Tag Archives: Julie Lary

Life Happens

12 Saturday Jan 2013

Posted by in Family, Home Improvement

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People often describe their life as a whirlwind. For the past month, Rich’s and mine have been a whirlwind on caffeine. It started Thanksgiving weekend after visiting my mother in Sherwood, Oregon, (southwest of Portland). In the past, Rich and I had talked about moving her to our house in Mount Vernon. Seeing her health and outlook on life wasn’t improving and frustrated with our inability to easily gauge her health, and subsequently care, we decided to proceed with moving her to Washington.

Thanksgiving Weekend

A few months earlier, after several concerning calls from my mother’s caregivers, we were going to admit her to skilled nursing center. However, we changed our minds after the root of the issue was determined. While she was left food in the evening to eat, she was feeding it to Cyrano (an increasingly obese rat terrier) or throwing it away. As a result, she was eating only a few hundred calories per day, and growing increasingly weak and disoriented.

The solution was to more closely monitor her eating; although, she continued to slip Cyrano food. For instance, one caregiver related heating up two mini hamburgers for my mother to eat. She then went outside to sweep the porch, but watched my mother feed Cyrano the meat. When she went inside, my mother said the meat was delicious, but couldn’t possibly finish the hamburger buns.

This type of behavior went on for months. By Thanksgiving, Rich and I knew we had to do something. For the rest of the weekend, we discussed what we needed to do. In-between, we enjoyed camping in our motor home (with three cats) at Battleground Lake, and Millersylvania State Park. It was going to be our last weekend for a while when we could focus just on ourselves.

Refrigerator Shuffle

The first weekend of December, we decided to purchase a full-size refrigerator for the Mount Vernon house. Since we’d bought the house, seven years earlier, we’d made-do with an itty-bitty bar refrigerator, which holds a few days of food, some condiments, cans of soda, dried up apple, we’d neglected to eat, and a bag of year-old Christmas cookies.

If my mother was going to live in the house, she’d need a larger refrigerator, in particular, one with a freezer for frozen foods. She’s barely cooked for years. And now typically eats frozen waffles, various TV dinners, canned soups, a few fresh vegetables, and an unimaginable amount of Oreos, chocolate, cakes, and cookies. I suspect most of her calories are in the form of sugar.

Saturday morning, we journeyed to the Sears in Mount Vernon and found a nice stainless steel refrigerator. However, it couldn’t be delivered until mid-January… unless we were willing to purchase the floor model and deliver it ourselves.

We had a trailer so we could move the refrigerator, but it occurred to us that we should bring the new refrigerator to our Kirkland house, and move the older refrigerator to Mount Vernon.

We rushed back to our Mount Vernon house, attached the trailer to Rich’s truck, and zoomed back to Sear’s. An hour later, after Rich draped the refrigerator in three drop cloths, and restrained it from every angle with a dozen or more straps; we were on the road to Kirkland.

As Rich freed the refrigerator in the trailer, I unloaded the one in the house. We then used a dolly to wheel the new refrigerator across the lawn, through the backyard, across the deck, and up a handful of steps, through the French doors, and into the kitchen.

I then helped Rich wheel the old refrigerator out of the house. While he secured it in the trailer, I quickly put our food into the new refrigerator and freezer, and made two sandwiches to eat in the road.

By the time we got back to Mount Vernon, it was rainy so we opted to unload the old refrigerator the next day, and spend the rest of the day getting the house ready for my mother. We removed the furniture from the guest bedroom (except for the bed), cleaning out the drawers in the bathroom, re-arranging the closets to accommodate her clothes, linens, etc. and planned how we could install a small dog run for Cyrano with a magnetic pet door.

Sunday morning, while having breakfast at Denny’s, Rich read the instruction manual for our new refrigerator and panicked when he realized that it may have been plugged in, but could still be in demo mode with the lights on, but nothing running!

Fearful our frozen food was turning to mush, and refrigerated food spoiling, we hopped into the car, and drove to Kirkland. An hour later, we discovered the refrigerator had been turned on. Grumble.

Back in Mount Vernon, we surveyed what it would take to get the old refrigerator up a half flight of stairs to the front door and up another half flight into the kitchen. The only option was to take it apart. Rich removed the shelves and drawers, along with the heavy freezer and refrigerator doors.

I was in charge of cleaning. It’s amazing how much gunk can accumulate even if you regularly scrub and clean!

Even with the refrigerator dismantled, it was challenging to pull it up the stairs. Once in place, and put back together, it was exciting to have a full-sized refrigerator, and know we didn’t have to skimp on purchasing and bringing perishable foods to Mount Vernon. In the past, we supplemented the limited capacity of the bar refrigerator with large ice chests.

Tired, but satisfied with our efforts, we drove back to Kirkland, to do some laundry and get ready for the work week!

The Big Move

The first Saturday in December, we got up hours before the roosters crow, had a quick breakfast at McDonald’s, and then drove to Oregon. Our first stop was to pick up a small U-Haul truck, which we’d reserved the week before. Rich loves to drive trucks so I could sense his excitement!

We’d already scoped out the furniture and “stuff” we planned to take from my mother’s house. While I packed up canned and packaged foods, dishes, pots, and cooking utensils, and surveyed what was in her freezer, Rich worked in the garage.

My brother showed up for two hours, which speed up cleaning out the garage, and moving my mother’s bedroom furniture (sans her bed) into the moving truck. I then transitioned to packing linens, clothes, toiletries, pictures, and collectibles.

We took a break for lunch, and then continued until early evening. My mother’s favorite caregiver from Visiting Angels kept her comfortable during the turmoil of packing up her house.

Having eaten a large lunch at McMenamins Sherwood, where we’d met nearly 12 years ago, we grabbed a cup of coffee at 7Eleven for dinner, and then drove to Target, Costco, and Wal-Mart to find a specific walker (we later purchased it online). Our goal was to “waste” time before heading to Camas, Washington to see Rich’s new grandson, Coen Lavelle Lary.

He was barely two weeks old, and after losing weight, due to jaundice, was back up to his birth weight of 7 pounds. Rich held him for over an hour, while I marveled at his full head of black hair, long delicate fingers, and Norman Rockwell-perfect face.

We slide into bed around after 11 o’clock, waking up early the next morning to finish loading the last few items into the U-Haul, get my mother ready, and then start the long drive to Mount Vernon. Rich drove the truck with Cyrano in the front seat. I drove Rich’s Honda Insight with my mother and her two cats, secured in two kitty carriers.

About ten minutes into Washington, Rich called me on his cell phone, and asked if we could keep Cyrano. Wow! That didn’t take long for his feline addiction to move to the right, to a lesser specie, a canine! Of course, I said “Yes.”

Meanwhile, it never stopped raining. The sky never lightened. The road was never dry. We couldn’t have fathomed a drearier day for a lengthy, thoroughly challenging drive… at least for me!

My mother’s short-term memory is about 30 seconds. She asked the same questions, lamented the same issues, and expressed the same anger and observations over-and-over again. Every hour, it grew worse with her convinced her cats were suffering, and that we were moments from our destination.

It took over 4.5 hours to reach Kirkland, having stopped once at Burger King for a late lunch. Because my mother can barely walk, we had to convince her to use the wheelchair, which created the challenge of getting her out of the car, onto the chair, wheeling her into the restaurant, getting her into the bathroom, getting her back outside, and into the car, etc.

