Pics – Page 13 – The Hillhouse

May Begins

May 4, 2014May 4, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Farm Life, Mommy Mind, PicsLeave a comment

“Whoah” Elihu laughed, looking around, “Did I sleep here last night?” He was truly surprised to be waking up in my bed. I told him that late last night, as I’d been sitting in my chair at the computer, he stomped into the room, grunted, and then proceeded to get into my bed – and on my side, no less (if he’s to share a bed with me, he knows I’m pretty particular about me being on my side). Instantly, he was deeply asleep. More like he was asleep the whole time; he can get fairly animated while sleepwalking and talking, but this was dramatic even for him. But there was no use making an issue of it, this night I wouldn’t be sleeping on my chosen side, so I just slipped into bed on the other side and turned out the light. We spent a little time after waking just goofing around, making our hands into characters, inventing silly scenarios and goofy little jokes. It made me so happy to see him the way I’d always known him. There was no hint of the offended eleven year old who’d been hanging around the house this past week. In fact, even the night before had been entirely delightful. Mom, Elihu and I had gone to the fancy Wishing Well restaurant for his annual birthday dinner of frogs’ legs and had had a wonderful time. (Man, he gets so fired up each year for em, and I don’t think there’s any dish on the planet he relishes so.)

It had been a pleasant evening the night before, and it looked like we’d have a nice, easy-going day before us too. His old pal Keithie was coming over, and we had little planned. I had some practicing to do, some work in the garden and a few domestic chores inside, and the idea of having a house full of inspirational young boy energy appealed to me. The weeks to follow are going to be chock-full of end-of-year projects, plays and assemblies. It all kinda starts tomorrow, and I can’t really say I’m energetically there yet. Hopefully this weekend will be restorative enough that I make it through relatively stress-free. There is, however, one major event that is approaching for which I can hardly wait – one which I hope will change my life in a very important way: we are having a dishwasher installed!! It’s a Christmas gift from my mother, which has now become my birthday gift. The thing arrives tomorrow, and on Wednesday, my 51st birthday, carpenter Josh will install it. I still don’t believe it. I’ll miss my junk drawer for sure, but I won’t miss wasting upwards of two hours a day doing the blasted dishes. This is literally a dream come true for me. Seriously, where would I be without my mom? I cannot wait to see how life feels post-install…

Elihu waits all year for these delicious delicacies…

He requested escargot, too

Please, mom, no pictures now. Let me enjoy my food here.

Dark shot, but here we are. Our hostess, Ganna, who is from Ukraine (and who remembered us from our visit to the Wishing Well this past New Year’s Eve), took our picture. We ate in the living room of the old house-turned-restaurant, carpeted and cozy and lined with bookshelves.

After dinner, Elihu played his djembe for a bit with the gal playing in the piano bar. Mom looks on.

Bartender David (known to patrons as “Hook”) is a drummer and surprised us by joining in on the bongos.

A little mandolin in the morning

and then some fun with the two chicks…

Elihu has stereo chicks – each one nestled up close to an ear. It tickles!

Elihu and Madeline regard each other

Madeline is one of the oldest. She was hatched on Elihu’s 8th birthday. She is the only hen with eye makeup. She looked a lot like a sparrow when she was born and still has a distinct look. Unlike Thumbs Up, Madeline always retains her dignity and composure and does not allow herself to be treated as a mere plaything.

In the current vernacular of the fifth grade boys: this is just so wrong.

I cannot imagine a time that my counters won’t be covered in drying dishes, but it’s coming soon!!!

Time to March past April into May!

Lucky Eleven

April 28, 2014April 28, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Farm Life, Growing Older, Mommy Mind, Pics4 Comments

Eleven years ago this very minute I was standing in my bedroom in a mild state of confusion. Water was gushing out of me as if someone had turned on a faucet. Nearing two weeks past the due date in my pregnancy and this night truly unable to get comfortable, I’d only just fallen asleep minutes earlier. That night my husband and I had just finished a dinner of pasta and wine while watching The Producers before going to bed well after midnight, both of us figuring we’d be getting a good night’s sleep in before any action began. Wrong. Before long I was stuck in the middle of a searing, non-productive back labor at home, with no good end in sight. Some seventeen hours later, after giving it my best and ending up with blood spots all over the whites of my eyes from five hours of pushing to no avail, I was on Lake Shore Drive being driven through rush hour traffic to the hospital for an emergency C section. Nothing about my beloved son Elihu, from start to present, had been what I’d planned on. Including his gender. I was convinced I was having a girl. Wrong again. And so it was that my son was released from Chicago’s Lincoln Park Hospital as “Baby Boy Conant”, now over a decade ago.

And what an adventure has ensued… We love our little tradition of birthday parties here, from hatching out chicks to jamming in the basement (well, kind of) to silly string on the trampoline to poker-like pokemon action at the table to the ancient model T driving the neighbor kids back home. It all comes together one day in late April and nothing, not even a brief downpour, can dampen the joy of the day. (After all, our parties go to eleven.)

