An Ongoing Journal… – Page 19

Breaking and Changing

December 19, 2014February 2, 2015 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Divorce Diary, Elihu's Room, Mommy MindLeave a comment

It’s funny how one’s body just seems to know when it’s had enough. When it’s safe to break down. To finally get sick. Cuz I’ve been pretty close the past few weeks – had that ‘pre’ cold feeling a couple of times, I’ve gotten sniffly, have had a mild sore throat and even had a day of vague all-over aches, but alone they’ve been manageable inconveniences. Just a couple mildly uncomfortable nights with a slight remission come morning, and most importantly – little-to-no symptoms for our blowout holiday party last Saturday. But today, as I sat down to play piano for my final official run as the Waldorf school’s accompanist, I felt things begin to shift: I was beset with a very bad earache. The kind which my mother will tell you plagued, and to some degree even defined my childhood. Haven’t had one in a good two decades, but this doozy came on mean and fast. But in spite of the pain I was still able to enjoy my last hurrah, laying fully into tempo and dynamic changes with a sort of drama I seldom indulge… maybe deciding in this final hour that camping it up couldn’t hurt now, and who knows, might even leave folks with a more lasting impression at my departure…

When my task was completed though, I was relieved. I was in a good deal of discomfort as the earache began to settle in on each side now, but still had a few remaining items on the day’s agenda: I had to pick up Elihu early from school, then get him to an appointment at the orthodontist to check the fit on his replacement retainer (a cool $175 I sure don’t have to part with at this time of year), as well as a couple more piano students to teach before the day was officially over. By the time my second student was wrapping up, I found my voice literally disappearing as I said my goodbyes. Finally, I was done. My commitments were over for now. My body was free to let go and give in.

Tonight I’m full-blown sick. In a few hours I’ll be driving Elihu to the airport for his Christmastime visit with his father. Spent the day wrapping and packing, and even though things are ready to go, I’m still feeling a bit uneasy. Last night Elihu asked to sleep in my bed, as he was beginning to make the emotional shift; he was getting his last fix of being close to me. I had set my alarm to 11:28 to catch Stephen Colbert’s final show, and God bless that lil man, when the alarm went off he sat straight up in bed and begged me to get up lest I miss it… That kid is on my side til the end. Or almost til the end.

Tonite is our last night together, and somehow, I’m not really sure how, things have blown up. He’s chosen some small slight to give him reason to retreat to his room and slam the door. But I think I know what’s really going on. Just a couple of hours ago his dad told him he’d be there for ‘seventeen days’ and not the original nine days as planned. For a good hour Elihu kept looking off into space, distracted, saying how he wanted some free time here, too, and that he felt, once again, that he had no say in how things happened. He resolved to call his father, until, that is, his recent blowup. At the moment, the door to his room is locked from the inside, and he’s fuming mad. I can’t reach him. Poor kid. He’s feeling torn in two directions. This is never an easy time for him. And this time, it’s a bit harder for me too.

This time of year feels different now. My son will be gone, and my father’s gone now too. Christmas isn’t the time of happiness and good cheer it once was. To be honest, I’m not really looking forward to the next couple of weeks. Last year at this time my father was dying, and that filled every single moment. But this year, there’s only empty space. Time without the distraction of sitting vigil. Andrew is essentially gone from the world too. And mom, while she keeps busy, she’s got to be dreading all those empty hours ahead. And I will have an empty house too. Lots of empty going around. The obvious solution might be to spend more time with mom – and I suppose I will, but we just don’t always groove so easily with each other as one might think. Our time together will only be spent watching tv, or eating supper, maybe sharing a drink. Small talk fills the awkward time in between. It will be talk of others and their affairs, or what I like to call ‘non news’ which will fill the space. Mom’s non-news topics will be what seem to me to be inconsequential, trivial things – things that get her all emotionally worked up – but for me conjure no more investment than another kitten video on Facebook.

Sometimes it’s hard to realize that this is the same woman from whom I get my potty mouth. These days she’s a woman who uses cottage-cute wooden cat figures with gingham bows and sparkly snowmen holding signs encouraging the weather to ‘Let it Snow!’ to decorate her home. She is a woman who can turn the latest run-of-the-mill weather report into a heated, ten minute monologue, the woman who talks of yesterday’s pop culture news with an urgency that suggests I too need to get worked up over it, because somehow, it’s important and relative stuff… And yet this is the same woman who once went back to college while parenting two small children, who once made fifty-two years of music festivals flow like they had a hired staff, who once drove a tractor and helped throw hay bales onto the wagon, who once created a fashion-forward home, who insisted on building a green (and stunning) home before it was hip…. It’s hard to reconcile that old profile of my mother, that progressive, modern-thinking woman (whom, to be fair, I didn’t know that well as I was busy dwelling in my own, all-important, misunderstood childhood and young adulthood) with the woman I know now. I suppose life changes, and we along with it. (Please come check on me should you find me decorating my own home with such sparkly snowmen figurines; it may be a sign of a larger issue beneath – a breakdown in earnest.)

Situations change, and we react accordingly, I suppose. My life’s work has come to a pause, and my own body sees a window of opportunity. Tonight I’m going to bed sick. And tonight my son’s going to bed distraught. An endless supply of cable channels seems to keep my mother distracted through the long, evening hours. My brother? Who knows what keeps him going. It’s a good thing Elihu’s going to join a house full of activity. Little brothers, a crazy little dog, and a pair of parents. His other grandparents will be around, too I suppose. It’s good that he’ll have all of that. But still… I wish there was something I could do for my son. I wish I could give him the gift of time. I wish I could give him a week here at home with nothing to do but coo to his chickens and play his bass. I wish I could assure him that somehow he’ll have the time he needs in between households to switch gears and make the energetic transition. But he lives in a world of two households, two parents apart, and so it is what it is. Poor kid’s been crying. I tried to call his father, but he hung up on me. Says he sent me an email with this new plan. I come up with nothing when I search for the email with the amended travel plans. All I know for sure is that I suggested, in an effort to show kindness, that he take Elihu for a ‘few extra days’. Suppose I should have defined ‘a few’ first. It’s not a done deal though; I know they’re coming back on the train, and that’s pretty flexible. So there’s still hope that Elihu’s voice will be heard, that his father will come down off his rage, and that things won’t end up as bad as they’re feeling right now. There’s still hope that Elihu will come home a couple of days earlier. I tell him not to breakdown yet. It’s ok, it’s ok….

One day my son will be old enough to lobby completely for himself. Right now, poor kid’s just mixed up. Wants to see his dad, but wants his own time at home, too. Scared of his dad’s wrath. He’s afraid to speak his mind to him. Yeah, I get that. His dad is good at sounding scary. I know. Elihu fears for the ‘just suck it up’ routine that might follow should he express his mind, and so gives up before he even starts. And I feel bad for Fareed too, I do. It can’t be fun living so far away from his children, and seeing some of them so infrequently. I can understand how out of control he feels – and I feel badly about it. He wouldn’t believe me though. There doesn’t seem to be much I can do now anyway, except sit back and watch how things play out. I’ve got plenty on my plate, I may as well surrender that which I can’t control.