And of course, the entire time, the rain never stopped!

Because we planned to be away for another few days, we stopped for twenty minutes at our Kirkland house to feed our cats, empty their kitty litter boxes, and collect the mail.

By the time, we reached Mount Vernon it was dark, cold, and still raining. We got my mother into the wheelchair, and “pulled” her up the front steps of the house, and then up half a flight to main floor. After locking up her cats, we proceeded to unload the U-Haul and set up her bed, dresser, and night stand.

While I unpacked, Rich frequented KFC. We ate more fast food in December than the prior three months!

As a whim, I decided to sort through my mother’s drawers. For the past few years, she’s been hiding food in the drawers so many were full of crumbs, along with greeting cards, articles snipped from publications and newspapers, and other tasty morsels, appealing to silverfish, spiders, and other varmints. In addition, the clothes in many of the drawers were a jumble of socks, tee shirts, sweaters, etc.

While sorting, organizing, and wiping out the drawers, I found over $2,000 in cash. Almost every drawer contained a neatly folded stake of bills!

The next morning, Monday, December 10th, we finished cleaning out the U-Haul and dropped it off at a furniture store in Mount Vernon. We went grocery shopped so my mother had food for the rest of the week, and then meet with the local coordinator for Visiting Angels.

We continued to unpack, hang pictures, and other miscellaneous tasks to get my mother settled, before returning to Kirkland.

Recuperate and Revelations

Instead of going to Mount Vernon on December 14th, as we customarily do on Friday evenings, we opted to stay in Kirkland. When we arrived in Mount Vernon, early Saturday afternoon, my mother was happy to see Cyrano, but was extremely confused, saying she’d lived in Mount Vernon for months, and prior lived in Tarzana, California. Her memory of Sherwood and life in Oregon seemed non-existent.

The reports we received from the Visiting Angels, from the prior four days, wasn’t good. She was angry, confused, and perpetually asking for poison or a knife to slit her wrist.

Her mood improved after eating, and especially after watching movies that evening. Sunday she seemed better, but was still confused thinking we’d had Cyrano for years (and not days) and that she’d been imprisoned in Mount Vernon for weeks.

Unexpected Help

Since I had Monday, December 24th off, we decided to go back to Sherwood to start tackling the refurbishing of my mother’s house. Unfortunately, Rich had gotten the flu a few days earlier. While still very sick (he had a 103-degree temperature a day earlier), he was determined to make the trip.

As we were preparing to go to bed on Friday night, December 21st, my mother called, screaming, yelling profanities, and claiming we’d dumped her in Mount Vernon, and destroyed her house. She ended the call by calling Rich and I, “Fuckers. Fuckers!”

Gotta’ love dementia!

We both slept fitfully, Rich being still very sick and me disturbed by my mother’s call. Nevertheless, we got up a little later than usual and drove the 3.5 hours to Oregon. We’d expected to find my mother’s house as we’d left it, full of furniture, kitchen and bathroom drawers packed with “stuff,” cupboards half empty, food still in the refrigerator and freezer, everything disheveled as if “someone” had quickly packed what would fit in a small U-Haul. However, when we turned the key in the door, and walked inside, we saw NOTHING. Everything, except for some cleaning supplies was gone. The floors swept. Closets and drawers cleaned out. All the food was gone. Counters wiped.

We also noticed the dryer was gone, but the washer, which was only a few months old, was still there. I immediately called my brother who said he took the dryer (claiming he thought it was a “free-for-all”), several pieces of furniture, and the food in the refrigerator and freezers.

“What happened to everything else,” I inquired.

Evidentially, Deena, a woman who originally met my mother when she was hired to clean her house, and later did a phenomenal job of overseeing my mother’s care and working with the Visiting Angles, had contacted a dozen or so local agencies, who subsequently came and took my mother’s furnishing. Deena then cleaned the entire house, including tossing out the food my brother hadn’t taken.

Even though, it was startling to see EVERYTHING in my mother’s house gone, it enabled us to immediately dive into fixing it up.

Before we began, however, I called Deena and her husband Bruce. In the past, Bruce had helped around my mother’s house, including taking her to doctor’s appointments.

We zipped over to Deena’s and Bruce’s house to borrow back a ladder, step stool, and other items we’d need to do home repairs and additional cleaning. I was thrilled to see her house. She has an amazing collection of Campbell Kids memorabilia and had been using my mother’s sewing machine to sew quilts and pillows. On her walls were needlepoints my mother had made.

It was gratifying to see some of my mother’s items in her house, and to express our appreciation for the work she’d done, not only monitoring my mother’s care, but ensuring her furnishing went to places where they’d be appreciated.

For the rest of Saturday and all day Sunday, Rich and I rolled up our sleeves, or more accurately, pulled on coveralls, and started cleaning, painting, ripping out (cat run), and assessing what needed to be done.

When we left the house on Monday morning, Rich was pleased with our progress. I felt overwhelmed.

We then stopped by Rich’s son’s house to see Coen, who was much bigger, much happier, and much more of a handful than a few weeks earlier. He’s so CUTE, but teeny at around 8 pounds. It was great to see him and his parents for an hour or two, before heading back up north.

End-of-Year Push

We made good time back to Kirkland, but stayed just long enough to care for our cats, toss our dirty clothes in the laundry, and grab items I’d need for cooking. We got to Mount Vernon late in the afternoon, but before settling down, we made a trip to the grocery store for items we needed.

When we got back, I made a pumpkin/yam pie out of a mini pumpkin I’d had since Thanksgiving. I now realize the inside of a pumpkin dries up even though the outside remains the same. Fortunately, I had enough yams to supplement, along with the all-important Cool-Whip for serving.

Dinner for Rich and I was Taco Bell. Tasty, fast, and satisfying. Rich then collapsed in a heap, still sick with a flu/cold.

Christmas morning, I started a sauce with plenty of onions, garlic, celery, ground turkey pork, and spicy sausage, and cans of tomatoes. I then went outside to work in our garden, weeding and trimming, while migratory trumpeter swans flew overhead, honked as they passed. The swans arrive in late November, and stay through February.

When I went back inside to make my mother breakfast, she started harping on how “everyone” had mistreated her, and my father wasn’t loving enough. He worked 6-days a week overseeing his garment factory in downtown Los Angeles, never smoke, drank or lounged in front of the TV, watching sports, but evidentially he wasn’t affectionate enough for my stay-at-home mother. She was only married for 13 years. When I was nine, and my brother was eleven, my father had a fatal heart attack, leaving her a wealthy widow. She regularly crowed about killing off her husband.

I totally lost it, spewing out how she wasn’t a loving person. She boosted how she’d send her kids to school when they were sick. When in my early twenties, I got mononucleosis and was running a 105-degrees, she refused to drive me to a hematologist across town because of the traffic. I had to find a friend.

On a daily basis, she chastised her kids, expecting them to cater to her needs and do the chores that were beneath her… from cleaning house to cooking, yard work, and going places with her… week-after-week-after-week.

Because she didn’t want to make my brother a “mama’s boy,” he was given significantly more freedom to hang out with friends, do homework, and skirt daily chores. I, on the other hand, was told I was going to get married, have kids, and build a mother-in-law apartment. Therefore, there was no need for me to do well in school. Instead of doing homework, I was expected to cook, clean, and spend every evening keeping her company, doing needlework and sewing.

