Wave, Everyone!

wave |wāv| verb : move one's hand to and fro in greeting or as a signal

Anyone who has spent time on our porch notices the same thing about the people who pass by: Everyone waves. It's a simple gesture, warm and comforting, and an affirmation of presence that deeply touches me and those who tell me about it. It says "Hey, I see you there and I'm happy about it." Or, "Sorry I can't stop and talk, but hello nonetheless!" Or, "Hi, neighbor!" 

Horseback riders, walkers, truck drivers, Amish, and children all have their own style of wave. From a small, almost unnoticeable tip of the hat to a great wide arm flailing motion. From a buggy comes a tilt forward and a couple of fingers up, with maybe a slight side to side action, or a vigorous, shaky full hand. From behind the wheel of a large farm combine, it may be just a couple fingers raised off the steering wheel, or a salute to the brim of a hat, or a lift of the arm from the elbow. Sometimes it's a raised arm and a shake! 

 

What confounds me is that a wave always prompts me to stop what I am doing and wave back, without even thinking about it. You may be a stranger, but you are now part of my day, and I yours. Isn't that a lovely thought? Wave, everyone!

Ice Blues

One morning last month, just before sunrise, the temperature plunged to -2 degrees. That's not so unusual for this time of year, but this particular morning brought with it one of my favorite winter phenomena:  rime ice (also known as hoarfrost, ice fog, and rime frost). Every inch of every branch, stem and tree trunk, shimmered and glistened with a soft coating of white jagged ice. 

It was a spectacular, foggy, winter wonderland against crisp blue skies. On some surfaces it was thick as snow while on others it appeared to be growing in sharp spikes.

Winter birding was a challenge.  However, a family of seven lovely, little bluebirds have been with us all winter, feeding on berries in the garden and singing from the trees. Brilliant blue against the white snow and the red berries of the winterberry bush, they flit away from the stingy starlings and manage to out-wit the sneaky cats. At night, I find them huddled in the eaves outside our bedroom window and checking on them has become my bedtime ritual. 

Usually all I can see is a tail or two high up in the corner, but many nights one adult is sleeping separately from the group, alone on a ledge but tucked in against the weather. About two weeks ago, however, they stopped coming in to roost even though it is still windy and cold. Are these bluebirds winter birds who have since started their way north? Or are these the same bluebirds we have here in the summer? (will there be seven?) And if so, where ARE they right now? I miss their cheery songs and the promise of spring!

I'll take the B

As my 12 followers have probably noticed (and those of you who read my blog but don't publicly follow) I've been silent since the New Year. No reason, really. Not bored with writing but I am bored with winter. Seems like it has been a hard one this year. Windy. Cold. Lots of ice. I'm not certain that the weather map data will confirm those facts. It's more of a feeling, I guess.

Life has picked up a few paces with me being in school. Weekend classes began at the end of January, and I feel like I've been playing catch-up with my time ever since. I don't feel overwhelmed, but my brain cells are otherwise entranced in Swedish massage, body mechanics, kinesiology, muscles and bones. I'm feeling exhausted and exhilarated, absent-minded yet organized, buried under chores but ready to open for business. How I can feel all of this all at the same time? 

I'm amazed at how quickly I learn some things, yet how slowly I'm catching on to others. I'm learning how I learn. Visually? Kinesthetically? Auditorialy? A combination of all three? I'm reminded by my instructors to be patient. Confusion is good - it means that our brain is processing the new material, and it will arrive comfortably in the land of knowledge in due time. We had our first quiz in kinesiology over the weekend and I missed 3 out of 20. That's a B in the grade book and I'll take it.

PS:  Here's a picture of Pip hiding under a hosta last fall. She's our little outcast. Squeemish, timid, and lovely.

Weaving Memories

One of our returning guests handed me a present before she left. It was a handmade, loop and loom potholder; colorful, tightly woven, and characteristically scrappy. Holding it, I was instantly transported to the floor of a friend's house where I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, pleading for my sister to teach me the tricky method for finishing the border of my loom potholder. It was just a flash, but this blast from the past inspired me to pick up the craft again.  I've been making potholders in the evenings ever since. 