What’s on my plate exactly? Folks ask me with a great light of interest in their eyes, what on earth I’ll do with all my time (I know, there’s just soooo much to fill, right?) while my son’s away? I never do a good job of answering. You’d think I’d have it down by now. But the unending list just spills out to the confusion of my audience: I’ve got a lot of filing in my office, got organizing to do around the homestead, fixes in the coop to make, gotta learn how to use Finale, get future lesson plans in order, got a neglected harpsichord that could use a little tlc, then there’s the attic that needs insulating, and I need to keep watch over a new parking lot that’s going in at the Studio any day now…. It’s usually too much of an answer, not focused enough to make sense to people. I really should work on a more engaging, concise pitch. (Note to self: add to list.) Bottom line is I’ve always got a lot to do, even if I don’t have an impressive title for it all.

Right now I gotta make sure my son’s sleeping, and that he’s packed and ready to go in a few hours. Elihu and I made up as I sat here writing, and at that point tried calling his father. Sent his dad about the least-provocative email I could, while still lobbying for a tad shorter visit. Ich. Hate this. But relieved to learn that now my son’s asleep at last and free from this earthly world of obligations and conflict for the time being… It helps to know that things won’t always be thus. The day is coming when my son will be old enough to choose for himself how he spends his breaks, and this will be a welcome change indeed.

Chapter Vision

December 15, 2014December 15, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Farm Life, Flight, Growing Older, Mommy Mind1 Comment

When my eyes open, I see the silhouette of my reclining form on the wall – shoulder, neck and head, like the topography of a distant mountain ridge – outlined from the faint light cast by the alarm clock on the bedside table. Oh. I’m back. I’m not asleep as I was a moment ago. Not in my bed, either. I’m in my son’s bed. I recall why. He’d hadn’t wanted to be alone and had asked me to stay. A superimposed image of my dream somehow hangs in between the wall and me, and when I turn my attention to it for a final remembrance, it disappears from existence like a soap bubble. I’m really back now. The dream has plopped me down in a bed of mild nostalgia and longing. In my dream I’d been, as so often I am in my dreams, back in my hometown, back in an era in which I was young and beautiful, an era in which I was surrounded by my young and beautiful friends, an era in which life was all yet before us, as if nothing else was yet to come outside and beyond our perfect, constant now….

It’s not that I live in the past, or that I despise my current life. No, not so. As middle life goes, this is a fine chapter. I have all I need (until the heating oil runs out, but that’s just a temporary discomfort) and there’s much to do these days, much to look forward to. Yeah, and there’a a lot yet to do. A lot. Just earlier in the day Elihu and I had been thinking more closely about time, and how life changes. It became known at our party the night before, that Zac and Stephanie are expecting their fourth child, and that set in motion a new examination of things…. Of how things, right now, seeming as if they might always be thus, will truly not be; of how the landscape of our lives will change in ways we, in this current moment, can’t possibly anticipate. My son’s used to hearing the nonstop yapping that grownups are always doing about how children grow like weeds, and how they’re gone before you know it… But to stop and really internalize that, for child or adult, it really catches ones attention. So there we sat, chins resting in our hands on the kitchen island, just thinking. Imagining all nine children on the field as teenagers, twenty-somethings. Imagining the first serious relationship that Elihu would one day have. Imagining me as an old woman, Elihu, his wife and three children coming to grandma’s house for a visit… My own mother having been long gone herself…

In the silence of the kitchen we sink deeper into our visions. One of us suggests another detail, the other accepts it with a nod, or a far off answer of ‘yeah, yeah….’ and then silence follows. We two are in deep, forward-looking dreams. The Studio buzzes along somewhere in the backdrop of the scene, kids coming and going, instruments on backs, scooting down the driveway on atvs to lessons and rehearsals… Cars come and go down the long driveway, cuz there’s always something going on, someone’s always stopping by the Hillhouse to say hello… Elihu’s flying his Calypso in Crow Field, and now his own little ones are running next door to see if Ryan is home and can he come play? By then Ryan will be a young man. He won’t be little any more. It takes some committed daydreaming to make this all real, if even for a minute. And when the vision does come, it’s a bit shocking. Better that things don’t do all that changing overnight in real life.

For years Elihu has insisted to me that he will have three kids. And that he – unlike me, as he emphasized – will be ‘settled’ and ‘ready’ with all three kids on board by the ‘time he’s thirty-two’. And I tend to think he might be right. We’re very similar in many ways, my son and I, but with regard to this visualizing of the future possibilities of one’s life – he’s light years ahead of me. Hell, by my Junior year in high school I still had no idea where – or if – I’d be going to college. Yeah, I don’t tend to see much past next year. But Elihu? Apparently he spends a lot of time visualizing how it’ll all look. (Vietnam is part of that discussion too. He is adamant. He wants to live in Vietnam. I’ve heard this many, many times. !) So with the time spent visualizing our futures, we’ve also had a little experience thinking about the possible scene around my death one day. My tall, quite possibly bald and grown son will have my hand in his, and his three beautiful children – just when did these tiny ones become so big? – will all be around, some crying, one smiling gently down at me… my son’s wife will come and take my other hand, and so there we six will be, witnessing together a huge moment of personal change…. But it’s not the death thing I’m concerned with here in this visualization. Naw – I’m far more intrigued that there are four new family members I’ve yet to meet here in this intimate scene. I’ve yet to meet them, I’ve yet to get to know them, to love them, to argue or agree with them – it’s all yet before me here in December of two thousand and fourteen, and still I haven’t got a clue who they’ve yet to be! And Elihu’s future mate is out there somewhere, on this very day that we sit here dreaming… But where? Does Elihu’s future wife live somewhere nearby in upstate New York? Is she growing up right now somewhere in Europe? ….Or, just perhaps, does she live somewhere in Vietnam? It’s possible. So many scenarios are possible. Really, considering it all can make one dizzy.

You know, it sounds kinda crazy right now, but one day all the neighborhood kids will be teenagers, I tell my son. And that’s a whole different thing. And me as a grandma – me? Uh, yeah, that’s a different thing too. But it’ll all come to pass. Crazy, right? Still sitting at the kitchen table, Elihu’s face remained blank with thought before he began to smile. “Yeah, it’s amazing.” In a second my thoughts flashed to the daughter of musician friends of mine with whom I’d been in a band for years – their adorable, tiny daughter had taken my glamorous head shot and pinned it up outside in her fort in the garage. For a window in time, I was her Cinderella, I was her Queen….Now she herself is a grown and gorgeous woman with her own musical career, and it almost hurts to recall such a tender expression of that tiny girl, because that wee one is long gone now. Which is as it should be. But still….

Elihu and I are ready for this ninth new child to join the gang; we’re excited to meet him or her, come Spring. We’re dug in deep into this current chapter of our life, and we’re both enjoying every moment of it. I will remember and enjoy every chapter too, no matter how long ago in my life, because each one was a joyful, unique time which brought me its own little treasures. And I happily bring my past along with me as I march into each new chapter. Cuz as much as I’m happy to be here, I was once just as happy to be there, and it feels good to recall those memories and the feelings unique to their particular time. Most of the folks I miss from my old life can be summoned easily enough through a quick greeting by Facebook or email. And that quells the nostalgic longing. Sure, some old friends are gone now, and that sting remains – it softens to a dull ache in time – but nonetheless, the absences are part of it all too.