My long suppressed outburst may have been the first time my mother got a true insight into her shortfalls, selfishness, and extreme narcissism. It rolled off her like water on a duck’s back. She claimed that she was stand-offish at my wedding, and didn’t toast us because my mother-in-law and Rich’s children “took over.” It was beyond her how humiliating it was when only three people toasted us: Rich’s mother, and his two children.

Not my mother. Not my brother. And not my brother’s girlfriend.

Growing up, she claimed that she prevented me from dating and spending time with friends to “protect me.” From what I wondered? Having my own life? As a child, she didn’t want me to leave the house – and I certainly couldn’t have friends over to the house – because she didn’t want to worry about where I was. It was easier for her to keep me busy with chores, lonely and extremely depressed at home.

After releasing years of anger, I stormed outside to continue pulling weeds, and digging up alien plants. Rich, of course, was furious at me for not holding my tongue. He said it would have been okay to scream at her if it had the ability to change a thoroughly dreadful childhood and adulthood. But, it didn’t.

After cooling off, I went inside and finished making two large casseroles of lasagna, using the sauce, which had been cooking for hours. We ate the lasagna later that afternoon. I left some for my mother and took the rest home.

I was happy to get back to Kirkland that evening, in a house filled with the things I love… Rich, bratty cats, artwork, collectibles, etc.

Wednesday and Thursday, I happily worked half-days from home! Thursday afternoon, after sending my last email, we loaded up Rich’s truck, tossed Cyrano in the back seat, and headed back down to Portland for a final “push” to work on my mother’s house.

On Friday morning, while I worked from a Motel 6 in Tualatin, Oregon, Rich met with two cabinet refinishing companies. In-between, he tore up flooring and deposited it in a dumpster he’d ordered earlier in the week. His goal was for us to put everything in the dumpster that needed to be tossed so we wouldn’t have to deal with it later. We ended up barely covered the bottom of the dumpster with flooring, baseboards, scrap wood and fencing, a sofa, wooden cabinet, stove/oven, kitchen countertop, tile, and miscellaneous trash.

In the two and a half days we worked on the house, we accomplished:

  • Removing the damaged oak laminate flooring, padding, and staples (will replace with real hardwood and carpeting)
  • Removing the kitchen counters and ordering snazzy solid surface counters to be installed in February, along with a built-in, stainless steel sink
  • Removing tile backsplashes in kitchen and repairing walls
  • Taking down the cat run and placing parts in dumpster, and starting to repair interior and exterior walls where there was a doggie door
  • Getting quotes to refinish kitchen and bathroom cabinets, and also sanding some woodwork damaged by cats
  • Pulling out the range/oven, and in the process, shattering the oven door (very dramatic and unexpected outcome)
  • Purchasing large tiles, which Rich will install by the front door.
  • Removing baseboards
  • Painting Kilz on floors and walls, which had been“perfumed” by cats
  • Painting most of the upstairs, except a bathroom, and two large walls in the master bedroom
  • Painting most of the downstairs, except the super high “challenging” wall in the living room, going up the stairs, and one bathroom

Because we were determined to get done as much as possible, we grabbed meals on the run, and on both Saturday and Sunday nights, we found ourselves at a Safeway at 8 o’clock, buying packaged salads, sandwiches, and drinks. After all, we’re a classy couple, eating our dinners with plastic forks, while watching TV at a Motel 6…next door to Stars Cabaret.

Sunday afternoon, we locked up the house, happy with our progress, and headed back to Kirkland. The weather was splendid so it was an enjoyable drive with no rain, and all sunshine.

Memorable Start to New Year

On Monday afternoon, the last day of 2012, we drove up to Mount Vernon. My mother was in good spirits, and pleased to see Cyrano, Rich and Lila.

After shopping for the things my mother needed, I made puttanesca. Even though it was super spicy, my mother kept asking for another helping. Rich and I were aghast at how much she ate!

Afterwards, we watched two movies, and could see fireworks in the distance over Burlington. We went to bed, however, a bit before midnight, marking the start of 2013 with our eyes shut.

New Year’s day was splendid. Cold and clear with trumpeter swans overhead, punctuating panoramas of snow-capped mountains. I made a filling breakfast for everyone and made sure my mother had warm clothing, and sensible shoes. She tends to wear moccasins, which don’t provide the support she needs for walking.

Rich eased her down the stairs in her wheelchair, and helped her into the car. It was the first time my mother had been outside since she’d moved to Mount Vernon, and the second trip of any distance that she’s taken in at least 12 months. The longest trip prior was Thanksgiving 2011.

We initially headed northeast to Sedro-Woolly, a small town steeped in lumbering. We then headed west through Burlington, and then Bay View, a cute town on the Puget Sound with a lovely state park where we camped several years ago. Along the way, we pass through farmlands, saw flocks of trumpeter swans, and enjoyed the gorgeous weather.

Continuing west, we crossed the bridge to Fidalgo Island, stopping in Anacortes for peppermint hot chocolate, before driving through Washington Park, and up the steep road to the summit of Mount Erie, the highest point on the island.

While in Anacortes, we stopped to visit our lot, which we plan to build on in another few years. Yes, I know we keeping say this, but we’ve started working with an architect to draw the plans for a three-story, contemporary house with several decks, and large windows for views of the Puget Sound, Mount Baker, and the refineries on March Point. We’re both excited about the prospect of building and moving into the house!

On the way back to Mount Vernon, we stopped at Burger King for hamburgers (veggie burger for me) and fries. While very particular about what she eats, and steeped in the need to always eat healthy foods, my mother has always loved fast food hamburgers.

It was a great start and unexpected start to the New Year… thanks to the weather and Rich’s patience in working with my mother.

In the coming weeks, Rich and I will be returning to Oregon to finish working on my mother’s house. Last weekend, we ordered a new range, and microwave/fan at Sear’s, and have chosen the wooden floors we’ll have installed. This weekend, we’ll pick-out Formica, which Rich will install in two of the bathrooms.

Last week, Rich hired a company to clean the roof and gutter. In early February, kitchen counters will be installed, and the cabinets refinished. There are also lots of small tasks like installing a new fire alarm, door stops, painting the fireplace another color, installed tile backsplashes in the bathroom and above the range, painting and installing new base boards, and and final cleaning of the blinds, light fixtures, and floors.

We’re feeling somewhat optimistic that we’ll be able to start leasing the house in early March!

Invocation #18: Needle Pricks of Memory

10 Thursday Jan 2013

Posted by in Invocations

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Sometimes from out of the blue, a thought flashes across our mind: An unwelcomed remembrance from the past.

Something we had said, or done, or not done, something that caused pain to someone else. And our heart becomes filled with regret and remorse.

It only we hadn’t said it, or done it; or done what we didn’t do. If only we could erase the pain we had caused; not by deliberate intent, but thoughtlessness or in the heat of a moment.

Yes we know, O Lord that in your scheme of things there is no going back; there is no undoing; no unsaying; no erasing. That what was still is.

So be it. We will accept the pain of regret, the sting of remorse. But we will not inflict the burden of guilt upon ourselves.

