atmosphere around us. Many of us write. So, I'm posting this here as well as on my blogs that pertain more to writing. I think it's important enough.
Is anyone else having trouble keeping focus right now?
It's not just the holidays. That's a nice distraction; but most of us have learned over the years how to closet ourselves with our muses and keep working.
No, now it's all the other things: the wars and attacks around the world, the economy -- or lack thereof, the overall animosity amongst people -- whether it be religious differences, political losses, or flatout hatespeak bred of fear and suspicion. I'm telling you, the atmosphere is downright oppressive.
Yet, and yet, as writers our first instinct is to put something down on paper (or pixels) about it. We can blog about it (self-reference there), or we can spread our words and our wings wider.
We who write have a gift that is meant to be shared. We who are citizens of the planet have a responsibility to use our gifts to protect and further our planet. We who write and are citizens are generally opinionated and completely capable of fomenting discussion and thought about the problems of the world.
Essentially, the distractions of today are the fodder for our writing, be it blog, article, editorial. or fiction. If we can help to find a solution, we should. And if writing is our talent, then that is what we contribute to the solution.
So, I say, in the words of way too many writers who get a kick out of saying it, Write on! Tidy up those distractions and put them to work for yourself and all the other citizens of the planet. Someday, somebody will get around to thanking you.
Well, I'll do it here. Thank you.
Is anyone else having trouble keeping focus right now?
It's not just the holidays. That's a nice distraction; but most of us have learned over the years how to closet ourselves with our muses and keep working.
No, now it's all the other things: the wars and attacks around the world, the economy -- or lack thereof, the overall animosity amongst people -- whether it be religious differences, political losses, or flatout hatespeak bred of fear and suspicion. I'm telling you, the atmosphere is downright oppressive.
Yet, and yet, as writers our first instinct is to put something down on paper (or pixels) about it. We can blog about it (self-reference there), or we can spread our words and our wings wider.
We who write have a gift that is meant to be shared. We who are citizens of the planet have a responsibility to use our gifts to protect and further our planet. We who write and are citizens are generally opinionated and completely capable of fomenting discussion and thought about the problems of the world.
Essentially, the distractions of today are the fodder for our writing, be it blog, article, editorial. or fiction. If we can help to find a solution, we should. And if writing is our talent, then that is what we contribute to the solution.
So, I say, in the words of way too many writers who get a kick out of saying it, Write on! Tidy up those distractions and put them to work for yourself and all the other citizens of the planet. Someday, somebody will get around to thanking you.
Well, I'll do it here. Thank you.
rjm
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Turkey Day madness
Those of you needing basic Turkey Day preparation tips, see my article at notecook.com by clicking on the title to this blog. There may be another article tomorrow for repairing and rescuing food on Thanksgiving.
Have a good holiday!
rjm
Have a good holiday!
rjm
Monday, November 24, 2008
The Moveable Feast
At our house, Thanksgiving has been the moveable feast for many years.
It started even before we were married. His sister was joining us for the holiday, staying with me at my apartment and visiting us both while he was in the Army. I’d gotten as far as baking the apple pie, when I realized I was feeling entirely too sick to prepare a meal, or even eat one. So, Thanksgiving feast was the next day.
Later in our marriage was the year I varnished the dining room table and it didn’t dry in time for us to eat – 3 days later! There was the year we moved, and so we ate at our friends’ house. They chose that year to buy the dinner at the grocery store. When we tried the same thing a few years later, the grocery store didn’t cook the meal. They prepped a few dishes, but I still had to cook! Followed by the year I broke my ankle only two weeks before the holiday. Luckily another set of friends included us in that year.
Then there was the first year our daughter lived in Boston. She went to my sister’s that year, and they had a wonderful time. It was reassuring for us to know she was at least with family. Now that she’s married, she plans on taking most Thanksgivings with her in-laws. That’s fine, because it clears Christmas for us.
Now comes this year.