Ebb and flow, come and go. To everything its season. All is as it should be. There are many adventures behind us, and there are many adventures yet before us too. Mundane surprises, like the new location for next year’s garden, as well as the unexpected big ones – they’re all ahead. No doubt there’ll be those few and fearful events that catch us off guard along the way, but we just gotta be there for each other as best we can to keep the fallout to a minimum. We’re just going to have to love each other as best we can, even when we feel cranky and under-rested. We’ll need to be good neighbors and friends to each other as we all move forward into the memories that we’ve yet to make. Chapters are good for re-reading, but skipping ahead isn’t ever as satisfying. You end up missing all the details…

What will the following chapters bring? I’ve got my ideas, but hey, I’ve been wrong before. Never hurts to hold a vision for the best possible outcome, but it’s also a good idea to just make the best of whatever it is that the next chapter presents… Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction, and a lot of time it’s more interesting, too. I’m eager to keep reading….

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Post Script: After some 514 posts I’m surprised it hasn’t happened before; last night, a good dozen edits before I was finished with this piece, I hit the ‘publish’ button instead of the ‘save’ button. I had the presence of mind to change the status of the post to private, but the damage had already been done. To my extreme horror and embarrassment, many people ended up reading a piece I deemed to be unfit and unfinished. Ich. So I have to just let it go and move on… Regardless of its polish or lack thereof, I see it’s been approved by a couple of friends with their WP icons… So thank you for that, I appreciate it. But still…

Big Snow Days

December 13, 2014December 14, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Birding, Farm Life, Low Vision Life, Mommy Mind, Pics5 Comments

While the recent deluge of snow here in upstate New York hasn’t yet warranted a day off of school (in Elihu’s district, that is) we haven’t been disappointed with its arrival. There’s usually a fair bit of grumbling to be heard in checkout line conversations at this time of year, perfect strangers bonding over the plight they now all share; slippery roads, snow-bound cars and inaccessible driveways – yet this time it’s been different. Everywhere people are marveling aloud to each other, “It’s just like an old-fashioned Christmas, It’s like being inside a snow globe… It’s just beautiful…” And honestly, all of it’s true.

Thankfully the snow hasn’t caused us any major inconveniences yet. But hey, there’s still time! We’re having our annual holiday party tonight and I’m concerned how a dozen or more cars will find space to park without incident – never mind getting in and out of the long driveway successfully. Somehow things always work out. I can’t really do much about it now. Most likely there’ll be a good story or two after the thing’s over. And by tomorrow there’ll be more memories too… So many have already been made this past, busy week.

Here’s a digest of our snowy December so far…

Our driveway starts out like a cathedral of white…

Every branch is covered… the poor chickens don’t relish this kind of snow.

But it’s beautiful.

Our house feels cozy at wintertime.

A breeze makes the snow fall in sparkly waves across the forest.

Heavy snows bring lots of avian action to the platform feeder at our kitchen window.

One of our hens has been acting strangely the past few days, so we bought her inside.

A warm sitz bath and a little massaging of the far end to see if she might be egg-bound.

Vet-in-training checks too. He’s actually better at this than I am; he’s not as squeamish and is very thorough.

After a home remedy of calcium drops and a night inside, she seems fine. More than fine. Instantly she returned to her clutch and set down on it. When we tried to collect the eggs, she pecked us quite violently. Sick bird? No! A good mama is all! She had gone broody and was doing what she was made to do. In this modern era when we’ve bred all those natural mothering instincts out of our domestic chickens, it can be a surprise to see such ‘old-fashioned’ behavior. The next day I found nine toasty warm eggs underneath her. What a good girl! I apologized to her as I guiltily removed her cache. Just look at her in this pic. If ever a bird could show contempt…. !!!

Enjoying a night in. A little bass concert for mom.

And now… a night out. Remember that $100 bill Elihu won for his Halloween costume? We agreed. It was time…

…to go out for dinner. We’re at Instanblue in Saratoga – the only Middle Eastern place for miles around. And dig this (ok, I don’t get out much – this is probably old news for many), illuminated menus! Usually nighttime is Elihu’s sweet spot, but even with his glasses he found reading this uncomfortable. As for me – it’s right up my middle-aged alley.

Stella brings us the best grilled octopus either one of us had ever tasted. Ever.

Saratoga folks, ask for the grilled octopus and not the octopus salad as listed in the menu. And for meat and bread lovers, Iskander is a savory treat (that particularly kicks ass the next day as leftovers) and is my recommendation for an entree. Next time we’re going to try the braised rabbit. My rule about eating out: get what you wouldn’t ordinarily make at home. Octopus and rabbit are safely on that list. !

After dinner, a concert. We heard the sixth grade band and orchestra at Maple Ave. middle school and Elihu got to visit with kids he’d known since Kindergarten and hadn’t seen in ages! It was a perfect night out.

Even after a magical night out, there are still chores to be done. Gotta top off the water and food and close the chickens safely in their coop. One little red heating lamp glows through the window.

Our little cabin in the wintry night.

The next night we’re off to have dinner with some friends who live at the end of a very long road through the woods… I’m relieved we made it without incident.

The kid’s table…

The grownups table.

Christmas carols at the old piano.

Love the ancient doors and reclaimed pieces throughout.

Now it’s time for a post-meal jam in the basement. Bryce, singing, was a piano student of mine years ago. I’m glad those lessons on triads and simple chord progressions became useful!

Elihu plays (a full size) electric bass for the first time with other musicians. Yay!

Proud of my lil man.

Drums too? Why not. That’s Ethan on the left, patiently waiting for his drums back.

Now it’s time to collect up the gingerbread house that Elihu made earlier with the kids and get on the snowy road home.

This is what our road looks like… deep, snowy forest with lots of hills and creeks to cross.

Ah. Home at last.

This morning was bright and blue.

Madeline Two is every bit the leader that Madeline One was. She leads the gals to the house every morning. Sussy brings up the rear.

Today was beautiful and serene. Let’s hope things stay this way a little longer…

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Post Script: Today was my paternal grandmother’s birthday. Bessie Trimble Scott, keeper of the musician’s gene, was born in Passaic, New Jersey, on December 13th in 1883. She lived to be 101. I think of both Nana and dad today, and thank them for their gift of music. I hope they’re together again after a long time apart….

Bessie Scott Conant

Angels and Helis

December 9, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Flight, Low Vision Life, Mommy Mind, Pics, Vids, Waldorf Life1 Comment

Over this past weekend the sixth graders held an event they call ‘The Angel Room’, a day in which they shepherd the Waldorf wee ones on a quest to purchase handmade gifts for their family members. The classroom is transformed into a magical winterscape, with the merchandise all laid out in the most enticing way… It tied in wonderfully with the sixth grade curriculum; Elihu’s class is currently studying economics, and this became a real-life exercise in learning how to conduct transactions, deduct expenses and realize a profit. (The proceeds from the sale go into the class fund for trips and special expenses.)

While the tiny children waited to be greeted and escorted by a sixth grade angel through the transformed classroom, they and their families spent some time in the large eurythmy room, enjoying music, puppet shows and home-baked treats. The two hours went by fast, and after so much setting up and tearing down, it’s hard to imagine it ever happened at all, because by Sunday afternoon the classroom looked as if nothing out of the ordinary had gone on. (The Waldorf school sets a great example of living life with a certain Zen-like attitude; routinely events like this are thoughtfully and lovingly prepared for – and then promptly packed away and cleaned up. The process becomes as much a reward as the goal activity itself.) The Angel Room is a relatively new tradition at the school, but I’m sure it will last for years. It brought out the very best in Elihu and his classmates and it was incredibly moving to watch their tenderness as they guided the little ones.