For it was not with malice aforethought that we committed our offenses and it should not be with malice upon ourselves that we do repentance.

O Lord, let it so be.

While my grandmother writes about the regret and remorse of saying something that caused pain. The angst is the same for words that were never spoken. I deeply regret I never said “I love you” to my grandmother. I nonchalantly jotted it down at the end of note or bottom of a card, but never spoke the words.

Conversions were ended with “thanks for calling,” “see you soon,” and “have a good week.”

It’s interesting; therefore, that this invocation, written by grandmother, focuses on what was spoken rather than the unspoken. The word and concept of “love” was eluded in my family. Until I married, it rarely escaped my lips.

Instead, directives, opinions and critiques were spoken, many petty and disparaging. Offering another point-of-view or rebuttal was seen as an attack, rather than a reasonable response. While my grandmother never spoke with malice, and was exceedingly loving, caring, and gracious, her critiques, especially of my error-riddled written school papers, often hurt.

Every Saturday, she’d visit and take a red pen to my school work. Sometimes, it was hard to find my work beneath the pools of red corrections!

While there’s “no undoing, no unsaying, and no erasing,” recognizing and reflecting on the “needle pricks of memory” is a first step in thinking before speaking. And in a sense, sometimes it is okay to say what shouldn’t be said. After all, my grandmother’s criticism of my writing, resulting in my becoming a better, more confident writer. Although, I still cringe when I see a red pen.

Much to Be Thankful For

28 Wednesday Nov 2012

Posted by in Family, Food and drink

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Thanksgiving is always the most stressful time of the year for me. Wanting to mimic “Martha Stewart style,” I always attempt to do too much in too short of time. This year was no exception; although, I firmly decided not to create an ornate annual holiday letter, to be included with holidays cards, which I would then write a personal note in each, affix a printed label, and send by the first week of December.

Instead, I spent the time scrambling to bake 12 batches cookies 10 types of candies… purchase and wrap gifts for people I’d be seeing at Thanksgiving, make a couple of side dishes for the holiday dinner, and figure out what to bring for the two days we planned to camp in our motor home.

My plan for the latter was 50% success with my baking a ham and bringing what was left in the refrigerator. I pack a variety of vegetables to make salads, but forgot the dressing. Brussels sprouts and cauliflower made it into the motor home, but not margarine. The potatoes and bacon we brought for breakfast lacked eggs. And while I managed to pack five trays of cookies to give away, the only baked goods that managed to find their way into the motor home was a sad, small container of reject cookies and candy we’d been nibbling on since we baked a few weeks prior.

We did have plenty of peppermint mocha creamer and coffee… which in retrospect was essential for camping in the damp, rainy Pacific Northwest!

Prior to slurping peppermint-infused coffee while meandering on forested trails, we left Kirkland at 4:45 on Thanksgiving morning. The three cats we took, Lila, Zephyra, and Jujube, alternated between sleeping on Rich’s and my laps, and lounging on the bed over the cab. Safely stowed under pillows on the bed in the back were the cookies, candies, and gifts. This year, we made:

  • Chocolate chip (made with peppermint chips)
  • Chocolate with peanut butter chips
  • Oatmeal with butterscotch chips
  • Oatmeal with white chocolate chips and dried strawberries
  • Exotic spice (made with cardamom, ginger, ground pepper, and other spices, plus rose water)
  • Peanut butter thumbprint with jelly (some were filled with melted chocolate chips)
  • Sugar
  • Cappuccino thins
  • Ginger coins
  • Peppermint slices (white dough, rolled in crushed candy canes… a last minute inspiration)
  • Biscotti with almonds
  • Biscotti with dried mango (very tasty)
  • Seven layer bars
  • Fudge with cashew
  • Fudge with dried cherries
  • Rum balls
  • Coconut macaroons
  • Peanut brittle
  • Mint bark
  • Tillamook toffee (like Almond Roca)
  • Cappuccino caramels
  • Candied orange, grapefruit, and lemon peels (hands down the best thing I made this year)

We arrived in Camas, Washington (the Columbia River away from Portland, Oregon) around 9 a.m. for the start of an AMAZING Thanksgiving at Rich’s son’s (Chris) house.

Shawnie, Chris’ wife, was expecting their first child in early December. Stacey, Rich’s daughter was visiting from Long Beach, California. Chris’ and Stacey’s mother, June, was visiting from Hawaii. Their sister Casey along with her husband Bryan, was visiting from Colorado. And later in the afternoon, Shawnie’s parents, and two brothers arrived.

Throughout the day, people cooking the holiday meal, nibbled on appetizers and my cookies, caught up on news, and of course, discussed politics. We enjoyed turkey roasted in a propane cooker, ham, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, paella, cranberry jello salad, cranberry relished (prepared with ginger ale), poke (amazing ahi tuna June shipped overnight from Hawaii), sautéed greens with nuts and cranberries, red cabbage salad with apples, gravy… green beans with almonds, and dressing.

For dessert there were several pies, and a pumpkin upside-down cake.

After a very filling meal, we sat in the living room, talking, giggled, and looked at pictures of Shawnie’s ultrasound.

Late breaking new!

Today, Wednesday, November 28th, at 3:30 pm, Chris and Shawnie had Coen Lavelle Lary. He was 7 pounds, 4 ounces with a full-head of black hair. Rich is a grandfather. Please refer to him as “Gramp” from this day forth!

After sleeping in the motor home, parked on the street, we had a traditional Hawaiian breakfast at Chris and Shawnie’s house, consisting of rice, fried eggs, and sausage… and of course, cups of coffee.

I’m very lucky to not only have married Rich, but married into a fabulous, fun family! Stay tuned for more about our Thanksgiving trip.

Ambling back to the U.S.

25 Sunday Nov 2012

Posted by in Sailing, Travel

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(Continuation from “Bus Ride to Remember, Mural, and Painting with the Sun”)

After a delightful day at Thetis Island, we headed to Prince Margaret Marine Park off Portland Island. North of Sidney on Vancouver Island, Portland Island was presented to Princess Margaret of the United Kingdom in 1958 to commemorate her visit to British Columbia.

It’s estimated that Coast Salish natives lived on the island 3,000 years ago, as evidenced by several kitchen middens, heaps of crushed clamshells and other artifacts. The beaches resemble what you’d see on a tropical island, stretches of bright white, finely crushed shells. Interlaced with rocky areas, some covered with layers of sharp barnacles, and others stripped bare by the pounding waves.

The middens are classified as archeological sites, and are therefore protected under British Columbia law. It felt a bit strange to travel to the pristine island in Tug Time ─ equipped with a snazzy galley, featuring a propane stove and oven, microwave, double sink, wine coolers, and teak cupboards and drawers ─ and then walk in a “kitchen,” consisting of little more than well-worn rocks and piles of smashed shells.

While hiking along the forested trails of Princess Margaret Island, we spied several raccoons below, foraging along the shore for tasty morsels. One young raccoon nervously looked around, while snatching a small crab, clam, other crustacean.

We spent the night on a mooring ball off Princess Margaret Island, going through our usual food routine of wine with cheese and crackers as the sun started to set, followed by dinner, reading and nibbling on cookies until it was time to retire to the forward berth to watch a movie on the built-in entertainment system.