Two daughters will not be home. And one son. Besides the married daughter, our second is working a job over 15 hours away and can’t get home. Our son is only 12 hours away (only!), but his girlfriend lives across country, so neither of them are going home. Instead they are staying in town; perhaps her parents will fly in for the holiday. So, we’re down 3, and steady at 3 here. It’s okay, because we’re really all looking forward to Christmas when everyone will be able to get in for at least a day.
Yet, it feels so weird.
It’s partly this year. We’re still scrambling. Our lives are busy, and the economy is the pits, and everything is continuing to change. Thanksgiving is usually a time when everything kind of halts, a big breath before Christmas. This year it will be a holiday for catching up, cleaning up, and preparing for the Holiday season when the others will at last be home. It’s enough to make me glad we did make this the moveable feast. We can be comfortable, if a little sad, spending it apart. For at least, wherever we are, we know we are together in our hearts, and we are thankful for the adventures we’re having and the love we share.
We are lucky, in our family. May yours be so also.
Happy Thanksgiving!
2008
rjm
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Getting Out My Vote
(warning: this is lengthy)
I voted today. It took about an hour, which wasn't bad, considering how volatile this year's election is.
I hadn't been going to vote early, but then I realized two things. 1) Somehow it would probably be quicker -- better 1 hour than 4, and 2) if I voted early I could spend Election Day at home with my kids (who actually will probably be busy working on projects for school, but at least I can sleep late).
Overall, it was an interesting introduction to the civic side of life here in Fayetteville, NC.
I drove up to the voting place -- note: I learned today that this Early Voting is being classified as Absentee Voting here, so that, my official told me, they could be counted at the same time as the Absentee Ballots rather than in some other group. Okay. Anyway, I spotted the place easily because there were cars parked all along the roadside, political signs were clustered around the end of the sidewalk, sufficiently far away from the entrance, and there was already a line outside the building. And it had only been open 8 minutes.
I found a parking place in a grove of trees near the back of the property and walked across the playing field to the building, a local recreational center. It was sunny and breezy, thankfully. My spot in line began about 100 feet back, and the line wasn't moving yet. It wasn't encouraging that people were disputing whether or not the line had started to move, and some were talking about having been shut out of another polling place when time ran out. For a while I simply stood in line, then I pulled out a book I'd brought along to read. But athat was camouflage for my eavesdropping.
The couple in front of me, older, white, were quiet. He shifted from foot to foot; she ate an energy bar. Behind me were three or four young black women, and interspersed in the line were soldiers from the nearby bases, many of them in camo and berets. Cell phones rang and people reported on how long they'd been in line and whether or not they could pick up the kids later. I was glad to hear one young woman tell her friend he -- she? -- needed to come out and vote.
Some people behind me talked about what voting was like in other places, Kansas City, Los Angeles, Baltimore. One of the young women said she'd never voted before. She seemed dubious about the process even as she stood there. I never was clear on why she was voting now; she said that she wouldn't be surprised if 'they' said Obama didn't win whether he did or not. If that happened, she said, there'd be riots. Not that she' would, but a lot of people were born that way, she said, 'programmed' to react that way in that sort of situation. Her friend hoped that it wouldn't happen like that. She talked about what happened to Al Gore in Florida. Judging from her words and tone, she still believed in the value of the vote.
Soon a tall man came down the line with a small sheet of paper telling about himself and what he was running for. I didn't think it applied to me -- not my precinct -- but I took his paper anyway, even as I wondered if he was supposed to do that. I'm pretty sure he wasn't; later I saw an official talking to him and he didn't approach the line again. A few minutes later a woman with a petition attached to a clipboard came along. The couple in front of me listened attentively as the woman asked for their signatures on a petition to the Governor to explore creating alternative energy jobs, green jobs in the state. They listened but declined to sign. It sounded like a good idea to me, North Carolina needs jobs, and I've already seen signs of 'caring about the green' in Fayetteville. Besides, exploring a concept can never hurt, so I signed.
Another official worked her way down the line handing out slips of paper reminding us all that the 'Party Line' button didn't include the Presidential candidates. You had to vote for them separately, so be sure to press the ir button!