The day before the Angel Room was a wet and wintry day, and since Elihu was caught up with homework, and there was little to do inside, we decided to pack up his rc helicopters and head out to the mall to do a little flying. In the past we’ve used the generously sized open area outside the mall gym. With a good thirty foot ceiling and off to the side of the mall’s main corridor, the space is perfect for flying. Until one gets shut down by the mall cops, that is. I can’t help but wonder if the bored sales clerks in the neighboring jewelry store narked on us. It was quite a let down – Elihu had been waiting to practice flying his Blade heli for a while now with no luck (it requires some serious space). He took it well, and as a small consolation I arranged for him to fly some helis at one of the free-standing kiosks. Until another mall manager found him and asked him to stop. I racked my brain, where could we go now? Indoor ice rinks, nope. The Y? No. The auditorium at Skidmore College? No, probably not. And then it hit me – Lowe’s! With ginormously (that’s a sixth grade-sanctioned adjective) high ceilings and lots of airspace, it was certainly worth trying.

In minutes we were enjoying the lumber section of the home improvement store all to ourselves. Thankfully the inclement weather had kept builders away. The employees weren’t busy either, and they enjoyed watching Elihu fly and then chatting with him afterwards. One by one, Elihu exhausted the charge in each machine. We’ve never had such a golden opportunity before. It’s a great new resource and we’re thrilled to have discovered it. Maybe a little angel gave us the inspiration. One never knows.

Ready to fly.

Organization is key.

Elihu enjoys a long rc flight and tells us a little about the particulars of the craft.

He had a pretty good run before the mall cops shut him down.

Elihu got to demo the quadcopter at the kiosk. Again, until the cops caught up with him.

The sixth grade classroom before its transformation.

The short hallway into the room, before…

… and after.

Mr. Esty gives the display some final consideration.

Everything looks so inviting.

Elihu enjoys a laugh with his classmate’s little sister Cara.

Beautiful! We’re ready for tomorrow…

Mr. Esty goes over the duties of the sixth grade angels.

The room awaits its first little customers.

Elihu takes his first charge through the room.

Elihu, showing a young one around the room of gifts.

Adam and Sawyer are the right guys for this job!

There’s a lot going on in the eurythmy room as folks wait for their turn.

There’s a puppet show…

…and music

Angel Norah helps the little ones color their gift bags.

Elihu was excited to play a couple of solo pieces.

A couple of the sixth grade girls did a reading of their work – it was very funny!

The angels take a little break and watch the show.

Before long, all was quiet and things were made ready for school to begin again the next morning. Everyone pitched in and made the job go much faster than I would have expected. Can you believe this is what the main hallway of the school looks like? We both feel so lucky to be a part of this oasis in such a chaotic, fast-paced, over-stimulated world. We thank our angels we found this place.

Memorial Tree

December 4, 2014December 9, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Growing Older, Mommy Mind, Pics1 Comment

It would be the closest thing to a formal ceremony my family would ever have for dad. The funeral home that handled dad’s affairs held an interfaith service and candlelit walk the other night in memory of those who’d died this past year. Time feels very different these days, and truly, it is hard to comprehend that it’s been almost a year since my father’s been gone. Christmastime will forever carry with it a different sort of mood. But it’s ok; his life ended in as near perfect a way as we could have hoped. For the most part, dad was dad up until the end. In spite of that, I do know that the last year or two wasn’t necessarily enjoyable for him. The last month was the worst of it, really. So it was a good thing that he finally left.

Time has taken some of the edge off; the hurt isn’t so acute as it once was, but instead, now I find that his death has become a regular part of my life. I must think of dad several times each day, missing those little, familiar details I can never again hear or see… Daily my sorrow is refreshed in little ways. It’s a selfish thing though; I personally believe he’s enjoying a much more harmonious, peaceful and loving existence wherever it is that he lives now. It’s just this damned one-way mirror makes it impossible to confirm my hunch. Man, sometimes this life thing really pisses me off. And sometimes I think it’s all a very clever way in which to stoke our sense of hope, and strengthen our ability to have faith. And then again sometimes I feel like it’s all a stupid, hurtful game, and I’m done with it – I’m out of patience with the whole ridiculous, painful joke.

Death wouldn’t be so bad if we could just get a little note from our departed loved ones, just to let us know that they got there ok, that maybe they miss us, and that they want us to know that it’s not so bad. Not bad at all, in fact. Oh, and if they could just assure us that we’ll be fine too, and before we know it, somehow, we’ll be together again.

Elihu put his dove on the tree in memory of his grandfather. He started to sing Kum Ba Yah on the walk back to the church. I sang harmony with him, and our song ended just as the candlelit walk was over. Kinda perfect. And Elihu was the first to remember some funny anecdotes about dad at the end of the evening, bringing a bit of spirited joy back to the night. Thankfully, he’s kept his outlook positive and hopeful around this sad change of life, even down to the parting words he last spoke to his grandpa: See you shortly…

Ruminatrix

November 30, 2014December 1, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Divorce Diary, Growing Older, Mommy Mind2 Comments

When my dad’s estate was finally settled and the funds put into an account, my mother was given a checkbook to draw on the funds. I thought she’d have been mostly pleased that there was something to draw on even – but that was eclipsed each and every time she’d pull out the checkbook by the horrible thing she saw printed upon them. She let out a veritable shriek when she first explained the situation to me… My mother almost always takes any situation and immediately finds – and calls attention to in the bitterest way possible – the great, personally-directed injustice of it (for her a glass is always half empty and not half full, a fear-based reaction likely tied to her father leaving her family for good when she was ten). And this checkbook presented a major offense, it appeared. In fact, it was a two-pronged offense in her eyes; on the one hand she’d lost her identity again, and had reverted from “Nancy J.” back to a “Mrs. Robert S.” (her generation has strong feelings about women’s hard-earned rights), and secondly, her title was listed as “Executrix”. Hm. Sure, I paused at that. I needed a moment to understand it, but certainly, these estate planning folks knew what they were doing, this must have been a case of archaic language surfacing in modern legalese. “Trix” was merely the feminine for “tor” and should be taken as nothing else. (Yes, I know, our modern minds all go immediately to “domenatrix”.) For some reason this feminine form of “executor” has survived, while other words like “aviatrix” or “administratix” have not; I suppose it’s another gender-equalizing step forward in the de-sexing of our language. Guess I can understand mom’s displeasure a bit better. Regardless of her feelings on the matter, there you have it. My mother is an executrix.