For this trip, we brought:

  • Two bottles of wine
  • Two boxes of Triscuits with assortment of cheeses
  • Sourdough bread for dipping in olive oil and fresh ground peppers
  • Two boxes of Zatteran Jambalaya mix, augmented with spicy sausage, chopped onions, and green peppers
  • Salmon for barbequing
  • Zucchini and cucumbers from our garden… sliced and eaten raw
  • Dave’s Bread for Rich, and cheese pumpkin seed bread from a Chemanis bakery for me
  • Ham and turkey for sandwiches with sliced tomatoes
  • Burritos (made one evening, and then eaten cold for lunches and dinners) made from pork, green sauce, chilies, jalapeno refried beans, onions, and peppers
  • Fruit and chips (Rich can’t eat a sandwich unless he has chips)
  • Candy, dried fruit and nuts, granola bars, and cookies (from last Christmas)
  • Cereal for breakfast with hard boiled eggs

The only food we bought was coffee from Pot of Gold Roasting Company on Thetis Island (because Rich brought tasteless Folgers coffee), can of refried beans, six ice creams bars from various marinas, and cups steaming coffee.

Perfect Day Once Again in Deer Harbor

Early Wednesday morning, we checked into customs at Roche Harbor. While we waited for the mist to clear before heading back into the Sound, we sipped coffee and watched people coming-and-going… primarily boaters like ourselves and people staying at the many resorts in the area.

Roche Harbor is one of my favorite towns; it’s gorgeous with beautifully restored buildings, cobblestone walkways, gardens, and planter boxes, overflowing with flowers, boutique shops, and quaint restaurants, inns, and houses. It also has a sizable marina with many impressive yachts. It’s the Huntington Beach of the Puget Sound.

After leaving Roche Harbor, we visited Jones Island, which wasn’t overly remarkable. We tied up to the dock and hiked to the top of the island, observing a troupe of porpoises in the waters below.

Our next stop was Deer Island, which is a short distance from Roche Harbor, but diametrically opposite in demeanor. It’s a charming marina with a well-stocked store, nice showers and restrooms (if you boat, you’d understand the allure of nice showers), a couple of low-key inns, and lovely walking paths along the water.

After securing Tug Time in a slip, we enjoyed giant cones of scrumptious local ice cream, while wandering around the docks. There was a silly pseudo junk, painted with saying and pictures, TV at the tiller and spinning sail at the top. The boat resembled a family project. Check out the pictures in the gallery.

The evening couldn’t have been more perfect with a sliver of a moon in a jet black sky, lights from the walkways reflecting on the water, and a restored, older sailboat with a giant light on the top, which shone down on boat and neighboring boats. Earlier in the day, we spoke with the owner of the boat. They live on the boat in a marina near Seattle.

The next day, we reluctantly left Deer Harbor, and spent several hours driving to Anacortes. It was the first time we’d visited Anacortes by water, rather than bike or car.

There’s a Nordic Tug dealer in Anacortes so Rich wanted to go aboard several of their boats. From the outside, Nordic Tugs are sharp-looking boats with pointed fronts, curved windows, impressive smoke stacks, and plenty of room to walk around the deck.

The insides, however, were disappointing. You have to walk up a couple of stairs to get to where you steer the boat (pilot house), and then walk down several steps into the forward berth. Several times, Rich bumped his head. Evidentially, a 34-foot Nordic Tug isn’t as tall inside as a 29-foot Ranger Tug!

Plus, the bed is smaller and v-shaped. Rich barely fit. And if I was in the bed with him, I’d need to sleep in a little ball because there wouldn’t be room for me to stretch out. After we got back to Bellingham, we bumped into a man who’d chartered a Nordic Tug, and without being coaxed, commented the bed would be too small for someone of Rich’s height.

The last night of our charter was spent at Chuckanut Bay, south of Bellingham. We’ve stayed at Chuckanut several times because it’s like being part of a giant diorama with houses nestled in the hills between the turning trees with trains whistling along the water’s edge. Within minutes of our anchoring, a lengthy train started across the trestle, maybe a quarter mile way, clicking-and-clacking and adding to the magic of the moment.

Across the bay, a Coast Guard vessel had anchored, perhaps a training exercise. They spent the night, their lights, like those on a luxury vessel, sprayed across the rippling water, adding to the moonlight. It was a perfect ending to a wonderful trip.

Even better, we immediately put a deposit down on Tug Time, to charter her again next September.

Bus Ride to Remember, Mural, and Painting with the Sun

21 Sunday Oct 2012

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For the past few years, I’ve been asked by other boaters, “Have you visited Montague and taken the bus to the Hummingbird Pub?”

This year, we were able to answer, “Yes.”

Nestled in Galiano Island, Montague Harbor offers pleasant anchorage that abuts a campground, and is a short walk from several small shops and establishments to rent scooters, kayaks and canoes. There are also hiking trails in the area, meandering through forests and overlooking the beaches below.

We arrived in the early afternoon, and tied up to a mooring ball. After taking our dinghy ashore, we surveyed the area, bought ice cream in the small grocery store, ate blackberries along the side of the roads, and determined when the Hummingbird Pub bus runs, picking up campers and boaters, and bringing them into town.

We returned to Tug Time, to catch up on reading and change clothes. As scheduled, the bus arrived to much fanfare, with the driver, Tom Tompkins (a.k.a. Tommy Transit) in a black beret, his tousled, long white hair escaping out the sides, and a smile stretched from ear-to-ear welcoming us into the bus.

If you’d glanced away, you could have heard the bus coming from quarter mile away. Rock ‘n roll blasting out of the speakers, punctuated by Tommy beating on a small drum in the center of the steering wheel, tambourine mounted above the windshield, and other percussion paraphernalia (I wouldn’t go so far as to call them instruments) within arm’s reach.

Adding to the cacophony was the maracas, castanets, and other music instruments Tommy handed out to passengers, enabling them to join the fun, singing, dancing, and joking during the ride to-and-from the Hummingbird Inn. Here’s a clip from a fan.

What makes Tommy Transit so special is that he’s made a huge difference in the lives of over 150,000 people per year who stepped onto the transit buses he drove for 21 years in Vancouver, British Columbia. Tommy became a “bus driver on a mission,” acknowledging people for who they are, and the unique contributions they make.

Following his retirement, he wrote the book, “Bus Tales: How to Change the World from 9 to 5,” which offers insights on how to connect with people and find joy and fulfillment in their work. Watch a news report on how passengers helped him celebrate his 60th birthday.

Along with his musical antics, Tommy pointed out places-of-interest, including the Galiano Island Soapworks, which makes a variety of artisan soaps, candles, skin care products, and even a pet shampoo bar. There was a large farm with many beautiful horses frolicking in grassy pastures. The owner evidentially rescues race horses, which are destined for slaughterhouses.

Within walking distance of the Hummingbird Pub were several quirky stores. One was a clothing resale shop, housed in a brightly painted travel trailer. Another sold artwork and collectibles; the outside of the stop lavishly decorated with knick-knacks. Check out the pictures in the gallery to the right.

The pub is located in what was once a large rustic house. A covered patio was added on one side, and a screened sunroom in the front. Inside was a jumble of rooms, eclectically decorated with a hodge-podge of tables and chairs. We chose a small table near the bar where we could observe people coming-and-going, many of whom seemed like locals rather than tourists.

