New Year's Eve, part 3

New Year's Eve, part 2

so now it's New Year's Eve. . . and I'm bloggin'

not your ordinary holiday, or is it?

blogging on Christmas Eve???

I guess some would say I should get a life???

But it's been one of those simple pleasure kinds of days . . .

Can't remember the last time I baked macaroni and cheese. . . Maybe when the kids were little? Or made a German chocolate cake . . . Yes I do snap my own greenbeans, sometimes. . . fix both ham and turkey on occasion too. Today, it was all about the sheer simplicity of the menu, the simple pleasure of sharing it with family, and the pleasure of finding just the right combination to satisfy all those varied palates.

Too soon to share the gift stories--only Christmas Eve after all. But Campbell says I have his "number" (let's see what he builds with his tools this year. . .) and Michelle is in Tiffany heaven and my refrigerator gallery is about to graduate from clutter to elegance, thanks to Christie. . .

So, when everyone left my house for the next stops in their soveryfull lives, I opted for the children's Christmas Eve service--too tired for Midnight Mass and wanting to get out early tomorrow to see what Santa leaves tonight on his two other local stops. . . 5pm service. I snagged one of the last parking places in the back lot at 4:20. Not a seat to be found inside, until Father Bob makes this Southern gentlemen plea and one Southern gentleman finds me and offers me his seat. And, like a Southern lady (sorry, Mama, I wasn't very French independent tonight), I say thank you. Front row, one of the best seats in the house for the children's Christmas pageant. Two favorites: "hark, the herald angels. . ." (Mama always asked me to sing that for her at Christmas, in those long ago days when I actually could sing!) and "away in a manger. . ." (old favorite with a new memory today, Michael singing to the Baby Jesus in his green wicker cradle on my hearth this afternoon) . . .

I must have been a very good girl this year, I think, to be so richly blessed on this Christmas Eve. . .

Joy to our world

and peace to all people of good will . . .

Christmas and paper cranes. . .

Paper cranes are the oldest ornaments on my tree. . . I've made a zillion of them, before and since this one and her sisters came to be--but kept none but the original family. I think there are seven of them now. . .

I can still make them from memory. And I did so just the other day--a get well wish for a dear friend and colleague. . .

Amazing how one thin book, an amazing story between its covers, has shaped so much of my life. Sadako, in her lifetime, did not reach her personal goal of 1000 (and, honestly, I doubt my "zillion" is close to 1000 either) but, in her memory, shoolchildren around the world fold thousands each year. This is one of the few years when I haven't taught some of them how . . . yet.

Charleston in December. . .

I really, really, really did not want to spend the last three days at a conference in Charleston!

But I'm glad, from this vantage point, that I did. . .

Simple pleasures. . .

being among friends

splurging on dinners that cost waaaay too much

but taste oooooooh so good

laughter

knowing it's OK to be me

books, books, and more books

valuing old customs and new ideas

feeling good about Monday's presentation

and checking it off as done

summer in December

having someone to clean up after me

not minding a bad hair day

leaving the car parked for three days

walking

taking the stairs

clearing my mind for the days ahead

and filling up my heart

with peace

blue room dreamer. . .

Had to brush away a few tears this morning . . . I hadn't expected that.

It was early in the ballet--a schoolday morning, 350+ seventh-graders and their chaperones. Dark, thankfully, since I'm not sure what the students on either side of me would have thought or that I could have explained. . . Tears.

I've always had a soft spot for Ebenezer Scrooge--in black and white, recast as the Grinch, Ebenezer the boy, and Ebenezer the old man shivering in his miser-y. But I did not cry today for Ebenezer, the boy on stage. A piece of me envied his experience--his to live on this stage at this moment in time. Mine only to dream all those long years ago in that blue, blue room . . .

I chart the best memories of my adolescent and teen years--and all the years since--by their music. "Greenfields" was my first love, "Chestnuts roasting . . .," my second (though I would not, until years later, see or taste my first chestnut). But the discovery that was to last a lifetime, the discovery of this thing called "classical music" (I now know I'm a lover of all things adagio), shaped a space in which dreams, however improbable, were infinitely possible.

The first record--long-playing, vinyl?--was a sampler of classics, a TV promotion. I've always thought my mother was the one who ordered it but, of late, I'm discovering Daddy bought things too then, like the aluminum Christmas tree . . . ? The record--just enough to make me so very hungry for more.

More came in the guise of the Nutcracker Suite. Overnight, the clutzy swan of uncertain equilibrium (my mother reminded me of that chronic flaw this Thanksgiving) became a ballerina. I savored those rare moments when the house was all mine--when in the privacy, first of the Candlewood kitchen and, at long last, senior year, the Hardee Road blue room, I danced my heart out. Twirling, twirling, one leg raised to clear a chair back. In my most sacred of dreams I danced the "Pas de Deux" with a faceless partner, someone much like this morning's young Ebenezer.

Tears, but with a smile, for the blue room dreamer . . . for the stuff of which rainbows are made. I still dream improbable--yet infinitely possible, somehow, some way, some day--dreams.

doctor, lawyer, Indian chief

What I really want to write about is pretty simple, but certainly not a simple pleasure . . . so should I? But, if I don't write something today, November slips by unrecorded . . .

I could write about . . . finally finding
a new primary physician
I might be
willing
to see
again

but I can't write about the fact that,

because I don't go to doctors as a rule,

my insurance won't cover

a penny of her bill

("not covered,"

"exceeds allowable,"

"you haven't started

using your deductible")

or, I could write about being

thankful for the gift of

good health

but not that I question why

"borderline" is

"normal"

or, I could write about how

I've figured out how to do

the last seven--

and next two--

doctor/dentist

appointments

without missing

a day of

work or summer

but not

that I have my priorities

confused

or I could save

writing about

health

and

doctors

and

all things related

until . . .

maybe never?