My mother is also, once again, Nancy. She is still someone’s widow, but in some ways she’s now coming into a new version of herself that wasn’t possible when dad was alive. I get that. In her day a woman lost her name when she married, it wasn’t questioned. In her case, she also lost whatever it might have been to be Nancy, instead, she became the wife of a famous harpsichordist. To her great credit, while Andrew and I were still small, she went back to college and earned a Bachelor of Science, and got herself a job at the local hospital. I remember seeing her at the kitchen table with her Texas Instruments calculator, the size of a small brick, working on numbers way into the night. So growing up, I naturally thought her to be a math type, unafraid (as I was) of calculations. Maybe she even liked math. It seemed so. At least I never heard her complain. And it wasn’t until recently, as we discussed Elihu’s math assignments for school, that I heard her make a comment that shattered my previous assumptions about her. She felt herself actually bad at math. It was her weakness, and she hated it. ?? Since this is a woman who has been doing crossword puzzles religiously for decades, I naturally thought she just had that clever brain for whom nothing is a challenge, and for whom everything comes easily. Guess not. Immediately, it put a spin on things: my mother had stepped out of her comfort zone when she’d gone back to school. It might not have been so much about keeping busy or contributing income as it had been about her keeping – or creating – her own identity. Her sanity, her sense of self. Another piece of the puzzle was revealed, and things made more sense.

Marrying a mildly famous person has its downside. Like my mother, I too had a partner who was well known. Much more often I was identified by him, very seldom was it the reverse. In the beginning of our relationship this was a point of stress, and it was something we talked about, and worked on. Thankfully there then came a good long stretch of time when I myself found success of my own, and in my own niche subculture had become modestly famous as well. I was busy, and creatively satisfied. It was only after I discovered my own life that I was able to enjoy, shame-free, a life alongside a famous person. But truthfully, a voice nagged at me towards the second half of our relationship: “What are you here for, and how can you possibly ever find out if you’re living with this person? Your life as a couple is all about him; are you sure you’re ok with that?” There was so much more at play than simply being partnered with a famous person. There were my insecurities, yes, but beyond that there was a person on the other side of the equation who was slowly morphing over the years into a textbook-perfect narcissist. I know he wasn’t like this in the beginning; no, we were both very naive, young things back then. Trying situations had yet to bear on our simple lives. I personally believe that his own highly dysfunctional upbringing plus the stressors of life had a cumulative effect on my ex, gradually nurturing the lion within until he became the strange, self-serving creature he is today. At present he is a mix of things; while I can no longer recognize (even as I could a year ago) any human tenderness in his eyes (his son also notices the creepy transformation when his father is here with us) I do know that he is a loving father, and that somewhere in that self-serving, self-justifying persona of his, there is a misunderstood boy who wishes only for love, comfort and sincere recognition. And these are things I could not have known before. And it helps tremendously. But it didn’t come to me overnight; it’s taken time and lots of introspection to arrive at this place.

Last night, as Elihu and I played Scrabble, we chatted about many things over our game, so when he paused and said “I don’t really get it”, I wasn’t sure what he’d meant. On Thanksgiving we’d watched videos of his father and me, from preparations for the wedding through the wedding itself (this was our only footage of dad) and then to his birth and first adorable months as a baby. Elihu had never seen his mother and father together – as we had been for over two decades – as a couple. There was much laughter, and an ease about us that no longer existed in any way. Turns out the videos were on his mind. “He was just all about you. You guys were so happy and showed each other so much love. I don’t get how it changed.” “Well,” I thought aloud, “I guess my ‘negative Nancy’ stuff helped. I mean, I was a lot more like grandma than I’d realized. A lot of the time I felt like we lived his life more than mine – or ours – and I guess it made me upset. So I was mean sometimes. Looking back, I guess it probably helped change things. It wasn’t the only reason, but it was one of them, I suppose.” We talked a bit more about it, and Elihu came to some new understanding which seemed to help. The conversation ended while the Scrabble game continued on. (Yes, he won.)

Elihu recently asked me what makes kids in their twenties so much more ‘grown up’ than the high school kids. He saw them all as physically grown, savvy, smart and funny. How was it that they high schoolers were still considered ‘kids‘? Immediately, I recalled the chicken curry effect. Some nights I’ll whip up a batch of his Grandpa Riaz’s chicken curry, and while I follow all the directions just so, it won’t taste quite right. But the next night? Dead on. Delicious. One can’t help but notice the difference. What the curry needed was time to settle, time for the ingredients to become integrated. Yes, all the right ingredients were already there with the high school kids – they had lots of information on board, and as Waldorf kids, they had lots of world experiences too – but what they didn’t have under their belts yet was time. And there is no substitute for the deeper advancements that come with the simple passing of time. It becomes a subtle form of contemplation in and of itself. I always tell my students that the time in between practice sessions is just as important as the practice itself. Some magical, internal process takes place that brings the pieces together. Glad of it too, there’s so much information in life to assimilate; emotional, factual and otherwise. Happy to know some of it takes care of itself. !

Three years ago, when I first started writing, I had said that I knew things were ok, in spite of my bad situation (see the post “Snowflakes”.) That I knew there was a silver lining somewhere in the middle of the whole mess. That things, although they didn’t appear so on the outside, were poised for an improved future. Thing is, while I was writing what I knew to be true, I did not yet feel it. It’s almost as if I was self-coaching in front of an audience, that I might soon come to believe in my heart what I knew to be true in my brain. I hesitated to publish it too, because I knew damn well that I was not feeling as optimistic as I’d sounded. Just the opposite, really. But something inside me knew that it would one day be true, and that I’d catch up. Quite honestly, six years after having left my Illinois home and moving here I have still not caught up. But I’m much further along. I continue to revisit my old life (maybe a bit more than some folks would think productive), trying to identify the actions that brought me here, and more importantly what created the spirit in which those actions were created. How do I ensure that I behave differently in the future? How also do I ensure that my child doesn’t pick up these emotional weaknesses himself? Thanks to the solitude I enjoy in the country, plus a combination of thinking and simply being, I have come closer to some answers.

That being said, daily I’m still combating a deep, existential fear, one which will be quieted only when I realize what it is that I do, and then find myself doing it, and one can only hope, getting paid for it as well. ! (Living with the help of state assistance, while still essential to our survival, has become a little challenging on the ego.) The Studio lurks in my mind as a dormant dream with plans that sit, waiting for the next step. I know I’ll get there, and until I do, much of my psyche is upset because the place still lingers, unresolved and waiting… Yet while The Studio sleeps through the winter and waits for my attention, I continue to heal, grow and learn. I’m still identifying aspects of my life – good and bad – as well as some issues carried over from my own parents, and coming to understand how these things manifest in my life today.

I’m still dealing with panic attacks these days too. Realizing that I went for years without any fear of them, I focus my thinking on what made that time different from today. How was I able to live panic-free? I believe it was thanks to a clearer sense of meaning and purpose. I know I’m a very good mother, but at the end of the day, that alone is not the answer. Sometimes I wish it was enough just to be a great parent, but important as that is, it’s not. I still need my own thing, too. Something that satisfies – and also pays. Yes, I do have ‘things’, but none of them is panning out as I’d like: I’m a musician, but I don’t play much anymore. A teacher, but too few students to make it a real job. I’m a writer, yes, with enough material for a book or two – but I don’t write for hire, I write for me (don’t get me wrong – I’d gladly write for hire, I just don’t know how to begin that pursuit). I’m a chicken farmer too, I suppose, but egg sales only cover my costs if I’m lucky. I spend my time doing many things, but at the end of the day I probably do more thinking than anything else. If only there were a name for such a thing… Oh but hang on, just maybe there is… Do you suppose there are any job opportunities out there for a ruminatrix? Or maybe… a Ms. Ruminatrix?