Some intense gaming at the top of the afternoon

then the action migrates downstairs to the music room for a bit… but still, kids are constantly on the move

they do stop long enough to try to get something together

let’s not forget the trampoline… it’s just getting going (pre-silly string, that is) Look who surprised us by coming! It’s the twins, Cora and Sophia! That absolutely made my kid’s day. And my mother just kept admiring all the red hair present.

Annabelle is daddy’s girl. That family’s a brainy, techie bunch.

our beloved Thumbs Up entertained everyone. She allowed herself to be picked up and set down anywhere. Here Sam and Eva get a good chicken-smoochin in.

And Miss Coco’s bringing the chicken back to the party

kinda fuzzy, but can you see? Babies and chickens in the kitchen. Fun!Recognized immediately by his Pokemon peers. Charizard. I think. ?

the closest we’re gonna get to having all twenty-something kids in one shot.

the little kids hear the frantic peeping coming from inside an egg in our incubator… this chick worked hard all afternoon

With mom watching over from the steps, our neighbors get ready to load up on Zac’s Doodlebug. Stephanie has three little ones to bundle up and get ready. Let me not forget our other neighbor mom Casey – she has three little ones too, only her oldest can do it pretty much all herself.

Loading up six little ones for a ride home

Good-bye! Thanks for coming!

Out of twenty-four eggs, this lil gal’s the only one to have hatched on her own so far….

This little one struggled valiantly for seven hours, and then I realized that like me, she too needed just a little help. We very carefully peeled her free of her shell and laid her there to dry and rest. A chicken C section!

The end of night selfie. Thanks everyone for coming to Elihu’s 11th birthday party!

A Happy Birthday Post Script: The little C section chick, although still a little scraggly-looking, is doing just fine in the brooder tank with her/his only other sibling. A third chick died mid-hatch, and no other eggs have shown signs of life. Such is the chance one takes when breeding your own chickens.

Center

April 20, 2014May 1, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Divorce Diary, Growing Older, Pics4 Comments

My beloved old home, my one-time center.

This past week I’ve spent dozens of hours going through old photographs and documents and projects and letters and recordings and videos and doodles and poems and journals and mementos and, well, stuff. So much stuff. Each single piece represents a project that was once upon a time the perfect center of my universe. A decade all about The Aluminum Group, two decades singing with my ex-husband, a few years of radio programs, a couple of years with this band or that, a short, intense relationship with any number of one-off deals; demos, sideman jobs, showcases… Each long-forgotten recording brings me back into a tiny universe unto itself, with its own cast of crazy characters, with its own sound, its own feel…

Here, in the country, in the middle of ten acres with chickens my only current companions, I can easily begin to feel as if my past lives were just as much a dream as last night’s. But they weren’t, and there is something inside that compels me to document it all, to acknowledge it, to remember it, maybe even to relive it. Thanks to Facebook I can share some of my re-discoveries, and that helps bring some resolution. But what of all this material? What to do with it? And at the end of the day, after I’ve re-visited much of my past life as a musician, why is it that I feel less like I know who I am – and not more of who I am? The problem is, I guess, that I feel I’m all of those people. The jazz singer, the accordion player in alt country bands, the hard rocker with the hair, the white R&B queen with the steps, the one with the vintage keyboards singing the middle harmony part… even the gal playing her dad’s harpsichord on a track here and there… And of course part of the problem too is that these days I do none of what it was that I used to. So naturally I feel its absence more acutely.

I guess what feels strange in looking back, and what also felt a little isolating even at the time, is that I belonged to so many different musical circles which seldom intersected. I remember always feeling a bit like an impostor in each world. And now, when I have no real musical identity but that of years past, I find myself searching through old boxes to rediscover who it is that I most miss being. Who do I most identify with – where was my musical home? It’s just not possible to answer. Also, a handful of my fellow musicians are gone now, and that leaves me feeling even more at sea. This has been a long week holed up in my basement, trying to organize and in some fashion catalogue all the ancient material. Man, why should anyone even care? I find myself wondering. But then again, why not? What if? What if one day… one day my son wonders what his mom did when she was his age. What if? I’ve only just discovered a wonderful cache of dvds of my father’s concerts here at the Studio… Having a window into that time is priceless and precious to me now. And so, with that sentiment still clinging to me, I put the endless boxes of tapes back onto the shelves to sort themselves out later. A girl can only do so much.

I find photographs too. And some of them have me crying. I just kill myself with what-ifs sometimes. I see a photograph that captured just perfectly the feeling of our old home in Evanston, and I miss it so much I post it on Facebook, hoping old friends might offer some comfort, some sense of familiarity, of family even. Of center. Problem is, in each memory I uncover, I remember how it felt when that was my center. Of course I can know where my home is now (and it finally feels it) but on this holiday weekend when everyone’s talking about new beginnings and happy Easter, happy Passover, happy Spring…. It doesn’t feel quite right. My father’s not here; our family is unbalanced. My brother is a mess, and who knows, maybe my mom misses my dad as much as I do now. So who, what or where becomes home? Where now is the center of my world?