Good idea!

But,

you know,

there is something to be said

for being told you have

a good

(AKA perfect EKG)

heart. . .

Enough said!

Daddy and his girls . . .

I remember . . .

the travels of Flat Garrett . . .

Flat Garrett has been my almost constant companion since he arrived in my mailbox on Tuesday. I have to send him home to Pennsylvania, probably on Wednesday, so that he can tell his friends at Oakdale Elementary what he's been up to in this faraway state.


Click on the title of this post to read F.G.'s letters home if you want to know what he really thinks of his week with Grandmommy!

Flat Garrett
taking a break
from pansy planting
this afternoon.

Dear Amazon.com Customer,

Is the email copied below another inconvenient truth? Or perhaps simply a timely reminder that maybe I should make the effort to WATCH that DVD, assuming that I can find it . . .


I did have a very environmentally-friendly day--outside, reel mowing and pansy planting. I wonder about the Colorburst fertilizer though . . . but I only used a little bit, I promise!


Oh, and about that email . . .


Yesterday, Al Gore won the 2007 Nobel Peace Prize for his work on raising global environmental awareness, spreading the message in books and the Academy Award(R)-winning documentary "An Inconvenient Truth." The popularity of these titles and other films such as "Planet Earth" and "March of the Penguins" proves there's no shortage of interest in the subject of our planet. As someone who's bought environment-related titles, you can find more books and DVDs on Al Gore and the environment below.

September and Parseltongue. . .

Yeah, it's September. . . and a 3-day weekend! I've already turned the calendars--porches and Liberty Enlightening the World--to new leaves.

Yes, the last three Harry Potter books were awesome--infinitely better than the first three (still have to read the 4th, the character development/coming of age one, or so I'm told). I'm still grieving for my lost hero (end of book 6) and, this misty September morning, wishing I knew how to speak in parseltongue.

I met a snake--the third of the summer. The first surprised me. Not much bigger than an earthworm. I watched it wriggle away. The second had an attitude. Tiny too, but it had to go. Snakes don't die easily. . .

This morning's was over a foot in length--big enough to command some respect, if not fear. I have mixed emotions about snakes. I remember the winter-sleeping copperhead that cost my brother half a wedding-ring finger (luckily not his arm or his six-years-young life!).. I remember the baby copperhead that fell out of the fish net (hung to dry in a tree) and onto my mother's head. I remember my own encounters with others of their species--BACK UP SLOWLY. DON'T ACT SCARED. WHEN YOU'RE FAR ENOUGH AWAY, RUN LIKE CRAZY. I'm still here, so apparently that worked.

But then there was Blackie, who wrapped himself around the vacuum cleaner in the dining room/hallway of our rustic mountain home when Jamie was a baby. Blackie, who kept the mice away. Blackie, whose silver shed skin came with us as a dual memo/trophy when we moved to South Carolina. We said he was a black snake. Apparently, or so I learned this year, thanks to Michael, he was a black RAT snake.

I really wanted that snake not to be there this morning, just inches from the yellow jacket nest that appears to have been abandoned without my intervention (or are there larva down there just waiting for the spring?). I wanted to eradicate the baby trees and vines that had sprouted there while I kept my distance (I decided maybe it was wise to respect a horde of yellow jackets) some of July and all of August. I asked this snake, very nicely, to move. He flicked his tongue but I haven't a clue what he said to me. . . He stayed. His turf.

So I looked him up, to give him a name. I think it's Thamnophis sirtalis, a mouthful for sure. Or should we call him garter snake? If he eats bugs I don't like, I might be thankful I spared him. If he eats earthworms--my woods are a fisherman's dream--I might think differently. . .

September, if not parseltongue. . . Glad it's here!

Cassie is 1

Don't let the bow fool you. She's a legend in her own time!




Smile for Daddy :)





A feast fit for a [medieval] princess - no fork necessary!

little girls . . .

Cassandra Eve, loved books before she walked. . .




How soon they grow up. . . Kira Rose, a kindergartener at last :)





Can you believe Kelsey's in high school???

Reflections: Honoring United Airlines Flight 93

On a crisp-like-spring July Saturday, I visited the Flight 93 memorial chapel--Thunder on the Mountain--and the temporary memorial at the crash site outside Shanksville, Pennsylvania. My daughter--who was on a plane the morning of September 11 and who attended the first anniversary memorial at this site--and her family were with me that morning. The simplicity of that informal memorial site--the faded angels of freedom, wildflowers bowing their lacy heads toward sacred ground, handcrafted tributes from children, grafitti celebrating the lives of heros. . . How could a formal national memorial, such as the one projected to be dedicated on the 10th anniversary of this loss, improve on such simple perfection?

The Little Old Lady Who Wasn't Afraid of Anything

One of my best reading memories was that weekend when Mason, not yet 4, delightedly joined me in a choral reading of The Little Old Lady Who Wasn't Afraid of Anything. And yes, that now-10-year-old tween hasn't been afraid of much since!

Michelle, do you still have the video :) ?

of June and fireflies . . .

I've started a second blog--haven't gone public with it yet though--called why i am NOT a writer. . . This has meant going waaaaaaay back in time, high school and college, Grainger and Duke, to discover what I've buried so deep all these years. Not exactly simple, not exactly pleasurable...just necessary in my quest to understand my own writing history so that maybe I can avoid repeating it with others.