Not overly hungry, we ordered a small veggie pizza, which turned out to be one of the most TASTY pizzas I’ve ever eaten! It was a combination of what I suspect was locally grown produce, including tomatoes, sweet onions, peppers, spinach, mushrooms, zesty sauce, and mozzarella cheese on a very thin, crispy crust. We savored every bite in-between sipping strong coffee (me) and a local beer (Rich) that had a slight apricot taste.

The bus ride back to the marina was equally entertaining with people picking up an instrument as they boarded the bus, supplementing the frivolity lead by Tommy, now wearing a different hat, and more exuberant with many people waiting to be picked up, and brought to the Hummingbird Pub for good food and camaraderie.

The Gulf Islands: Blooming with Art

The next morning, we visited one of my favorite placed on Vancouver Island, Chemanius. The town works hard to attract and please tourist. The hospitality started the moment we approached the public docks with the affable harbor master grabbing our lines and helping me tie off Tug Time. The pleasure boat-friendly marina is a fairly new addition because much of the town’s waterfront is dedicated to logging and inter-island ferries.

For much of the town’s history the key industries were mining, fishing, and forestry, the latter providing work to Chinese who labored in “bull gangs,” moving huge lumber planks to ships in the late 1800’s. When the land’s natural resources dwindled, the isolated town — snuggled between a mountain range and the ocean — came up with a plan to attract visitor, and eventually, worldwide fame.

It started with a couple of mural in 1982, which today comprise over three dozen, turning the town of Chemanius into an outdoor art gallery. Click through the murals, some of which span several buildings, and are two stories in height.

Adding to the murals are outdoors sculptures, blocks of charming shops, a dramatic art center, numerous art galleries, and a large park with a view of the water and sizable amphitheater. There are also numerous bed & breakfasts, and other amenities, such as bakeries, that beacon visitors as they stroll through the town. It can take several hours to find and see all of the murals, some of which are down narrow streets and painted in unexpected places. One of my favorites is a steam train painted on the side of house.

Of course, Rich and I were drawn into a bakery, purchasing two bags of day-old pastries. Minutes later, Rich spotted what looking like a vagrant in the city park, lying down with a long-straggly, gray beard, and baggy clothes. Rich offered him his bag of pastries, which he initially declined, and then accepted.

I scolded Rich for giving away his pastries, saying I wasn’t going to share mine. Naturally, five minutes later, I gave him half a tasty coconut, chocolate yummy.

After spending a few hours in Chemanius, including visiting the charming Hansel & Gretel’s Candy Company where Rich bought a bag of tangy licorice, we headed back to Tug Time, waited for the small inter-island ferry to depart, and then cast-off for a short trip over to Telegraph Harbor on Thetis Island.

Named in 1851 after HMS Thetis, a 36-gun Royal Navy frigate, Thetis Island has a population of 350 people, with the few settlers arriving in 1874. The key industry seems to be tourism with between 1,000 and 2,000 people flocking to the island during the warmer months, for the day or overnight, at one or the many bed & breakfasts or the two pleasure boat marinas. We chose to stay at Telegraph Harbor Marina because it offered free Wi-Fi so we could use Sputnik (our netbook) and my Windows Phone.

All of the community services on the islands, except the school, are provided by volunteers. It being early in the afternoon, we had plenty of time to explore the lightly popular populated island. One of my favorite aspects of boating is the anticipation of the unexpected. Thetis was exceptional: From the cobbled-together buildings, which comprise Thetis Harbor Marina and Pub, to the sites on our walk to-and-from Telegraph Harbor Marina.

Because we prefer showering ashore, rather than using up the water on our boat, our first stop was to check-out the bathrooms and showers. We walked up a short, nicely landscaped pathway to a door, which lead to a covered, wooden, outdoor staircase. As we climbed the stairs, we could see the rooftops of the other marina buildings. The stairs came to another door, inside was a narrow hallway with three showers to the right, and two small bathrooms to the left. It was clean and tidy, and latter provided plenty of hot water!

Next, we ventured to the small marine store and post office, on the opposite side of the marina complex, and also up a set of somewhat rickety wooden stairs. Rich and I are always on a quest for ice cream. We found none in the store, but I was intrigued by the breath of generic canned goods. Shelves of cans and boxes with white labels, stating what’s inside and the ingredients. No brands. Simply rows of cans and boxes of fruits, vegetables, meats, spaghetti sauce, pastas, and other staples.

There was also a liquor store, located inside the marina restaurant. Everything a boater, or local resident, could need was in an odd assemblage of buildings, half extended over the water on pilings, half on the terra firm or up flights of stairs. According to one website, the first building at the marina was an old chicken coop that had been floated up the bay in 1940.

A short walk from the marina was the inter-island ferry landing. It had just pulled up, and was unloading passengers, including the raggedy old man who Rich gave his pastries to in Chemanius. He was carrying several bags of groceries. I have a feeling he wasn’t poor and homeless, simply a recluse who lived on Thetis Island and visited Chemanius to get his groceries… or maybe to enjoy the ambiance of the larger town.

Within walking distance of the ferry was probably the largest enterprise on the island, the Capenwray Harbour Bible School. The evangelical Christian post-secondary institution hosts with up to 140 full-time students during the year, and over 4,000 participants in Christian-oriented course offered during the non-school year. The campus was immaculate with Tudor-style buildings, acres of mowed lawns, outdoor amphitheater, pens of happy animals, and many dormitory and support buildings.

Around a couple of bends, we came to a farm store. In front was an elderly man, stooped over a long piece of wood, thick goggles covering his eyes with a magnifying glass in one hand, held over one spot on the wood. Intrigued, I dashed across the road.

The artist was Bud Hnetka, a self-taught Canadian artist who using a technique called solar pyrography, which focuses the strength of the sun through a lens to burn images onto wood. The process is slow, deliberate, and as Hnetka wrote on his blog, “I generally work in public and the spectators think that I’m either the most patient person in the word or just plain bonkers!!”

To create deep layers, he might pass over a spot on the wood 40 times. The result is extraordinary. The pieces took my breath away, especially the ones with the multiple trees and foliage on pieces of wood with distinct grains. To add depth, he adds a little color to the etchings. See the photo gallery below for a sample of one of these pieces, and read more about the amazing art of Solarbud

As we walked to the Telegraph Marina, we passed by many blackberry bushes, the berries satiated my thirst, and stained my fingers purple. Because the Gulf Islands are so far north, blackberries that start ripening in Oregon in July, don’t turn purple in Washington until August, and are finally sweet in Canada in September.

There’s a night and day difference between Telegraph and Thetis Marina. The former is pristine with swathes of groomed lawns, flower-lined paths, tidy store with a soda fountain, offering milk shakes, sundaes, fresh baked pies, and other goodies, including cups of Thetis Island Pot of Gold Coffee. You can eat in the bistro or have them deliver food to your boat.

Like Rosario Marina on Orcas Island, Telegraph Marina is park-like with covered areas, comfortable chairs, picnic tables, swings, volleyball, horseshoes, shuffleboard, and other amenities. We stayed for a few minutes, warming ourselves in the sun, and looking over the beautiful expanse of the bay.