Once inside the building, the line was steered to the left. We'd been here long enough now that the first voters were coming back out. Some were young, some old, some black, some white, some male, some female. But every one of them looked satisfied. They had done their bit.
I was still alternating between watching what was going on around me and reading, but I started thinking about who we were. Some of these people had young children. Some were young adults, maybe working, maybe in college, several in the armed services. Some were older, maybe retirees, or workers on a late lunch break. No doubt all of us in line had some kind of problem or crisis going on in our lives. Right now that seems inevitable. But we were all here.
We proceeded to the room where the actual voting was. A young soldier was at the table ahead of us, waiting on his voting slip. The woman in the couple ahead of me passed by him to the next worker, glancing around as she did. Her husband waited just in front of me, alternating his attention between his wife and watching when he should move forward. Where were the paper ballots? they wanted to know. Why were the touchscreens in here?
The official explained that touchscreens were used for early voting; if they wanted the paper ballots, they had to go to their designated polling place on Election Day. Thus began a lengthy, not-too-noisy complaint from the couple about how the paper ballots were superior and how improper and inefficient it was that the facts about the use of touchscreens hadn't been publicized in advance. By this time the woman had been joined by her husband. The worker who was waiting on the soldier waved him on and me forward, keeping an eye on this couple at the same time. I also wondered if she'd have to intervene. The couple moved on; I think they chose not to vote today. I received my voting slip -- actually an application for Absentee Voting, so that my early vote would be counted -- and moved on myself. In just a couple minutes a worker was escorting me to and instructing me on the touchscreen.
I actually prefer the touchscreens over the paper ballot. The primary was the first time I'd ever used a paper ballot. In other states where I've voted, they used the old mechanical voting booths with curtains and levers. Tennessee had a variation on them. They had lighted buttons instead of little levers. However, all these other models had privacy curtains, something touchscreens could use.
I voted, trolling through the screens rather than using the 'Party Line' button -- I do prefer to make my own choices. Then I picked up my 'I Voted' sticker, and I left. People outside -- you'd almost think they were hired 'specially for this -- thanked me for voting as I walked around the building to go to my car.
I'd said to my daughter before I left the house that at least going out to vote was something I could do that wasn't going to cost me anything. Well, gas, but we'll discount that. For so many people right now, money is not only tight, it's choking the spirit out of them. Others have lost loved ones overseas, or they're facing separation in the near future because they're going overseas themselves. But here we all were, in line to vote. To do the only thing we could at the moment for ourselves and for our country.
We had various reasons for why we voted the ways we did. Some people weren't voting 'for' a candidate but 'against' another. Some people I'm sure did vote 'Party Line' else why would that be such a big deal on the ballot? I know my mother-in-law tended to vote that way. I'm sure some people voted for a candidate because they were a 'first' or because they were a match gender-wise or racially. Some people studied up on candidates and their positions. Probably all of us either watched the debates or heard the reports on them. And, because I know I did it myself for a few races, some of us voted for names we recognized or whose sound we liked. Ideally everyone should make an intelligent choice, but the fact that so many people are concerned enough to make a choice, and that we can... these are facts that matter.
We're trying to take control of our lives and our country. We are trying to act responsibly as best we know how. The simple act of voting, using our brains and making a choice about how we want to live, costs us nothing, yet it can be one of the most important things we do for ourselves, our community, and our country.
'ta
rjm
I hadn't been going to vote early, but then I realized two things. 1) Somehow it would probably be quicker -- better 1 hour than 4, and 2) if I voted early I could spend Election Day at home with my kids (who actually will probably be busy working on projects for school, but at least I can sleep late).
Overall, it was an interesting introduction to the civic side of life here in Fayetteville, NC.
I drove up to the voting place -- note: I learned today that this Early Voting is being classified as Absentee Voting here, so that, my official told me, they could be counted at the same time as the Absentee Ballots rather than in some other group. Okay. Anyway, I spotted the place easily because there were cars parked all along the roadside, political signs were clustered around the end of the sidewalk, sufficiently far away from the entrance, and there was already a line outside the building. And it had only been open 8 minutes.