But, in the midst of that shattered dream, I rediscovered, yes, simple pleasures. Looking out the stairwell window at dusk today. . .flickers of light in my oh-so-happy azalea thicket by the drive. Fireflies. My favorite Duke memories--ranking right up there with basketball (I'm having serious trouble getting past the first few pages of Last Shot at the moment!) and PP&M and Rubenstein--are fireflies in the magnolias on spring evenings on East Campus. . . Fireflies in my azaleas tonight. . . Yes!

It's been one of those years when the mind desperately needed physical therapy! My much neglected yard (thank you, Michelle and Rick, for the lawnmower resurrection) finally bubbled up to the top of the must-do-now list. I've been stung (three times, different days), poison ivied (probably not for the last time--found more of the demon to exorcise today), surprised by a snake (garter, not much bigger than some of my earthworms), scratched (monster vines with serious thorns and trash-can-lid tubers for roots), ant-bitten, muddied and sweated through and through. I've filled past capacity and hauled to the curb for pickup about 50 39-gallon trashbags of vines, prunings, roots, branches, and trees (the tall skinny types) that I've felled and chopped into sections trash pickup folks will accept. I've used about a pint of gasoline (need to remember to get some for the mower this week). The rest, except maybe the CO2 I exhaled in the process, has been environmentally-friendly me-power and hand tools.

I'm a real person again!

God has smiled on me. Rain, blessed rain. The grass, tentative at first, not knowing what to think about being force-fed after famine, is hopefully, eagerly even, exploring barren ground.

The "park", sloping away from the drive, and the gazebo behind it sold the house to me nine years ago. I began there, reclaiming established beds and the clearings between them. I've spread 50 bales of pinestraw and could easily spread 100 more. . . Maybe next year, after the leaves fall. . . But the woods out back had never, in all this time, reached the top of the list. Maybe one section here, another a year or two later, but clearing out all the undergrowth??? This will be the year. . .

Even being in class (perennial studentitis) last week and this has not diverted my gardener's sense of mission. . .

Oooh, and the 5 pounds I acquired while exercising only the mind last year? Gone, all gone. But enough sag and bulge remaining to amply fuel the mission . . .

Bees and ants making homes in the ground and Japanese beetles ravishing roses in planters out front and those white sucking things on evergreen leaves and stems everywhere. I've been seriously considering a yard-wide insecticide sweep. Until I saw fireflies in my azaleas tonight. . .

Simple pleasures. . .




"After" photos will be posted soon :)

Simple pleasures....

My two boys were at their dad's house on Mother's Day. Sunday, May 13th, at 0745, the phone rings. It is my 10 yo son Mason. He says "Happy Mother's Day!" My heart smiles. Then my 7 yo son Campbell gets on the line...."Happy Mother's Day". My heart smiles wider.

Monday, May 14th, at 2:15pm, I pick Campbell up from school. He has in hand a booklet for me, with each page colored and precious words written on it. Here are some of the phrases he wrote:

"This to let you no I love you Mama so much and happy mothers day and I love my mama so so so so so so so so much"

"My mom's the very best at: Loveing."

"I love my mom most when: She cooks becaus she makes it so good."

"These words describe my mother:

M....Mobile
O....Outstanding
T....Together
H....Happy
E....Entertaining
R....Respected"

Monday, May 14th 2:25pm: I pick up Mason from the elementary school. In hand is a grocery bag containing two bedraggled pots of flowers he's been keeping for me since Friday. A pot of marigolds and a pot containing a Gerbera Daisy. I hug Mason, and he says "Mama!! Not at school!!!" He then says "That's a daisy. I asked to make sure, because I know you love daisies"

Simple pleasures....a child's love for his mother.

Life is Nuts.
Let me tell you about my past two weeks.

* Went to turn on our home computer, and got a ‘blue screen of death’. After a bit of diagnosis, realized our hard drive crashed – lost all of our family pictures of our three children for the past 9 months (including Halloween, Christmas, Ski Trip where our 4 year old was skiing from the top of the mountain).

* Turned on our other home computer (for the kids), to see if we backed up our data from the above computer, and got another blue screen of death. Killed two computers in 2 hours.

* Kelsey, our daughter, had strep throat. It wasn’t getting any better, and she was in tremendous pain despite being on antibiotics. Our pediatrician kept saying ‘just wait –it’ll get better’. We waited, it didn’t, we persisted, and low and behold ended up admitting her to the hospital for a very serious infection.

* Took our Xbox to grandparents so the kids could play with it (they stayed with them for the weekend). Went to turn it on and it died. (trend here about electronics and our family!)

* Setup the DVD player for the kids at grandma and grandpa’s – they REALLY wanted to watch ‘Shark Boy and Lava Girl” (trust me… not worth watching unless you’re under 13). We couldn’t find the remote for the DVD player and they couldn’t watch the movie.

* Got up at 3:30am to get to the airport for my 5am flight. Checked before I left and it was on time. Got to the airport and it was on time. An hour after it was supposed to leave it was on time. A half our later it was cancelled. Sigh.

* Got up at 4:30am in Philadelphia to catch another early morning flight, only to find the windows in my rental car were smashed.

* Our Yard is overgrown, our house is a mess, anything electrical seems to be in distress. There’s never enough time, yet flights are delayed, it’s getting so bad my nerves are totally frayed! And now I’m talking like Dr. Suess!