On our walk back, we stop at Pot of Gold Coffee Roasting Company, located in what may have been a house, decades earlier. The family-owned business has been roasting coffee in Canada for over 30 years, using Gertrude, a Gothot brand coffee roaster from Germany, built in 1953, and Ferdinand, a bigger roaster purchased in 2011.

We got to see both machines, along with the bags of green coffee beans, waiting to be ground and shipped out the following day. We purchased a bag of Mexican Organic Oaxaco Ky-Chee coffee, which had been roasted a few days earlier.

The company offers 25 varieties of coffee, which is only available through mail order… or if you happen to visit Thetis Island. As I write this article, I’m drinking a cup of their coffee!

Having explored a small slice of the island, we returned to Tug Time to read, nibble on cheese, and drink wine. While lounging, we heard a noise in the background, which aroused us from our stupor. We watched as a float plane whizzed over the water within 30-40 feet of our boat, touched down, glided to the dock, dropped off a passenger, and was then back in the air within ten minutes. Cool!

It was the perfect ending to a glorious day.

Invocation #17: Stop Waiting and Live

09 Tuesday Oct 2012

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Sometimes it is as if time itself stands still. Stands still and waits.

It waits as we wait for a late one to come home. It waits as we wait for the telephone to ring with a measure of reassurance. It waits for a door to open; a door to close.

It waits for a decision to be made; a verdict handed down; a granting, a rejection. It waits for a miracle that whatever we fear will not come to pass.

It waits for a dawning of a new day after a long, lonely night. It waits outside operating rooms, and beside hospital beds.

It waits and we wait and we cannot pick-up the threads of our life until we are caught up with the event and come face to face with it.

Until such time, O Lord, give us the patience to endure the waiting; give us the confidence that we can face whatever we encounter. Give us the strength to accept or overcome.

Give us, O Lord, time as a friend.

Over the course of several years, my grandmother wrote over 60 invocations. Originally, I thought they were read during Friday night services, but I suspect they were only heard by a handful of people at the Emanuel Seniors meetings, held at Temple Emanu El in Burbank, California.

Not wanting these invocations to be hidden away, one day to end up in a recycling bid, I started publishing them on my blog. While my intention is to publish one a week, I often get sidetracked, caught up in work and daily demands.

Sometimes, however, I get a sudden urge to share the next invocation in the series. More often than not, what my grandmother wrote is highly pertinent to what’s currently happening in my life. This invocation is no exception.

I’m in a holding pattern. Waiting for the next shoe to drop in the care of my mother. Waiting to find out what twists my career will take. Waiting to see the design from the architect hired to sketch out the house we’re wanting to build on the lot we purchased eight years ago. Waiting to see if we’ll have the resources to build the house. And waiting (and hoping) that Rich’s job lasts until he can retire in a few years.

Waiting.

It’s sad because one of the keys to happiness isn’t waiting. It’s enjoying every moment as if it’s your last. It’s relishing the small things like seeing a sunrise through the morning mist. Laughing at the pink-toed opossum that eats dog food off our deck. It’s snugging with a cat. Warm coffee with plenty of cream. Red pears and orange pumpkins. It’s delighting in the fall colors. And kissing your husband in the morning, and wishing him sweet dreams at night.

And yes, it’s the confidence to face whatever we encounter, and the strength to accept what we cannot change.

Tug Time Again!

25 Tuesday Sep 2012

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It’s been a few days since we returned from our annual boating trip around the Puget Sound and Canadian Gulf Islands on the amazing “Tug Time”, a 29-foot Ranger Tug. Not only did we have extraordinary weather, and Rich expertly plotted the course and itinerary, but we found ourselves in the middle of a super pod of orca whales! It’s taken five years boating in the Northwest to see even one whale. To see dozens within the span of half an hour was unbelievable.

We started our trip very early Saturday morning after spending the night on the boat. We charter from San Juan Sailing in Bellingham, which allows you to attend the safety, orientation, and check-out meetings on Friday afternoon, along with stowing food, clothing, and other stuff on the boat so you’re ready to go in the morning.

Earlier in the day, Rich and I visited our Mount Vernon house to pick produce (piles of zucchini and cucumbers, which we gave to the San Juan Sailing staff), and also collect our boating gear, linen, pillows, and other stuff we’d been accumulating for the trip.

With an hour before the start of the mandatory safety meeting, we visited the Marine Life Center at the Port of Bellingham, where we watched a marine scientist feed a live crab to a hungry Giant Pacific Octopus. The latter quickly wrapped its body and tentacles around the crab, and according to the scientists either drilled a hole in the crab’s shell with its beak and slurped out the meat or crushed the crab, and then picked through the shell for edible morsels.

More pleasant to watch was the delicate shrimp, colorful sea urchins, starfish, and anemone, and humorous crabs. One tiny crab, with long thin legs camouflages itself by “gluing” bits of plant life to his body and legs. It resembled a fragile plant with long stems with puffs of greenery. According to the scientist, once a week, when the tank is refreshed with seawater, the crab re-decorates its body.

It was late at night before we slid into the cozy bed on Tug Time. We had to make an emergency trip to get Haagen Dazs bars… and three boxes of vintage candy. Throughout the trip, we made similar shopping excursions, such as buying giant ice cream cones at the Deer Harbor marine store on Orcas Island.

Because we were able to leave Squalicum Harbor very early in the morning, we were escorted into Bellingham Bay by a herd of seals, who camp out by the fish processing plant at the entrance of the harbor. I barely had time to grab my camera before they dove under the water in search of their breakfast.

Our first stop was the Canadian custom’s dock at Pender Bay, which was over five hours away (32 nautical miles) so there was no dawdling. Thankfully, we only had to wait a few minutes to pull up to the custom’s dock even though several boats were ahead of us. We docked, checked-in, and left within ten minutes. Our records in the Canadian database must say, “Dull, middle-aged, American couple. No need to ask too many questions.”

We had a choice of mooring balls in the Beaumont Marine Park, further into the bay. Using Rich’s new-fangled carabineer/polypropylene contraption, I was able to easily grab the pennant on a ball, tie-off to a cleat, thread in two lines, and then hand the lines to Rich to walk to the bow of the boat. In non-nautical terms, it significantly sped up grabbing and tying off to a mooring ball.

After a quick lunch, we took our dinghy ashore to hike around South Pender Island, and climbed Mount Norman. The highest point on the island at 320 meters (1,050 feet) Mount Norman was worth the effort of putting one foot in front of the other for 4 long, steep miles. The view from the top is spectacular. Check out the pictures!

The next morning, we dilly-dallied before heading to our next destination. As we headed out of Pender Bay, Rich saw a collection of boats in the distance, and on channel 16 (Coast Guard) on the VHF radio, a boater mumbled about seeing an orca whale. I quickly turned to channel 79, which is used by the whale boat operators. Rich meanwhile, gunned Tug Time!

Minutes later, Rich stopped the boat, and I clambered onto the bow with camera in hand. The whales were coming from three different directions, most likely we saw three different pods of whales, converging in what’s known as a super pod. By law you can’t get too close to the whales, and because the whales were coming from several directions, the best plan was to stop, wait, watch, and hope they swim close to your boat.

Ten minutes later, we were rewarded with four or five orcas surfacing within a few hundred feet of Tug Time! You can see how close they got in several of the pictures. Unfortunately, they swim crazy fast, and are above water for only a few seconds.