I found a parking place in a grove of trees near the back of the property and walked across the playing field to the building, a local recreational center. It was sunny and breezy, thankfully. My spot in line began about 100 feet back, and the line wasn't moving yet. It wasn't encouraging that people were disputing whether or not the line had started to move, and some were talking about having been shut out of another polling place when time ran out. For a while I simply stood in line, then I pulled out a book I'd brought along to read. But athat was camouflage for my eavesdropping.
The couple in front of me, older, white, were quiet. He shifted from foot to foot; she ate an energy bar. Behind me were three or four young black women, and interspersed in the line were soldiers from the nearby bases, many of them in camo and berets. Cell phones rang and people reported on how long they'd been in line and whether or not they could pick up the kids later. I was glad to hear one young woman tell her friend he -- she? -- needed to come out and vote.
Some people behind me talked about what voting was like in other places, Kansas City, Los Angeles, Baltimore. One of the young women said she'd never voted before. She seemed dubious about the process even as she stood there. I never was clear on why she was voting now; she said that she wouldn't be surprised if 'they' said Obama didn't win whether he did or not. If that happened, she said, there'd be riots. Not that she' would, but a lot of people were born that way, she said, 'programmed' to react that way in that sort of situation. Her friend hoped that it wouldn't happen like that. She talked about what happened to Al Gore in Florida. Judging from her words and tone, she still believed in the value of the vote.
Soon a tall man came down the line with a small sheet of paper telling about himself and what he was running for. I didn't think it applied to me -- not my precinct -- but I took his paper anyway, even as I wondered if he was supposed to do that. I'm pretty sure he wasn't; later I saw an official talking to him and he didn't approach the line again. A few minutes later a woman with a petition attached to a clipboard came along. The couple in front of me listened attentively as the woman asked for their signatures on a petition to the Governor to explore creating alternative energy jobs, green jobs in the state. They listened but declined to sign. It sounded like a good idea to me, North Carolina needs jobs, and I've already seen signs of 'caring about the green' in Fayetteville. Besides, exploring a concept can never hurt, so I signed.
Another official worked her way down the line handing out slips of paper reminding us all that the 'Party Line' button didn't include the Presidential candidates. You had to vote for them separately, so be sure to press the ir button!
Once inside the building, the line was steered to the left. We'd been here long enough now that the first voters were coming back out. Some were young, some old, some black, some white, some male, some female. But every one of them looked satisfied. They had done their bit.
I was still alternating between watching what was going on around me and reading, but I started thinking about who we were. Some of these people had young children. Some were young adults, maybe working, maybe in college, several in the armed services. Some were older, maybe retirees, or workers on a late lunch break. No doubt all of us in line had some kind of problem or crisis going on in our lives. Right now that seems inevitable. But we were all here.
We proceeded to the room where the actual voting was. A young soldier was at the table ahead of us, waiting on his voting slip. The woman in the couple ahead of me passed by him to the next worker, glancing around as she did. Her husband waited just in front of me, alternating his attention between his wife and watching when he should move forward. Where were the paper ballots? they wanted to know. Why were the touchscreens in here?
The official explained that touchscreens were used for early voting; if they wanted the paper ballots, they had to go to their designated polling place on Election Day. Thus began a lengthy, not-too-noisy complaint from the couple about how the paper ballots were superior and how improper and inefficient it was that the facts about the use of touchscreens hadn't been publicized in advance. By this time the woman had been joined by her husband. The worker who was waiting on the soldier waved him on and me forward, keeping an eye on this couple at the same time. I also wondered if she'd have to intervene. The couple moved on; I think they chose not to vote today. I received my voting slip -- actually an application for Absentee Voting, so that my early vote would be counted -- and moved on myself. In just a couple minutes a worker was escorting me to and instructing me on the touchscreen.
I actually prefer the touchscreens over the paper ballot. The primary was the first time I'd ever used a paper ballot. In other states where I've voted, they used the old mechanical voting booths with curtains and levers. Tennessee had a variation on them. They had lighted buttons instead of little levers. However, all these other models had privacy curtains, something touchscreens could use.