Aurrgh! LIFE IS NUTS!
It was Nuts back in 1944 too…

In December 1944, Nuts took on a very different meaning. The 101st Airborne division parachuted into Belgium to fight back the German offensive. They arrived in the town of Bastonge just hours before the town was surrounded by the Germans. Terrible snowstorms blanketed the area and grounded the Allied air forces. The soldiers had no resupply lines. They were told to hold the town at all costs. Our soldiers were severely outnumbered, sometimes 5:1. From their arrival on December 18th thru the day after Christmas, the 101st Airborne stopped the German’s repeated attacks. They did this despite running out of ammunition, food, and having inadequate clothing to brave the severe winter storms. During the battle, the German commander knew the Americans were outnumbered, outgunned, and would not survive and sent a long letter to the American general Anthony C. McAuliffe asking for their surrender to spare the lives of the soldiers.

General McAuliffe’s response was a defiant “Nuts!”.

The Americans held the town despite unbelievable odds and hardships.

My father was part of Patton’s Army who, when they heard about the siege at Bastonge, turned their entire division northward and, despite unbearable conditions, harsh weather, inadequate clothing, and little food marched for 7 days straight to relieve the soldiers holding the town.

Life is Nuts??? Put’s things in a bit of perspective, huh?

I worry about today’s generation. I worry about our children. The biggest hardship many of them face is worrying if their iPod batteries run out before the end of the day, or if they’re late for their date at the mall. Does Mary like me? Will they think this shirt looks dorky? What if I drop the ball at the big game tomorrow?

I worry about today’s generation. I worry that the values our parents grew up with – hard work, perseverance, dedication, striving for something is lost in today’s society ripe with affluence and innocent naiveté’. I have been fortunate to have the ability to travel all over the world in my job. Not fortunate that I have to be away from my family, but fortunate that I have been able to see the world – the rest of the world.

I’ve seen in India stunningly beautiful and modern corporate offices, with the finest marble, artwork, and architecture built by a workforce that lives on the other side of the road in a field with 1000 ‘pup-tents’ housing the works and their families for more than a year. Their toilet is a ditch on the side of the field. Each pup-tent might hold a family of 3 or 4 with no running water or electricity or sewage. It’s good work. I bet they don’t have to worry about their iPods running out of batteries.

I’ve been to Brazil and seen the slums of Sao Paulo – where shacks of scrap wood, metal, and cardboard are stacked on top of each other sometimes a dozen high – like a house of cards. A ‘house’ as big as a typical family room might hold a family of 15 and may be appointed with a bare lightbulb, a few blankets, a table made of a wooden box , and oddly enough usually a tiny black and white television – the one ‘luxury’ that seems to be important. I bet they don’t worry if they make their date at the mall..

I’ve been to the Dominican Republic, and seen children walking the slums with no shoes, no shirt. Drinking from puddles of water in the street. Eating from garbage cans where a tourist casually threw away the crust from a sandwich. I’ve seen tourists throw a quarter off a pier, and see a dozen kids jump into the filth of the harbor try to retrieve it. I’ve seen them going into a house to steal the copper wire from a house – as the value of copper is higher than the furnishings in the house. I bet they don’t worry if their shirt looks dorky.

Life is Nuts….
Yes it is. Life is the absurdity of chaos, it’s the insanity of the world we live in. It’s the poverty, the affluence, the hardships, the joys.

I look at my last two weeks.

* Both of my computer’s crashed… Actually we have three more in the house.

* Our daughter went to the hospital…which seriously messed up all our plans for the week – and we have the best medical care in the world for a simple illness that in many other countries had a 40% chance of killing her.

* Our Xbox died when we took it to Grandma and Grandpa’s house – we have another one at our house, and they have a wonderful loving set of grandparents who like nothing more than to love and spoil their grandchildren

* My flight was delayed – I have a great job that I love

* My car was broken into – it was a rental, and no one was hurt, and nothing was stolen.

Life is Nuts…
Simple Pleasures

You know what means more than dealing with a crashed computer, cancelled flights, and broken windows?

Simple pleasures.

Clouds. Last weekend after a long day of yardwork trying to transform our yard from an overgrown amazon jungle to something presentable on an upper middle class neighborhood street, my 8 year old son and I played a quick game of soccer in his really neat and cool ‘sports arena’ he built in the back yard. We played. We laughed. He used all his ‘moves’ to scoot around me and score a goal. We laid in the grass and we watched the clouds. We saw dragons, and rabbits, and spaceships. We saw airplane contrails. We talked. We talked about nothing and we talked about everything. It seemed like hours (but in reality probably just a few minutes. Simple pleasures.

Hospitals. Wait you say – Hospitals are one of those ‘nuts’ things mentioned above. Well, while my daughter was in the hospital, I spent most of two days there with her. I had crises at work, and 1001 things on my to do list. But that day, in that time, and in that place, the only thing that mattered was my little girl, and all she was going through. We talked, we laughed, we teased each other. I pushed her down the hallway while she was riding her wheeled cart that held her IV. We ‘broke out’ of the 7-North floor to go exploring the hospital and got back before anyone really noticed. I snuck her some ‘snacks’ to provide her more ‘nutrition’ than her hospital food would provide. For those two days, there was nothing else important. There was no work, there were no chores, there was no to-do list. There was only my little girl, who really isn’t so little anymore… Simple pleasures.

The drive home from work. It takes me about 30 minutes to drive home from my client’s work site to my hotel. I usually try to call my wife Kimberly. For those 30 minutes, I’m carried away from all the stresses and challenges of the day. Kimberly asks me sometimes why I want to know about all the boring things at home. But to me, despite dealing with multi-million dollar projects, and working with teams all over the world, what excites me is to hear how pre-school went for my daughter, or if they had soccer practice, Kimberly telling me about her work, or things going on at home or the gossip of the gym. It’s 30 minutes every day where I can spend a little bit of time doing what I miss doing when I’m out of town – being at home, being a dad, being a husband. Simple pleasures.