Well, at least it’s something to think about…

First Friday

November 28, 2014November 28, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Mommy Mind1 Comment

In all of my life I have never participated in this Black Friday stuff. And to be honest, I don’t recall there even being such a phenomenon for the first half of my life. Maybe it existed, but not the way it does today. Seems it’s picked up speed over the past decade, too. It would never have interested me anyway; the sorts of gifts I like to give are books signed by the author (usually after having sent them my own personal copy first, months before, with a brief letter of enquiry along with means for postage paid return) or a cherished print returned to its owner matted and framed (who can justify such a costly project for themself?), a rare kitchen tool, or maybe a case of a favorite wine. Useful things, beautiful things – things that certainly cannot be gleaned from a mad rush to Kmart at five in the morning just after the tryptophan has worn off. I don’t mean to sound like a snob here, but I probably do. If that’s how I appear, so be it.

I do realize there are deals to be had on this celebrated day, yet I still can’t help but feel that even so, why wait til the most crowded, stressed-out day of the shopping year to acquire things one needs? With a little forethought and some careful planning – not too much, mind you, as one means to decrease the stress associated with purchasing, not increase it – one can find good prices on coveted items throughout the year. Me, I waited a good year before buying a tv, and even then it took me weeks to find the best deal, once I’d found the model I wanted. I don’t often exercise such prudent self-restraint, but it was a big purchase, and goddam it, I meant to do it right. And I did.

So are we creating needs we don’t have in order to justify buying stuff at outrageously ‘good’ prices? Or do folks enter those double doors before daybreak with lists in hand, on the search for only the things they came for? Or is it mostly a free-for-all, a mad dash to random endcaps and display bins, hands grabbing frantically to see what lady luck has in store…? My former mother-in-law would both fascinate and frustrate me with her own method of shopping for ‘stuff’ (I think we can all agree that this whole exploration is about shopping for things and not food… That’s another topic altogether). She would return from the store, usually Target or Kmart (that alone drove me nuts as she easily had the means to visit much higher quality establishments), and proceed to show us all that she’d bought – and tell us about all the money she’d saved in doing so. “See?” she’d say, bright with sincerity, “These were half off, so I got two for the price of one!”. Only thing was, she hadn’t bought a single thing anyone in the family needed – or even wanted. She hadn’t gone to the store for anything in particular, just a deal. And what she came back with was always crap. Pressed to recall what that crap was exactly, I cannot remember. But trust me, the shit she came back with had me wanting to drop my jaw and shake my head in amazement, but back then I was a polite thing, and for the most part I withheld editorial comment. (For the most part.)

I myself am a dedicated, purposeful shopper. I always know what I’m looking for. And when I find it, I’ll often buy several of the sought item, because shopping is not for me a stress reliever (I admit that if I had more money, it might be) and I like to make sure I’m set for a while. So today, my son and I will embark on our first ever Black Friday experience, in search of several very specific items, all of which we are fully prepared to learn are sold out. The purchases are not the biggest reason for our trip, however. Today we’re going out on something of an anthropological excursion to see how it is that our fellow citizens live. I don’t get out much, so I think it might even be fun. We’ll have a modest lunch while we’re out, and perhaps make a few impulsive stops along the way. It’s a lot of gas and driving, but we’ll enjoy the ride – we’ve got our music to keep things lively, including the requisite polka collections and of course, a little Steely Dan classic named in honor of the day.

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Post Script: Our outing was a great disappointment; my son realized that the very items he’d wanted (along with every other sixth grade boy in the area) and had hoped would be marked down in price were, in fact, not selling for a penny less, nor would they be anytime soon. He’s currently studying economics in school, and if ever there were a real-life lesson on the subject, here it was. He was able to get something for his little brothers, but all in all, the experience was a letdown. And even by mid-afternoon the lines, both in the stores and out on the street, were long and slow-moving. Happily, I’d brought some new polkas along, and sure enough, that was the only consolation to the day.

Our feeling is that it’s probably best to acquire gifts online (and only after reading the product reviews!). At the end of the day we are true homebodies, happiest when our chickens are safely tucked inside their coop, and we ourselves back at home, snug and warm. Malls and masses of humanity just don’t do it for us. No matter, it wasn’t a day wasted, it was a lesson learned. After all, you never know until you go…

Thinking Thanks

November 27, 2014November 27, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Farm Life, Mommy Mind, Pics3 Comments

It’s often my son who turns me around. Sometimes I self-police, but usually it’s him. I’ll moan over my arthritic, misshapen fingers, or worry about running out of heating oil, or I’ll make some grumblings about the plight of the divorced, single mother, and there he is, to turn it all around. “But just think, you can play music with those fingers”, and “Isn’t our house nice and toasty right now?: or “If it weren’t for you and daddy splitting up, we’d never have known this life!” Sure, I’ve said all those very same things to myself, but it always helps to hear them again from an outside source. Yes, all of this is true. And while it’s become something of a trite, Facebooky sort of platitude by now, it really does make things so much nicer when we’re deeply appreciative of all that we do have, right now. It’s always easier to condemn than to praise, likewise it’s often easier to feel disappointment than gratitude. But putting that extra oomph of energy into turning it around, and seeing things ‘half full’ is worth the effort. Contentment becomes the prize.

Yesterday we spend a snow-bound day inside and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. The kitchen is currently a hot mess on account of my negligence, but it doesn’t bother me. Nor did it last night, as Elihu and I cozied up on the couch and looked over his favorite childhood books together. Nor did it distract me when we decided to actually use our fancy, modern tv in the basement and watch a whole movie together. ! Nor did I fret over the unkempt house when we went outside in the darkness to marvel over the still-falling, sparkly snow that lay in great mounds over everything.

We retired late. The two of us often rely on help to sleep – benadryl for him on bad nights, half an ambien for me – but last night we both gave it a go without assistance. He got into my bed, and we chatted a bit after I turned out the lights. “How is this going to end?” I asked him, “If we both love talking so much?” “Ok, Good night” he said, and not another word was spoken, although we both tossed and turned for a good forty-five minutes before we finally slept. But a good night’s sleep we had, and my dear child is still in bed as I write.

Later today we’ll go to grandma’s for a proper Thanksgiving dinner. There may yet be drama to follow, but for now I’m not worrying about it… I’m looking forward to all the annual food favorites – all around a proper table, on the good china, with good wine… After that we’ll pack up a meal and bring it to Martha at the farm. Our family traditions have morphed and diminished with time, but I’m grateful that things are winding down slowly, and not changing all in an instant. It was a year ago today that my family had its final meal together, and with dad being gone this year, it feels different. We’ve had time to adjust, thankfully, and all is as it should be. Throws a bit of a nostalgic, melancholic feeling on things, but still, there’s so much we do have – and so much that we have already had in our lives – that it’s ok. Sad some moments, but happy others. Such is life here on Earth – contrasts we struggle to reconcile, losses we must work to accept. The stressors in our lives may constantly vie for our attention, but today it’s best not to listen. Instead, let’s look around the room and sigh with satisfaction at those simple gifts we are so blessed to have in our lives right now.

We needed to fix our dove of peace that floats over the garage at this time of year…

Elihu is a great help.

Still needs a little tweaking, but isn’t she lovely?