I voted, trolling through the screens rather than using the 'Party Line' button -- I do prefer to make my own choices. Then I picked up my 'I Voted' sticker, and I left. People outside -- you'd almost think they were hired 'specially for this -- thanked me for voting as I walked around the building to go to my car.
I'd said to my daughter before I left the house that at least going out to vote was something I could do that wasn't going to cost me anything. Well, gas, but we'll discount that. For so many people right now, money is not only tight, it's choking the spirit out of them. Others have lost loved ones overseas, or they're facing separation in the near future because they're going overseas themselves. But here we all were, in line to vote. To do the only thing we could at the moment for ourselves and for our country.
We had various reasons for why we voted the ways we did. Some people weren't voting 'for' a candidate but 'against' another. Some people I'm sure did vote 'Party Line' else why would that be such a big deal on the ballot? I know my mother-in-law tended to vote that way. I'm sure some people voted for a candidate because they were a 'first' or because they were a match gender-wise or racially. Some people studied up on candidates and their positions. Probably all of us either watched the debates or heard the reports on them. And, because I know I did it myself for a few races, some of us voted for names we recognized or whose sound we liked. Ideally everyone should make an intelligent choice, but the fact that so many people are concerned enough to make a choice, and that we can... these are facts that matter.
We're trying to take control of our lives and our country. We are trying to act responsibly as best we know how. The simple act of voting, using our brains and making a choice about how we want to live, costs us nothing, yet it can be one of the most important things we do for ourselves, our community, and our country.
'ta
rjm
Monday, October 20, 2008
On Wisdom
My husband and I were walking down by the creek when we were summoned by one of our daughters ringing the bell by the back door. This is an iron bell with a clapper that you pull on and bang against the bell to ring it. We purchased it years ago to use for exactly this purpose, but it has taken until Blackwater to make effective use of it.
As we were walking up to the house, I told Dave that I thought it was cool that something we bought so long ago is finally being used the way we intended, ie, the ‘right way’.
“That’s how wisdom’s supposed to work,” he said.
Wow. That about bowled me over.
Yet I started to laugh, because how often is it NOT the way things are? We are supposed to grow wiser with age, and trot that wisdom out and put it to use. But, do we? Or do we continue to muddle through life making up answers as we go along?
I’d love to be thought of as wise, but I don’t feel wise. I feel as naïve as a newborn. Any etiquette more complicated than making sure the other person feels comfortable stumps me. Financial choices frighten me. New concepts, art, movies, music, and styles overwhelm me. Sometimes I think wisdom is a tag put on our thoughts by people younger than us who simply haven’t encountered them before. Someone says wise, and I say, “Who, me?”
I guess I’ll have to go along with it, though. Let them think I ‘m wise if they want. Just so long as I remember not to believe it, too.
'ta
rjm
As we were walking up to the house, I told Dave that I thought it was cool that something we bought so long ago is finally being used the way we intended, ie, the ‘right way’.
“That’s how wisdom’s supposed to work,” he said.
Wow. That about bowled me over.
Yet I started to laugh, because how often is it NOT the way things are? We are supposed to grow wiser with age, and trot that wisdom out and put it to use. But, do we? Or do we continue to muddle through life making up answers as we go along?
I’d love to be thought of as wise, but I don’t feel wise. I feel as naïve as a newborn. Any etiquette more complicated than making sure the other person feels comfortable stumps me. Financial choices frighten me. New concepts, art, movies, music, and styles overwhelm me. Sometimes I think wisdom is a tag put on our thoughts by people younger than us who simply haven’t encountered them before. Someone says wise, and I say, “Who, me?”
I guess I’ll have to go along with it, though. Let them think I ‘m wise if they want. Just so long as I remember not to believe it, too.
'ta
rjm
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
I'm beginning to understand how the pyramid builders felt....