Swingsets. Last weekend Kira asked me in that oh-so-sweet little 5 year old voice “can you push me on the swing”? I did, we talked, we laughed. She can pump, and swing by herself. But on that day, she pumped, but not quite enough. She pumped just not quite enough so that she needed me to push her. A sunny day, a girl, a dad, and a swing. Simple pleasures.

Stars. After a long day of things going nuts (there’s those nuts again)… I went out on our deck at home. The stars were beautiful. I just stood there and drank in the universe around us. The sky was so black, and the stars were so bright – makes your realize how insignificant we are in the grand scheme of things. Maybe all the crazy things that happen every day aren’t so significant….

The Mall… Last night, work was, well, nuts (I know, again with the nuts). I work anywhere from 500 to 5000 miles from home during the week. (How Kimberly keeps up with where I am, or how she puts up with me in general I will never know). Yesterday I just had it. I left work early (at 8). (Don’t want to hear it). I started driving – no where in particular. I stopped at the mall, for no reason in particular. Well, I guess I did… It’s one of those new fangled outdoor upscale malls. Nice landscaping. A fountain. Nice to walk around. I got out of my car and took a deep breath of fresh air. It was cool, but not too cool. The moon was out and it was full. Do you know you can even see the craters on the moon if you look hard enough? We don’t take the time to look hard enough at the craters on the moon. I started window shopping. Did I mention I got a parking space right up front? The mall is always packed, and I usually end up parking 27 miles away. But tonight, there was a parking spot right up front. Anyhow, I passed by a little shop that sold candied pecans. I guess it’s a southern thing. They are nuts coated with yummy goodness (as my son would say), hot, and right out of the oven. I bought three bags. I sat for a few minutes, closed my eyes, and just enjoyed the simple taste of sugar, and cinnamon, and caramel, and nuts.

As I left the mall, there were two elderly nuns sitting at a table collecting money for the elderly poor. I stopped by and chatted with them. I don’t really know what we talked about. We didn’t talk about the poor. We talked about how pretty their hair was. And how sweet it was that they were out doing this. They said it was a beautiful night, and they were doing what they most loved doing in the world – helping people. I took all the loose change in my pocket and gave it to them. They were grateful. I then opened my wallet and took out every bill I had and handed it to them (I don’t even know how much it was). And I thanked them for what they were doing, and for touching my life, just a little bit, right then, right there, on that day. And then I took the two extra bags I had bought at the confection store earlier, handed it to them, and as I walked away, turned, smiled, and said “Nuts!”.

Simple Pleasures….

© 2007 Albrecht T. Powell

29th place: a celebration...

Success

To set a goal,
to achieve it,
to dream a dream,
to believe it,

To lay down a path,
to find a way through,
to overcome fears,
to start things anew,

To have faith in yourself,
to prove you can succeed,
to listen to your heart,
to dare to dream a deed.

This is true success.
It lies within us all,
we just need to find out how to unleash it.

*Kelsey*

the story behind Kelsey's poem...

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Wednesday evening...

Hi Mommy,
I was right about Kelsey's illness being something worse than strep. It took some convincing, but I finally got her pediatrician to look at her again today after 5 days on antibiotics. This time the pediatrician referred me to Children's Hospital so she could be looked at by a pediatric ENT and get a CT scan of her neck. So, off to the ER we went where we just spent almost the entire day.
The short story is that Kelsey has a deep neck infection. Exactly the thing I thought she might have. No one in the ER was at all convinced because she isn't running a fever and really isn't all that sick outside of the severely painful neck and huge lymph nodes on that side. But she's like me. She'd have to be dying to have a fever! Basically a deep neck infection is an abcess in a place where an infected lymph node used to be. It's pretty small right now but these type of infections don't respond real well to oral antibiotics so she was just admitted and will be receiving IV antibiotics for at least 24 hours or until this clears up. I just came back home to check in with Robert and Mildred who have the other two kids (boy did that take some juggling today). I'll go over and pick up Garrett in the morning and take him to school and then go back and spend the day with Kelsey. Albrecht's coming home early from Richmond and should be home by tomorrow afternoon/evening.
Kelsey's all tucked in for the night and is doing fine.... If things go well she'll come home tomorrow evening. Or it could be a few days. I'll try to keep you posted :)
Love,
Kimberly

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Thursday evening...

Kelsey loved hearing from you at the hospital today. She wanted me to follow up because she said the line went dead during your conversation and she wanted to make sure you didn't think she hung up on you or anything. She's not sure what happened, but wanted to make sure that she told you that she thinks she'll be released tomorrow. The antibiotics appear to be working. The doctors do their rounds at about 6am and then right up the orders for the nurses later so we don't get a whole lot of information. But she's definitely acting like she's feeling a lot better, even though she was never super sick to begin with. The symtoms were primarily the excruciating neck pain and a throbbing headache. Today's her first day without pain killers in almost two weeks - a very good sign :)
Love you!
Kimberly

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Saturday morning...