The first thing I see outside this morning: the beautiful view from our living room window to the southeast.

The sun pokes through for a moment as powder falls from a branch.

The view from our kitchen window, in the same direction.

The birds need a little help this morning! Platform feeder’s under a good eight inches…

Stanley the Tree Sparrow on the kitchen’s dry erase board.

And my dearest bird boy, sleeping in on a snowy, Thanksgiving morning. Thankful am I.

November Pics

November 22, 2014November 23, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Birding, Elihu's Room, Farm Life, Growing Older, Low Vision Life, Mommy Mind, Pics, Waldorf Life2 Comments

Life’s been so full lately that I haven’t had time to archive my recent photos – plus my computer’s been in and out of the shop for weeks now, making a life sans-smart phone a tedious one indeed at times. I’ve had to visit the library a time or two to check my email. Makes me feel a bit like a vagrant, but I suppose it’s a good thing to be humbled every now and then. (Certainly helps me better appreciate the luxuries of a laptop and my favorite cozy chair.)

The changes all around us are imperceptible in the moment, but when I compare the images of this November with those from a year ago, my heart skips a beat to know how different things are now. For one, my father is gone. And now there’s a house at the end of our driveway, its windows staring straight into ours where there used to be nothing but a gentle field. We no longer have a goose guarding our home, and some favorite hens from our flock are gone. My son now plays string bass with some proficiency, and has finally experienced the freedom that tinted contacts offer. Plus, the kid is taller than last year for sure. (He’s still the shortest in his class, but hey, it’s all relative.)

Last night Elihu’s school had their fall assembly, in which each of the grades, from 1 through 12, performed. It lasted but an hour (that alone impresses me – the faculty has engineered the logistics beautifully) and it gave us all the things one expects in such a program. It had parents feeling proud, in love, in awe, and once again, in disbelief at how our children have grown so. Truly, it seems only yesterday that my dear Elihu sang in his first grade concert… And the other children, I watch them in amazement too, trying to understand this mysterious growing process that shows itself only in brief, acute moments. It’s a good thing that most of life’s big changes don’t happen all at once; myself, I like to have time in which to take things in, to figure out where things stand in the present, so I can move more mindfully into the future. But no matter how thoughtfully one approaches life, sometimes there is just no substitute for the perspective one gets in looking back.

And with that, I offer this rather lengthy pictorial retrospective on our month thus far…

Elihu brought his bass to the farm and played for Martha her favorite song, Simple Gifts.

The farm’s kitchen, the epicenter of my life since I was tiny. That’s mom on the left.

Mom helps fix Martha’s supper. This image has me pondering the plight of aging; my mother, whose own age is beginning to lessen her physical abilities, is the caretaker for Martha. Interesting the hazy lines between old and really old. Both of these women were superior take-charge gals ‘in their day’. Martha still, however, rules the roost, giving mom step-by-step instructions on how every last duty is to be carried out. Sheesh. Watching these two, dare I say, ‘control freaks’ in their late-in-life interactions is a good lesson for me: it is good to know how to delegate, but more important to let people help you on their own terms. Trust, I believe, is at the heart of the lesson. It’s hard to relinquish control, I get that. But aging kinda forces it on you. Best to be ready.

A quick smooch with Masie before we head out.

Our first dusting of snow. Beautiful, yes, but we’re not quite ready. Elihu hit his forehead and yelped ‘already?’ when he saw this. I swear he was close to crying. He’s not a cold weather kid. In fact, for some unknown reason, since he was very little he’s been telling me that he wants to live in Vietnam one day. ?? I love him more than anything in the world, but I don’t think I’ll be moving along with him. Naw. I’ll be in Italy.

Good weather for indoor tower-building.

The tallest one yet.

The Waldorf School of Saratoga Springs in the evening, such a cozy sight. Had a parent’s meeting, and thankfully, my son is now old enough that leaving him for an hour or so is possible. Hope when I get home he’s ready for bed…

When going in to say goodnight, I found a poem on Elihu’s desk. Turns out when he can’t sleep (which is every night, just like his ma), he writes poems in his head, then gets up to write them down before he sleeps. Has a bunch of them apparently. !

Downtown there’s a makeshift memorial on Broadway for Saratoga’s Banjo Man, Cecil Myrie. The day after he died I posted the photos and obit on the lamppost – within hours people had added balloons, flowers and candles as well as assorted trinkets, including cigarettes, banjo picks and a fireman’s hat.

The look of town has changed rapidly over the past decade, but local folks will recognize these three Saratoga homes, untouched by progress. Seriously, they looked the same in the late 1960s as they do in this 2014 photo. Feeling as I do about change, I relish this image.

We’re giving our young Buff Orpington rooster away to a new home soon, so he’s enjoying a final visit to the kitchen.

Goodbye, handsome fella! (The bird, that is.)

Nice to see this Red Bellied Woodpecker again this year (a confusing name when it’s really its head that’s noticeably red). Took this from across the room as he’d spook if I got close.

Today we’re going to visit our old goose, Maximus at his new home across town (we’re also giving them the rooster seen above). This is a special morning, so it requires a special breakfast. I surprised Elihu with a pancake in the form of his signature cartoon character, Stanley the Tree Sparrow.

We’re at the gate – and can hardly wait!

I stood and watched in amazement. The flock was free to escape this bird-crazy boy, yet somehow, Maximus did not flee. In fact, he allowed Elihu to get close…!!!!

“Family” selfie. Miss this guy. It’s such a good feeling to smooch a goose. Elihu and I can smooch a chicken and eat a chicken too – the same one, in fact – but we both agree that goose is off the menu for us both now. It just feels different.

They go for one last run before we leave. Max is happy here; he has a pond, lots of open acres in which to roam (note the yak in the background!) and finally, Max has a girlfriend. He has a great life here, so that makes us happy too.

And a final smooch…. for now. See you again, Maximus!

Back at the Hillhouse, giving some love to the king of the roost – and our only resident rooster now – Bald Mountain.

Eyes wide open (indoors, with no lights on), showing me what ‘perfect hair’ looks like. Right on.

Okay, seeing Maximus was special. But this is in a whole new realm of special. These babies ($600 after all was said and done if you can f*ing believe it – they’re just goddam soft contacts!!) are about to change Elihu’s life…

An ordinary picture, right? Look again – this is Elihu, eyes wide open, outside, WITHOUT his dark red sunglasses!! This moment, humble and ordinary as it may appear, is no such thing.

Elihu, about to join his classmates at school for the very first time without dark glasses, is overcome with emotion. I thought I was taking a picture of a smiling child, when he began to sob. You can see the feeling beginning to dawn on him in this image…

He joins his friends on the foursquare court and waits for someone to notice…

Yes!!!

He’s still squinting a bit (he’ll need some supplemental dark glasses for outdoors), but finally Elihu can open his eyes outdoors. Whew!!

I take a quick peek into his classroom to make sure things with the contacts are still ok…

Elihu wants to visit the music store after school with his new contacts in…

We love the use of glockenspiel in some of our favorite polkas. I wouldn’t mind a set of these myself, even if I have no current use for them…

We love this place. I try to make sure he’s not the annoying kid… but he enjoys trying things out for a spin. It is a great opportunity to get an understanding about how different instruments – and different setups – can feel.