Satisfyingly easy to make, the patterns come alive with color and contrast. It's like quiltmaking, only faster and more functional. This type of potholder is the best you will ever use. They keep out the heat. They are washable. And, their small size keeps the corners from going into whatever you are taking out of the oven. I figure by the end of winter, I'll have a whole basket of functional potholders to share with friends and guests.

I recall spending hours weaving and planning, picking out the unpleasant colors and struggling with the ill-fitting loops. I don't think my sister ever did teach me the trick to finishing the borders. But I was surprised when I picked up the loom again:  I knew how to do it. 

Just recently, I heard a report of a new memory study which found that the act of remembering actually creates a new memory which is stored in a new space in the brain. I'm happy to have this new memory in this new place.

Pots of Gold

Last weekend a quick and violent summer thunderstorm blew through the Interlaken plateau. Thunder cracked, trees bent, and one electrifying snap of lightning fried our modem with a loud "pop!" The rain lasted about 5 minutes. What followed this outburst was one of nature's most impressive phenomena. Through the green haze and puffy clouds came the rays of the sun and a rainbow, brilliant and majestic. One end of it illuminating a corn field to our south, and the other a field of grazing cows. Would our good fortune double--what does the folklore tell us?-- if we found both pots of gold?

After taking advantage of my first full year of AARP benefits (I turned 50 last summer), I am accepting the thought of retirement. Not retirement from life, but retirement from a full-time, work-for-somebody-else job. Our bed and breakfast is doing great and we love it. I'll need something else, however, to help keep it all going. Learning a new skill which can take me into my retirement (where ever that place may be) feels like the right choice.  So, beginning in January, I will be starting a new journey. It begins at the Finger Lakes School of Massage. 

I'm going back to school to become a Massage Therapist.

All the papers are in place, and now I am about to write what may be the most important prose of my adult life: A tuition scholarship essay. Writing this blog has been good practice. I've learned to collect my thoughts, create a story and put it on paper (well, e-paper), and find my voice. But I've never in my life asked for financial assistance, or had to affirm myself, my existence, my contribution to society, or ask for recognition. It is unnatural for a practical, efficiency-minded, do-bee like me to talk about what makes me special, or what sets me apart from everyone else.

I keep thinking about that rainbow and the two pots of gold. A shimmery, fading glimpse of the past and spark of the future. A reflective and colorful bridge between two careers and two phases of my life. The highs and lows, the graceful arc of a happy, productive, and fruitful life. Hmmm...maybe I just found a theme (somewhat hokey I know) for my essay. Or, perhaps I'll just point the scholarship committee here to read my blog because this, after all, is me.

Barn Rules

Well, it has happened. I've missed my first every-other-Sunday posting deadline! I have been writing, but all I've got is about 5 topics in draft mode. What have I been writing about?  Rhubarb. Barn swallows. Kittens. Woodchucks. The quest for the perfect cup of coffee. Guests. Is it spring fever? More likely my brain is otherwise occupied with work (yes, my other job) on top of the regular coordination of laundry, preparing for guests, cleaning, baking, and having some fun time in between. All winter we make lists of projects, then good weather arrives and we have to cram it all in at once. We never sit down. And when we do, we fall asleep!

Here is some food for thought until I get my act together, that is, until I finish a story.  Someone gave me this list of BARN RULES right after we moved in, and I think they are as applicable to life as the Golden Rule:

BARN RULES:
If you open it, close it

If you turn it on, turn it off

If you unlock it, lock it

If you break it, admit it

If you can't fix it, call in someone who can

If you borrow it, return it

If you make a mess, clean it up

If you use it, take care of it

If you move it, put it back

If it belongs to someone else, get permission to use it

If you don't know how to operate it, leave it alone

If it is not broken, don't fix it

If it will brighten someone's day, say it

If you fall off, get back on.

There. I'm "back on" schedule.  See you in two weeks!

Our Country Kitchen

I confess:  I love cooking in a large country kitchen.  Our kitchen has 25 cupboards, 14 drawers, 2 closets, and 9 doors. It also has the original 1880's pantry, providing us with an additional 6 drawers, potato bin, large window, and 7 cupboards--one of which opens on both the pantry side and the dining room side. Very cool.