Hi Mommy,
Yes, Kelsey came home yesterday and is doing much better. Sorry, I meant to email last night but things have just been so hectic. Remember the question you had to ask because we have a crazy family? Yes, she is planning to compete in the Regional championships tomorrow morning. We went in to gym last night and this morning so she could get a sense for how she's feeling. She really wants to go, but it took her some time to realize that she's going to have to accept that she's not 100% and that if she goes she has to be happy with her best. I think we finally got there. She looks good enough that I'm not worried about safety. She may not compete vault - or she may do the easier handspring - since that will be last and takes a lot of power that she doesn't have right now.
So, we're leaving for Allentown as soon as we can get packed and we'll be home late Sunday night. Hopefully with a happy, healthy Kelsey, no matter what the outcome of the meet.
Please tell everyone thank you for the prayers. They've obviously been working!
Love,
Kimberly

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Monday afternoon

Thank you to all of you for your notes and prayers for Kelsey. They really helped her enjoy her hospital stay and she's made a quick recovery. Even did very well in her regional gymnastics championships on Sunday where she competed against the best gymnasts her age from six states (who qualified to this meet from their state championships). Not bad for someone who got out of the hospital on Friday, was weak from fighting an infection, and missed a week of practice in the gym.
http://www.parkettes.com/results/2006-2007/level8_4_36.htm
Can't wait to see all of you this summer.
Love,
Kimberly

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Sunday

2007

Level 8 Regionals

Allentown, PA
Age Group: Senior A

403
Kelsey Powell
All Star 1(Gymsport, PA)
Vault: 8.45

Place: 44
Bars: 9.15
Place:15
Beam: 8.85
Place: 25
Floor: 9.15
Place: 20
Overall: 35.6
Place: 29th

Michael at play

All aboard!

Down the slide!!

Pedaling a Big Wheel!!!

and Caught swinging

.....finally!!!!!!!!!!

Simple Pleasures? Some Inconvenient Truths...

Sunday, April 22, was Earth Day. RoadRunner, AOL, The State--doomsday reminders everywhere of this specter we call global warming--of the mass extinctions, the wide scale flooding, the increasing frequency of monster storms in our not so distant future.

So many ways to think--or not think--about this issue.

I have reached that age where I can say "not in my lifetime!" with a modicum of certainty. I can assure myself that, through my pursuit of simple neartohome pleasures, I am not the culprit here. Yes, I have not yet exchanged my incandescents for fluorescents. Yes, I have sacrificed two spreading oak trees in their prime, understanding that increased summer cooling expenses may be the flip side of my sunny acorn-free driveway. But I shop online (less driving), regularly maintain my aging automobile, wash laundry in cold water, turn off unused electronics (well, except for the computer), adjust my thermostat (68F degrees in winter; 80F degrees in summer), recycle newsprint and cardboard, pursue simple pleasures...

Simple pleasures, but with some inconvenient truths...

My grandson's swing set, for example. Several weekends ago, my son carefully explained to me why not just any treated lumber would do for this construction project. Some brands exude chemicals harmful to children. Others don't. One producer of ACQ-treated wood (the current industry standard) offers, on its web site, these points for consideration:

• Using treated lumber instead of plastic or steel conserves energy (that used to produce the construction material?) and reduces greenhouse emissions.
• Using treated lumber (as opposed to untreated) saves millions of trees each year because treated lumber lasts much longer.
• Using lumber treated with preservatives that do not contain arsenic (as did the older CCA industry standard) and that form insoluable bonds with the wood is safer for the environment and its inhabitants.

I'll admit this much. I've used, and replaced, untreated wood outdoors. I've purchased swingsets of steel and plastic construction. But what of the trees I've saved by refinishing, instead of discarding, old rocking chairs, another of life's simple pleasures? Polyurethane, much to my surprise and pleasure, is, according to the Center for the Polyurethanes Industry of the American Chemistry Council, an energy-efficient, environmentally friendly, recyclable product.

Energy-efficient, environmentally friendly, recyclable...like a geocache, maybe?

Geocaching, yet another of my family's simple pleasures, is categorized as a sport. Our 21st century's Treasure Island. Coordinates mapped on a handheld GPS. Logged accounts of treasures unearthed, treasures exchanged, treasures left behind for others to discover. These caches are hidden with care to preserve their natural surroundings. Geocachers walk. We hike. We do not disturb. We do not litter. We do not consume fossil fuels, except perhaps in the vehicles that ferry us from one cache's environs to another. We do not exacerbate global warming.

But global warming may one day render the simple pleasure of geocaching obsolete.

Last July we explored an island located in a nearby manmade lake--in search of a traditional geocache (The Fab Five?!). Our greatest challenge was not so much locating the cache as it was avoiding the poison ivy traps above and beside and along our path. According to National Geographic News, global warming will boost the spread of poison ivy. Global warming will also mutate poison ivy into POISON ivy.

There's more. Noticing the intricate patterns of contrail tracings is yet another late-in-life-acquired simple pleasure (Contrails). Did I think to ask what impact, other than beauty, these lacy condensationtrails might bring into being? No... But the answers found me. Contrails become high-altitude cirrus clouds, letting light through but trapping reflected heat, raising the earth's temperature (global warming). As contrails become more prevalent, this increase in cloud cover may render telescopes (on the ground) obsolete and disrupt the very GPS signals on which geocaching relies! The jury is still undecided in the case of contrails versus global warming, according to reports from The Register (UK), National Geographic News, and other sources. But inconvenient truths now complicate this seemingly simple pleasure...

I was aware, at some level, of Al Gore's documentary on global warming released last November. But there were so many ways to think--or not think--about this issue. I had reached that age where I could say "not in my lifetime!" with a modicum of certainty. I could assure myself that, through my pursuit of simple neartohome pleasures, I was not the culprit here.

I have since come to understand that, if I am to pass on future generations my passion for simple pleasures, I must come to terms with the ever-changing realities of each. I must question the impact of contrails, the safety of chemical preservatives, why I cannot let go of incandescent light. I must face some inconvenient truths.

I've ordered the DVD from Amazon.com.