If you’ve read any of my Twitter posts lately, you’ve seen reference to the digging we’ve been doing to fill in the mighty crevasse by our causeway. And if you’ve read any of this blog, you’ll know that said crevasse was a product of heavy rains and a swollen stream eroding out the area where creek bank meets concrete causeway.
Well, we’ve been making progress. It was with a great deal of satisfaction that I tamped down soil this morning on what is the first completed section stretching from bank to causeway. It was a significant section, too, because it was the deepest – ranging from top to bottom of the 5-foot structure, and about 3 feet from bank to concrete. Unfortunately, it’s only about 18 inches wide, and the whole thing is more like 10 feet wide. Still, it is definitely progress. At least the rest of it isn’t that deep.
I like working with dirt. Provided it’s loose enough to dig. It’s good exercise, and there’s empowerment in altering your environment that permanently. ‘Course, you may say that anything that can be dug back out by racing waterpower just isn’t that permanent. Sigh.
'ta
rjm
Friday, October 10, 2008
Community
I've been given pause, this week, to think about 'community'.
There's community service, the community we live in, the school community, the community of believers, the writing community....ad infinitum.
We've had evidence of global and national community in the headlines as the price of a commodity here affects the sale of another there. and the whole economic community shifts about in a writhing mass of interconnectedness.
We've seen national community portrayed as town meeting in Presidential debates, where we try to fathom how one group can do a better job of connecting and protecting us than another. For regardless of the side we take, or who wins, our actions will (please note usage) have an impact upon others.
We live in specific geographic areas, which we help along by serving others who live there: neighbors, people down the street, people nearby. By supporting one another, fewer falter, and the whole is strengthened.
But, what's been my personal community experience this week?
I've had people whose help I've sought assist me, sympathizing, empathizing. Rather than belittle me, they've helped me see where I can help and support them in return.
I've had people reach out to me to help with their cause, thereby making me part of a group, seeking to reach a common goal, and providing companionship in the process.
I've laughed with others who share some of my goals, people who -- knowing the same enemies that I do: boredom and lackluster performance -- shared ways to outwit those enemies. They've shared freely, congenially, and without excessive use of adverbs.
Okay, some of these people have been in the writing community I find online. Others have been people at my children's school, or people in business I've dealt with and hope to befriend.
What it all has meant, tho', is a chance to communicate, to share, to become friends -- and as someone who still feels a bit of a newcomer in a strange place, that is the world to me. It is too easy to fall into a mode of isolation. Such isolation comes first of necessity then remains out of a sort of perverse, proud independence. If left too long, it becomes a cancer of its own, eating away at the social spirit we all have to some degree.
These last couple weeks have brought home to me that my social self needs feeding, and therefore, it is now PARTY TIME!
'ta
rjm
Friday, October 03, 2008
HOPE
hope is the
Honor of all things good and righteous that come our way regardless of our deservedness.
hope is the
Opportunity to return the good favor to others who cross our path each day.
hope is the
Presence of the Spirit of Goodness about us, planning delights for us and waiting for us to notice.
hope is the
Eternal well-spring, which, despite a dry spell or two, will come back to draw us into, through, and beyond our human existence.
---- rjm
August 2004
August 2004
Monday, September 29, 2008
Appreciation
It is amazing how place can affect a person. I’d call our house a ranch, but with a craftsman-like interior. We hope to add to the aptness of that description as time goes on. But, to walk into our home, even though we are what might be called traditional Bohemian in design preference, is to feel the comfort of openness, wood, stone, ceramic.
The house wraps around you. Its layout is at once familiar and unexpected. And with its three open fireplaces, it welcomes visitors and family with open arms.
Okay, I’m getting too poetic here. It’s just that we feel lucky to have found this place. Lucky enough that working on it or with it doesn’t seem like the chore it could.
I remember apartment living, and how I would gaze at houses as we drove by them, windows lit and people moving about behind them. I was so jealous. And when we’d pass someone mowing their lawn on a twilit evening, I’d feel despair that we would ever know what that was like. Perhaps that is a reminder to us all to be patient; eventually things will happen.