Singing his heart out. He’s been looking forward to this performance for weeks. And again, no dark glasses. A new world for him. Can’t help but think back on his first grade concert… He sang his heart out then, too.

The sixth grade does a eurythmy performance. Eurythmy is the art of sound made visible, and is an important part of Waldorf education. (That’s my little eurythmyst on the far left. He was so psyched to finally be doing his performance in costume.)

And this is Elihu, ending the number and leaving the stage with a flourish.

This act is over, and now a new one begins…

November’s News

November 20, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Mommy Mind, Waldorf LifeLeave a comment

Today the sixth grade went on a field trip to see a production of The Secret Garden by Albany’s Capital Repertory Company. A quick, last-minute search informed me that it was a musical – not what I’d expected (Lucy Simon, Carly’s big sister wrote the music, Marsha Norman the lyrics). At first my heart sank at the discovery, but no matter, I figured it would be a good production. Happily, the show did not disappoint, and even though I, as a driver and chaperone, paid my own gas and parking, I feel it was worth the expense. These rare day trips are always worth whatever small sacrifice I need to make, because this era of ‘parents going along too’ won’t last forever. Plus I want very much to have these shared memories with my son, and with his classmates, too.

In Elihu’s first full year at Waldorf I was present for just about every single field trip the class took. The following year, in spite of a full schedule playing piano at the school, I somehow managed to attend most of the trips, and even though I had to beg out of a class again today, I managed to go along once again. I don’t take any of this for granted, I feel it’s a true gift. As a parent with the flexibility to be there, it would be a missed opportunity if I didn’t go when I was able. Although on the car ride back Elihu played the perfect eleven-year-old boy, making crazy jokes with his buddies and laughing the whole ride, when it was just the two of us again driving home from school, he effused over the production. He told me that he ‘was in tears for much of it’. (I found it moving too, but not to the degree that he did.) And that each actor played an instrument – and sang as well – he found that more than impressive. When we got home he was excited to call both his father and grandma to tell them about his day at the theater.

Tomorrow is the fall school assembly, and although the orchestra’s too large to fit on the stage and so won’t be performing (much to Elihu and grandma’s great disappointment), Elihu will be singing with the middle school chorus as well as doing a spoken word piece with his class, and also a eurythmy performance in costume. (As a self-respecting sixth grade boy he cannot openly admit to enjoying his movement performance, but in private Elihu has several times told me how beautiful the costumes are and how much he’s looking forward to wearing them.) Tomorrow should be another good production. And for once I’m not accompanying anything, and I will be thoroughly enjoying my non-participatory role in the audience.

A couple of days ago I had my first hair cut and color in over seventh months. (I know.) I just love the place I go to; it’s homey, comfortable and casual and I almost always meet someone new and enjoy some pleasant conversation when I’m there. I have a great respect for those who can cut and style hair; they express such nuance with each creation. And that no two heads are the same just makes what Wendy does for me all the more impressive. She’s a talented woman, and I’m grateful that I found her. (She always makes Elihu feel like a rockstar, too.) It’s been so long since I’ve felt like spending the money on myself, but truth be told, there’s almost never a good time. Somehow, this month my bills were caught up and I’d even managed to tuck some Christmas gifts away early, so I was able to free myself from the guilt of the extra expense and enjoy being there. Freedom from worry is good, yes – but even better is that fresh haircut feeling. ! And I know I’m just kinda sneaking this in here – but I’ve lost 15 pounds since September on a renewed dieting campaign, and it hasn’t been til now that I’ve felt I deserved spending the money on my hair. Diet results or not, I’ve done a lot over the past seven months. I’ve covered some ground and made some improvements in my corner of the world. This was a nice reward.

Beyond today, I’m not sure what will fill our time when school lets out for break, as the Thanksgiving vacation week looms long and empty at the moment. It’s the first Thanksgiving that Elihu will have been here in years. Last year, while Elihu was in Illinois with his father, we four Conants had our last meal together while dad was alive. I remember the food was so good that we ate robustly, hardly checking in a moment with each other. It was only as dad wiped his beard and began to push away from the table that I realized…. this was probably was, no – it was – our very last meal together as a family. I’d felt both sad and grateful in that moment – sad that it had felt so natural that I’d let it pass without any special moment of savoring it, grateful that we, who hadn’t eaten as a group around the same table in a decade or more, had all been here together one final time. In a way it was perfect that Elihu was absent; it gave us our last real moment as a family. I’m grateful for it, grateful, grateful. Hard to believe it was a year ago. That the season of my dad’s death was a year ago. This year, thank God, we’ll have the energetic addition of young Elihu to help keep things happy and bright. Mom’s even inviting another couple to join us. Things feel much better than they had originally. One concern however, is Andrew. After several months of attending AA meetings every single night, he’s fallen off the wagon yet again. (An intervention was never done at the insistence of a friend in AA who ended up mentoring – and then giving up on – Andrew.) This is an emotionally charged time, and Andrew is a goddam time bomb. It’s one thing to call the sheriff in to prevent him from taking a knife to me with immediate family present, it’ll be a horror show if it happens in front of folks we don’t know all that well. (I suppose it would be even more horrific should he actually make good on his threats.) With his nephew being present, that might help mitigate things. Never can tell with Andrew. We shall see.

Martha was taken to the hospital day before yesterday – her sixth (or perhaps seventh?) such visit over the past year. I’m always prepared for it to be ‘the time’, but it never is. I was glad that Elihu’d brought his string bass to the farm the other night to play for her. He played her favorite song “Simple Gifts” and other things, all of which made her happy and brought up stories from when she was a music teacher at Skidmore College half a century ago. Then Elihu found a shofar from the farm’s music room and after a few minutes found he could play a couple of discernible notes on it. That again brought up another story. Mom too was there with us in the kitchen, and Martha’s hound dog Masie made the rounds sitting on our feet as we visited… “If this visit to the hospital is to be Martha’s last, at least we had a good time the other night” I had thought to myself. But within a day she was given the green light, and yesterday I found myself wheeling Martha back up the stairs and into her enormous farm house once again. Which is where she ought to be. It’s always best to be home.

And tonite I find myself actually enjoying my home in a free moment. To-do lists done for the day, laundry, dishes, tidying… All of it done. The kid is even asleep. Often it takes Elihu a very long time to fall out, but today was full and after reading a chapter or two he was ready to sleep. I so seldom find myself in this place – usually it’s not until late that I can sit in front of my computer. Usually I feel the dull panic of a night growing later, and the morning looming just around the corner… But right now I am fairly content in the middle of a peaceful night, in my cozy, candle-lit living room in the middle of a month that hasn’t turned out as badly as I’d expected it to. As far back as I can remember, this was the month I always hated most of all. It was bleaker than any other month. It was gray and cold and snowless. And aside from a recent dusting of snow (we’re six hours east of the snowbound region of New York), so far this is just about as I remember all Novembers to be. But somehow, what with all life’s tiny diversions, I haven’t been so disheartened by the month this time around. Yes, it’s been cold and bleak out, but thankfully there’s been enough going on inside to keep our lives warm and colorful. Ah, but let’s all hope that it doesn’t get too colorful around here in a week’s time… Because as much as we all like a good story, I think we can agree that sometimes no news really is good news.

The Hillhouse

The Journey of a Mother and Son

Category: An Ongoing Journal…