Michael is 3 !!!

but last summer...

in search of the Lincoln rocker…

Several years ago, I purchased a book. Nothing remarkable about that, bookaholic that I am, nor was the subject of that book, Abraham Lincoln, a newcomer to my personal library. What set that purchase apart was that I acquired all 312 pages (9” X 12”, decidedly fine print!) of Twenty Days: A Narrative in Text and Pictures of the Assassination of Abraham Lincoln and the Twenty Days and Nights that followed—The Nation in Mourning, the Long Trip Home to Springfield so that I might own page 43—a picture whose caption reads “Here is the rocking chair in which Lincoln was slumped and senseless when Dr. Leale reached the box.”

I have loved rocking chairs since before memory began. There have been many in my life, but none so remarkable as the justright mahogany Boston rocker under the tree my second Christmas. Except, perhaps, the one I discovered several years ago in the dusty back room of a wicker boutique that also peddled pasttheirprime furnishings… The one that demanded that I learn how to realize its contemporary potential without sacrificing its story, its place in a time before mine.

From the squared nails, the horsehair stuffing, the original floral brocade upholstery preserved under a not-so-long-ago green velvet attempt to modernize, I came to understand that my chair had rocked through many generations before it found its way to me. I dared to breathe the word antique though I, too, had compromised its circa-mid-19th-century authenticity with my eve-of-the-21st-century floral brocade, staple-gun staples, electric sewing machine seaming, hot-glue-gun gluing, polyurethane glossing. Not to mention padding the padding! My rocking chair lent substance and grace to my eclectic surroundings. That was enough.

Until I came across the picture of a Lincoln rocker being auctioned on Ebay… I don’t remember the sequence of it all, one discovery unearthing another. Perhaps it was the caned child’s rocker I bid on there, one of my first and certainly one of my most difficult-to-negotiate Ebay purchases. Today an all-but-the-crest identical chair is listed as Vintage Child’s Caned Lincoln Rocker (vintage meaning that it dates from 1900-1950), with an opening bid almost five times my purchase price.

The staple online furniture glossary definition for a Lincoln rocker is “an upholstered (so how does a caned seat and back qualify?) high back rocker that has an exposed wood frame and padded armrests (not so the caned versions).” But my first question, upon linking that label to the chair in my living room, was not so much about definition as it was about origin. Certainly, Abraham Lincoln did not choose to be shot, nor even to sit, in a rocking chair bearing his name!

From somewhere in memory I knew that Lincoln had indeed chosen to sit in a rocking chair in his box at Ford’s Theater that April evening in 1865. Various accounts (National Park Service, Henry Ford Museum [where this chair is on display today; Ford’s Theater has to make do with a replica]) tell us that the chair, not part of the everyday furnishings of that box, was brought in perhaps to accommodate the President’s physical needs (to stretch his legs? to support his back?) or perhaps just because it matched the other chairs and the sofa brought in for that occasion. The red velvet fabric just below the carved wood crest is stained, not with the President’s blood but with a greasy substance used to dress men’s hair in those days. Accounts tell us that, for 55 years, this rocker, Lincoln’s rocker, gathered dust in a storage room somewhere in the depths of the Smithsonian. In 1929, after being reclaimed by the widow of its original owner (the Ford of Ford’s Theater), it brought $2,400 at a New York auction. Its new owner was the Ford of automobile fame, Henry.

So, if it wasn’t yet a Lincoln rocker that evening in April of 1865, what was it? I was back in home economics class my senior year in high school, learning about Georgian and French Provincial and French Colonial (one had two balconies and I knew I would live in a house with balconies someday). I wanted to name this rocker in my living room, to name the features that made it what it was before it was Lincoln’s rocker. Which is why I needed the pictures. How were our chairs, Lincoln’s and mine, alike? How were they different? What did these likenesses, these differences, mean?

A third chair—a rocking chair which actually belonged to Abraham Lincoln while he lived in Springfield, Illinois (1844-1861)—helped me make sense of the differences. The Springfield chair (image and description courtesy of the University of Illinois Library Collections) has thirteen buttons: Top to bottom, in rows of 1, then 2, then 3, then 2, then 3, then 2. My chair back features only the first four of these rows. A row of three below them would compromise the lumbar support this skillfully crafted 18th century back provides. Simply stated, my Lincoln’s rocker is a lady’s chair. Lincoln would not have been comfortable seated in one proportioned so. The other difference of note is the carving on the crests of these chairs. I have yet to find any two identical, though elaborate leaf, nut, shell, flower, and/or fruit designs are common elements. A third, and subtle difference, is the degree to which the back of each chair balloons. My chair back varies little in width from top to bottom while both chairs where Lincoln sat widen slightly above the upholstered armrests.

Similarities? Upholstered armrests, back, and seat. Exposed wooden (black walnut, mahogany, rosewood) frame. Runners and legs without decoration (his chairs and mine). Noticable “c” curve in the front legs. And the arms, the gondola arms! Lincoln’s Springfield rocker arms sports lotus flower carvings at the end of each curve. The Ford’s Theater rocker’s elaborately scrolled gondola arms are identical—yes, truly identical—to those on the chair in my living room.

Before Lincoln’s rocker was Lincoln’s rocker, it was Rococo or, perhaps, Rococo Revival. The curves are Rococo. The original pastel brocade upholstery of my rocker (but not of Lincoln’s two) is more reminiscent of this period than of the revival era. But elaborately carved crests are characteristic of the Victorian Era’s Rococo Revival (1850s-1870s). On Ebay today there’s a rocker much like Lincoln’s (Ford’s Theater) and mine being auctioned in Falls Church, Virginia. Its Ebay listing? “Rococo Revival walnut horsehair rocking chair”…

Questions linger.

In those days before brand names, before mass production, did the carvings on a given head crest represent a particular craftsman’s work, a particular family or region ? For years I thought the crest on my chair was acanthus leaves. Those on each side of the center may well be. But the leaf in the middle, braced by a large nut (or small fruit?) on each side? More art than science, perhaps. I cannot seem to name them.