By now in my life, I know that to be true. Equally so, I am aware that we never know how much time we have left. So I am still impatient for things to happen, to work out. I still get jealous when I see others already having what I think I want.
Then I stop and wonder how much it will take to make me appreciate what I have.
'ta
rjm
The house wraps around you. Its layout is at once familiar and unexpected. And with its three open fireplaces, it welcomes visitors and family with open arms.
Okay, I’m getting too poetic here. It’s just that we feel lucky to have found this place. Lucky enough that working on it or with it doesn’t seem like the chore it could.
I remember apartment living, and how I would gaze at houses as we drove by them, windows lit and people moving about behind them. I was so jealous. And when we’d pass someone mowing their lawn on a twilit evening, I’d feel despair that we would ever know what that was like. Perhaps that is a reminder to us all to be patient; eventually things will happen.
By now in my life, I know that to be true. Equally so, I am aware that we never know how much time we have left. So I am still impatient for things to happen, to work out. I still get jealous when I see others already having what I think I want.
Then I stop and wonder how much it will take to make me appreciate what I have.
'ta
rjm
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Can Ya' Dig it?
School year begins anew here at Blackwater.
Katelyn has graduated college and has a new job in St. Louis. We miss her, but she has now begun her great adventure.
Meaghan and Jared are purchasing a new home. Yay for them.
Michael, after a miserable summer caused by no transportation and a host of plans falling through, plus 16 days helping us get our old house ready for sale – which, by the way, IS on the market – is reunited with his beloved school, his beloved jobs and – most importantly – his beloved girl friend.
Kacey and Kelsey are beginning their whirlwind Senior year, including the all-important college applications. Remember, ‘sometimes it’s not about me’? Trying to encourage them to apply to whatever colleges they want to attend regardless of expense because it’s right for them is not easy. We do that because you never know what scholarships might be out there, but it does seem odd to some people that we reach for Neptune when we can’t even budget the moon. But, it’s about them, not me, or us.
Mackenzie has put in a good start for his freshman year, jumping into some activities that he’s really interested in.
Me? I’m glad that for the first time in 17 years I’m driving to just one school twice a day. So I have more time to put in writing, and I may even take on a part time job.
Dave? He’s working hard as always – come on, have you ever known him not to? At least he’s enjoying what he does. And, he’s even enjoying working around here at Blackwater.
Welllll, I might have to qualify that. You see, those storms this summer, including Hurricane Hannah, had what you might want to call an effect on us. Nothing disastrous, for the most part. The land on the other side of the causeway kind of sorta got washed away. Some of it. Okay, a lot of it, just not all of it.
There is a crevasse between the edge of the concrete surface of the causeway and where the land on the other side starts up. It’s about eight inches away from the concrete, and it has dropped a couple feet. This has revealed two things: some breaches in the brick dam holding the water back, about three leaks in all; and the fact that the fill which was on this side wasn’t solid. Too much of it was natural debris that left openings for water to flow through, which, because of the aforementioned leaks, it did. And with the storms, it did it big time. So, having tried a couple methods of plugging the leaks, we are going to have to locate underwater concrete to put in from the upstream side. Meantime we are digging out the hill beyond to put solid dirt into the hole. (it’s our hill!) We are using larger debris, too, but we’re making sure we fill in the gaps. Plus we’ll maintain it better.
Now, a few of you might be asking yourselves, why don’t we get the city to fix it, since this waterway is part of the water that serves the city. After all, we have a utility easement so they can reach the sewer access points there. Turns out that’s ALL they do. We did ask the city about it, and a very nice man came and looked, and they researched it, and then they told us it wasn’t their responsibility. Seems they aren’t the ones who put the dam and causeway in. Back when private residents could do such things, a previous owner did. So, it’s ALL OURS. For good or bad.
Since we think we may have figured out how to handle this problem, it might not be such a bad deal. As long as we don’t try to create another dam, we ought to be able to modify this any way we please, all in the name of maintenance. Ohhhhhh BOY!
And I can hear the kids groaning now.
Let you know more later.
rjm
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