Both Kevin and I love to cook. He makes most of our meals and breakfast entrees, and I do most of the baking and dish washing. Getting adjusted to this large space was dizzying - literally - and we found ourselves walking in circles and frequently bumping into each other. Sharing the kitchen with your spouse can be pleasingly copacetic, kind of like synchronized swimming, with each having particular specialties, tasks, and timing.  But occasionally the order breaks down and it turns into a scene from Faulty Towers (...Basil!) or Hell's Kitchen (who moved the **bleeping** kitchen shears?). Fortunately, we figured out some things that work well for us, and may also work for you.  

Here's our list:

1) Never walk around the kitchen with a knife pointing outward.  This should seem like a no-brainer, but if your other kitchens were small, then you probably developed some habits that don't transfer into a large space. 
2) Keep all knives sharpened (a sharp knife is a safe knife) and store them in a slotted wooden knife tray in a drawer. Pasquale says "your knifa is lika your besta frienda and no one can hurt you lika your besta frienda."

3) Buy two free-standing paper towel holders so you always have one where and when you need it. 

4) Free yourself:  remove that annoying ring connecting your measuring spoons and cups. Buy a few sets of both and keep them inside the containers of those products you use most often like sugar, flour, popcorn, oatmeal, and pet food. The extras come in handy for multiple ingredient measuring as well.

5)  Keep the counter tops and flat surfaces clear of appliances and decorative items. Anything that does not get used every day does not belong on the counter.

6) Don't store anything in the cupboards above the stove. Ever.  

7) By all means, keep the kitchen shears IN THE KITCHEN and tools in the toolbox!

Another feature of our kitchen is a well-lit corner space next to the laundry room where I do the ironing. I love the feel of a starched napkin or pillowcase and so I toil to provide this small amenity. Last week I discovered I could make my own spray starch by mixing water and cornstarch, and, well, that just about made my day. Ask Kevin. I was giddy.

Of course, improvements can always be made to the current space. So what's on my wish list for our country kitchen?  It is not an automatic dishwasher - I actually enjoy hand-washing dishes. My dream kitchen would have the oven and the cook top as two separate units. Having to share the gas range causes some tense moments. Bing! There goes the timer. Sweetie, please step aside. I need to get into the oven NOW!!!

Winter Sport

Winter is upon us bringing short days and sustaining winds from the west. And while we are closed for the season, we engage in our favorite winter sport: RENOVATION!

Our current project is to renovate what probably was, in the original floor plans, the library. Should be simple--no plumbing, but a large room with two windows, three doors, one double pocket door, and a large walk-in closet which we'll make into a guest pantry, complete with a small refrigerator and microwave.

A blank slate, this big empty room, waiting for purpose. Make it a game or media room? Not quite in keeping with our "quiet country setting." Hire an Amish cabinet maker to construct bookcases covering the 9ft walls from floor to ceiling? Stunning, but not quite right. We waited to be inspired, and in the meantime refinished the floors, placed a few vintage chairs around a nice rug, hung a reprint of an old local town map on the wall knowing...hoping...that by and by an idea would strike us. A visit to the local printer was the inspiration we needed. Vintage maps! We visualize a quiet reading room with vintage maps of New York towns hung salon style from wooden picture rails, on walls painted the color of.......um......we'll get back to you on that! Choice can be torture.

We insulate, we hang drywall, and Kevin works diligently and tirelessly putting in switches and light boxes, and taping and mudding. Soon I'll be sporting my new Carhartt overalls (oh, goody!) and help with the sanding and painting.

As we peeled away layers of wallpaper, we exposed the trends and styles of long ago. The bottom layer is like a fresco, adhered to the crumbling horsehair plaster which, when removed, reveals square nails in the framing and lath so dry it crackles and spits when we burn it.

From behind the lath, plaster and small hickory nuts spill onto the floor, each nut hollowed out on both sides. I imagine the squirrels, who lived here when the house sat empty, scurrying through the walls, nesting, and stocking up for the cold winter.