My Grandfather’s Humor

29 Wednesday Aug 2012

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While my grandmother was introverted, my grandfather was extremely extroverted with a keen sense of humor and childlike delight. The only boy in a family of seven older sisters, he had bright red hair, which further called attention to his unique wit. Until his last breath, he’d regularly walk up to strangers, start a conversation, and inevitably share a humorous observation.

Throughout the years, my grandmother typed up tributes to his humor. And then lost, rewritten, and lost the tributes again. She wrote, “I don’t know how many copies there might be around. I hope each includes another incident of his humor and wit.”

The one below was written on December 12, 1994. 

w w w

Anyone can make another cry, but who can make another laugh is blessed. Morris is thrice blessed. He can make the dourest of men cackle with glee. The laughter rises, bubbles out of him. And the words have a special child-like innocence. They are funny, outrageous, unexpected – never demeaning or lewd.Rose_cropped

Julie, as a young child, wrote on a greeting card, “Grandpa always says the right thing to break the tension.”

His wit is spontaneous. I’d shake my head in wonder as to how he could switch the serious to reveal the humor.

For last Mother’s Day, Allan [son] and Elaine [daughter-in-law] gave us a lovely kitchen wall clock. When we next met at Douglas’ [grandson] house, Morris out of the blue reminded Elaine of the clock. Then putting on a face of mock dismay he lamented “Oh that clock is giving us so much trouble.”

Elaine alarmed, asked, “Why, what’s wrong?”

His hands flipping in exasperation Morris answered, “All day, all night the clock taunts, ‘What time is it? What time is it? What time is it?’ It’s enough to drive you crazy!”

Some weeks later, when Allan stopped over, Grandpa said to him with a straight face, “That’s a terrible clock you gave us.”

Allan inquired, and the response was,” Because every time I look it has a different time; never the same!”

Now who else would think of anything so ridiculous; it evokes genuine laughter.

Some people have inferred our house must peal with laughter all day. However, Grandpa could roll out a barrel of lightning and thunder when displeased. He could also find cause for turning off the scowl and putting on the grin.

w w w

When we’re at Ralph’s [grocery store], and Grandpa is wandering down the aisles, I’m not surprised when I hear bursts of laughter from some corner.

I shake my head in wonderment as to where his humor derives. Surely not out of these pens, whose ink keep running dry.

Rose Ridnor

Ordinary Tasks without Conscious Thought

22 Wednesday Aug 2012

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My grandparents lived in Burbank, California, which enabled them to save on electricity by using a clothes line instead of a dryer. As a child, I remember handing my grandmother, Rose, clothes pins as she hung out the week’s wash.

They lived in a small bungalow with a tiny utility room off the kitchen for their hot water heater, wash tub, several narrow cupboards for storing food and cleaning supplies, and a small washer with hoses and cords awkwardly stretched to reach the plug, faucets, and drain.

No doubt, the washer was considered a luxury, justifying it’s coveted place in the utility room, and need to cater to its peculiarities. One afternoon, it showcased how we tend to mindlessly perform routine tasks.

w w w

September 1963

One morning, just as Grandpa was coming in the back door, I heard the washer complete its cycle. Busy in the next room, I called out, “Honey, will you please shut of the faucets.”

Preoccupied with some gadget in his hand, he nevertheless stopped and shut them off. Rose_cropped

Later, I noticed he had not disconnected the electric cord, and he happened to be outside within earshot, I called to him, “Honey, next time you shut-off the faucets, will you first…”

I got no further.

He called back, “I didn’t shut off the faucets.”

“You did. I asked you to.”

“I didn’t.”

And you know me, always trying to prove my point, I insisted he come in and let me show him. “I never leave it like this I always disconnect the electric cord first, like this,” I explained as I pulled out the plug.

Re-opened the faucets, I showed how I stretch the cord across both faucets, letting the end dangle. I then continued, elaborating on how when I close down the handles so it can’t fall behind the washer or get entangled in jumble of other cords and hoses behind the washer.

Grandpa listened, and watched me in silence. When I finished, he asked quite coldly, “Are you insinuating that I am losing my marbles, that I don’t know what I am doing or what I did?

“Of course not,“ I assured him, “it’s just that we do things so automatically…” Turning away, I could see he was rather disturbed. I had the good sense to shut my mouth along with the faucets.

Later that evening, not wanting to make an issue of it, or discuss it further. I hurriedly threw in a remark during a TV commercial that he was exaggerating the importance of that memory lapse, and he should have no doubts about his mental alertness.

But let’s face it. As we get older, we are inclined to get more forgetful and absentminded. I don’t think, however, it is due to mental deterioration as to our being creatures of habit, and automatic reaction. As we get older, there are more things we learn to do without forethought.

It was not necessary for Grandpa to disengage his mind from the gadget in hand in order to disconnect the faucets. His fingers knew to comply without calling upon his mind for directions.

Many a time, I myself have returned to service the machine to find I’d already done. So what’s so terrible about that? I’ve also come into the kitchen to find I had forgotten to turn down the burners and the pot is boiling like mad. Please refrain from telling me what’s so terrible about a boiling pot!

The other day, I looked high and low for a spool of thread to find I had accidentally put it where it belonged, which is the last place I’d think of looking. I just shrugged my shoulders and called myself an idiot. What would I gain if I sat down and worried about it?

I think it’s a healthier sign to be able to do ordinary tasks without conscious thought, even if we don’t remember having done them, than to be burdened with constantly having to be aware of the actions of our body. If doing routine tasks means wholly concentrating on the step-by-step tasks of directing our fingers, hands, arms, and legs, we’d never get beyond buttoning our shoes.

I do believe in providing gentle nudges to my memory. While I once I might have prided myself on not needing reminders, now I am not ashamed to circle on the calendar when bills are due, important dates, things to buy, tasks to do, and when someone is scheduled to visit or I’m supposed to be somewhere.

My desk and is peppered with notes and reminders.

Of course, I may promptly misplace the lists and reminders, but then I could always write another reminder to remind me to look for a reminder that…

Rose Ridnor

Zucchini to Meatloaf

22 Wednesday Aug 2012

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It’s been an exceptional year for growing produce. Our garden in Mount Vernon has produced piles of radishes, carrots, lettuce, arugula, kale, peas, beans, broccoli, cauliflower, yellow tomatoes, cucumbers, and in the past few weeks, a dozen or more huge zucchinis.

On Saturday, Rich and were at a picnic. We brought three large zucchini, which we hoped to pawn-off onto other. One woman, Bernie, was delighted to take one of our mammoth squash.  She said she was going to make meatloaf out of it. imageShe shared her recipe, which I made on Sunday…

  • Remove the seeds from a large zucchini, and finely grate
  • Mix with 3-4 pounds of ground meat (I used 2.5 pounds of 7% ground turkey and 1 pound of spicy ground pork sausage)
  • Add oatmeal (cup or two)
  • Add salt, pepper, garlic, and other seasonings (I used some Mrs. Dash Extra Spicy)
  • Put in loaf pans lined with foil
  • Bake at 350-degrees until done
  • Pick up foil with meatloaf inside, and drain off water
  • Enjoy! Your meatloaf will be moist, flavorful, and healthy!
  • Freeze the meatloaves you won’t be eating immediately