I have always thought my chair mahogany—the color but do I know the grain? What about rosewood? What of black walnut?

I wish I knew its story, the story of all those generations rocked gently there and why it came to be in that dusty back room of a wicker boutique so that I could bring it home. But I would like to think that we have begun to weave new stories, this chair and my family now. I would like to think that my Rococo Revival chair will gently rock many of our generations yet to come.

A kinder, gentler fate than that of Ford’s rocker, forever to be known as Lincoln’s…

Lincoln's rocker (April 1865) and mine (April 2007)...

http://www.nps.gov/archive/foth/linchair.htm

for the love of a rocking chair…

Before I came to love a swing, before I came to love a Ferris wheel, I loved my rocking chair. The Christmas I was not quite two, the Christmas before I crossed the broad Atlantic, the Christmas before I became, for too brief a time, the bilingual world traveler, dual citizen at heart, posing here—I loved that rocking chair!
Loved it enough to repair it, to lovingly refinish it for my own first child and daughter (as I, my mother, my grandmother before her were also first children, first daughters; as my first granddaughter would also be). As soon as she could sit unsupported, I posed my first child and daughter in that rocking chair.
Years later, I have come to understand that rocking chairs, too, become frail with time. Too frail to survive moving from home to home to home. Too frail to survive one small boy’s (my first grandson’s) love. Yet perhaps strong enough to cradle my childhood dolls, someday, when I’ve once again braced and glued and loved it back into a chair that remembers how to rock.

Swings I have known...

When I was five...

There were only five

on that summerlike New Year's Day...

The swing needs another coat of paint this spring...

Is there room enough for seven?

The hammock swing is my favorite...

Its clone lives on Michael's screen porch :-)

(see picture at top of this post).

Not sure the place they came from exists any more.

That was also where I discovered

the wind chimes (also cloned)

tuned to minor keys...

Ten Things I Didn't Know About Jigsaw Puzzles...

1. that jigsaw puzzles for adults have been around for 100 years. Contemporary [early 1900s] writers depicted the inexorable progression of the puzzle addict from the skeptic who first ridiculed puzzles as silly and childish to the perplexed puzzler who ignored meals while chanting "just one more piece," to the bleary-eyed victor who finally put in the last piece in the wee hours of the morning.



2. that early jigsaw puzzle pieces were cut out on the lines in the picture, which meant no interlocking pieces and no pieces that showed adjacent elements in the picture.



3. that early jigsaw puzzles for adults did not include pictures of the assembled puzzle.



4. that early jigsaw puzzles, priced out of the range of the average worker (10% of monthly take-home pay), were often the featured entertainment at high society weekend parties.



5. that Parker Brothers stopped manufacturing games in 1909 in order to produce jigsaw puzzles full time.



6. that jigsaw puzzles became a kind of therapy during the Great Depression. Puzzles seemed to touch a chord, offering an escape from troubled times as well as an opportunity to succeed in a modest way.



7. that unemployed craftsmen created the affordable jigsaw puzzle in their home workshops during the Great Depression.



8. that, during the Great Depression, libraries and drugstores rented jigsaw puzzles and newstands sold weekly jigsaw puzzles every Wednesday.



9. that the first ever world's most difficult jigsaw puzzle--Convergence--challenged hundreds of thousands of Americans in 1965.



10. that wooden jigsaw puzzles, once the playthings of the rich, are making a comeback today.

Reference: Williams, Anne. Jigsaw Puzzles: A Brief History. http://www.mgcpuzzles.com/mgcpuzzles/puzzle_history/literature_on_puzzles.htm

LASIK

Subject: One more thing--

Date: 7/24/2003 8:56:24 AM Eastern Daylight Time

--and this may be a major key to why the world looks so different with my new eyes... I went outside to get the paper this morning around 7--my very first trip outdoors (beyond the screen porch) without anything covering my eyes. The first WOW was the grass near the front steps. And something finally clicked! The entire world is closer and larger than it has ever been! I've always known that glasses reduced my world (amazing how much thinner everyone is when I'm wearing my glasses...) but contact lenses must have done that also, if to a lesser degree. Since that view of the world is all that I've known for forty years, I thought that was how the world looked to everyone. Add that to depth perception (just pray that I don't get too carried away with my new-found confidence as a driver) and amazing colors/variations in color...absolutely awesome...

...and overwhelming. I have cried every morning since the surgery--tears of joy and wonder at it all...

Hazel, Rosie, Princess Mary...

HAZEL, ROSIE, PRINCESS MARY

blew into my world when I was seven.

I remember them still...

Home from school...early

(Hazel was coming, they said)

Whooooshing

Howwwwwwwwwwling

Daylight dark

I remember the wonder, the awe, the power

of Miss Hazel, outside...

and Daddy and Mommy and Evie, baby Pat, me

all safe inside...

and when the yellow sky came, and the eerie quiet,

Daddy sitting in the truck

in our front yard

listening to the radio...

Rosie was born that October day

--before or after Mommy fed Pat

by the light of my First Communion candle?-

I don't remember--

but I remember that Rosie

(Mommy made her for me)

was beautiful

and I loved her...

Showed Rosie off to my best friend...

Embarrassed Mommy (all these years, I never knew)...

Mary came into my world that Christmas,

Ideal's princess,

and I loved her too!

Sad, sad Rosie,

discarded childhood treasure

cremated

(cleaning up the past, moving on, they said...)

and Hazel's memory

overwritten

by the Donnas and Hugos of my life...

But Mary, my princess,

smiles down at me from her basket throne...

and I love her still...