I had some errands at the mall today. Usually malls make me panicky; the large, open spaces, the constant drumming of background noise, the energy of all those people… but today it made me sad. I saw old, overlooked people pushing cleaning carts, limping grandpas pushing walkers, lost and lonely-looking souls everywhere, just walking ahead, vacant gazes on their faces, just going, going, going…. but to where? And when they were done with their search for satisfaction, where to then? Home? What was for them, I wondered, watching these displaced loners, the center of their lives? Was it a cozy chair, a bedroom, a corner of the kitchen at home? Memories of loved ones now long-gone? Just how lonely and isolated were these people? Did their center exist years ago, never to return? Hell, did my center exist years ago, never to return?

My son’s been gone over a week, so maybe that’s helping me think like this. Maybe that’s partly it. I don’t know. But today I’ve been unusually wistful and everything – everything – seems to have a grinding poignancy about it. Everything from a seagull wheeling in the sky to an old man shuffling through the mall… all of it seems loose, free, ungrounded, without destination. Comfortless, centerless.

Maybe I’m also feeling this way because tomorrow a local chamber music group is holding a concert of Bach in dad’s memory. Mom and I are going. Andrew, being rather a wild card, is not. It feels sad that mom didn’t feel it ‘safe’ to include him. But I can agree. So there the center erodes even further. And one day my mother will follow my father, my brother will be lost to me in his illness, and my son will move away as children are supposed to. Then what? What defines me then? Where will my center be then? I can’t seem to get any true and clear vision for the future, and my past can’t stop reminding me that I’ve left it behind. My dad is gone, my husband long gone, and my family as I’d always thought it would be is gone as well. But photos and recordings remain. Maybe that’s why I can’t let em go. As much as they might seem at times too weighty an anchor to keep around, when I do have the time to investigate them for a moment or two, re-discovering these tiny treasures restores my hope. So I guess I’ll hold on to them a little longer, because it seems the evidence of my past might just become the centerpoint from which I move into my future.

Twin Bumps

April 15, 2014April 17, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Growing Older, Mommy Mind, Pics3 Comments

I have never been a fan of the expression ‘baby bump’. I don’t quite know when it became commonplace in our pop culture, but all of a sudden, it seemed to be everywhere. I’d thought it would pass, but no. All of a sudden, bumps of all kinds began to appear in rags all types. Something of a snob when it comes to certain word use, I myself had no plans to use the word ‘bump’ for anything other than describing a flaw in the pavement, but eventually I succumbed. It just seemed the perfect term for whatever it was that both Elihu and I came to have on the very same spot on our noses one week in August of 2008. The month in which our twin bumps were born.

Not sure if they’re evident here. We each have a spot on the right side of our nose, about level with the tip. His is clear (the same way in which mine started out) but mine has gotten a bit out of control. It’s large, bright red and may even have its own postal code by now.

Here’s Elihu’s bump sometime last year.

Here’s mine – I can definitely see it. (Man, I can also see the weight loss of last year. Sheesh. Gotta start that all over again. A great disappointment. But I digress…)

We found two eggs with bumps too!

We kinda match up!

Just makin sure you know where they are.

Ok, I wouldn’ta made a big deal of this – as in looking up a local dermatologist and paying out-of-pocket to have the thing removed – only I kept nicking it and it would bleed a bunch, and then heal just a tad bigger than it’d been before. And I saw it all the time, right there, in my range of view, and it was becoming very annoying. Plus it was taking on a decidedly witchyesque sort of vibe. And in the end, it was the frank and uncensored comment made about it by a fifth grader that made the decision for me. Without a moment’s hesitation I picked up the phone and made an appointment to have it removed. I’d threatened to do so in the past, but Elihu was strangely sentimental about it and always asked that I not.

The back story on our bumps – take from it what you will – is kinda interesting I think. When I tell the story in front of my mother she likes to ‘ooooh’ and ‘aaahhh’ as if poking fun at its implication. Hey, all I know is this: in August of 2008, a couple of weeks before we planned to move to New York, I was giving my then five-year old son a bath and I noticed a new, translucent spot on his nose that hadn’t been there before. No big deal – gave it not a second thought. Not until a little later that week, as I examined my face in the mirror after a shower, I too noticed a small, translucent bump on the very same spot. ?? I immediately went to look at him again – and felt a small shock when I saw it again. We had identical bumps – in the very same place! I shrugged it off, but I can admit that deep down I wanted to believe it was some sort of physical manifestation of the bonding that was going on between us. Even at that time in our lives his father wasn’t around too often, and Elihu and I spent a good 90% of our lives just we two. So the bumps felt like a tiny physical reminder of our deep connection. Not like matching tattoos or anything, but the evidence was there for anyone to see.

During the time of our new ‘twin bumps’ I was experiencing the most frightening conclusion to the strange year that had come before. My husband was making plans with his girlfriend and their newborn son; now it was my turn to step up and be proactive on behalf of myself and my son’s future. The following week Elihu and I fled Illinois, never to return. Bonded in a new life to be sure. Of course then I had no idea how the future would turn out, but five years later I have a million reasons to be grateful for our second chance. Not the least of which is getting this crazy thing off my face! Neither Elihu nor I are the least bit sentimental about it any more – and mine has become a nuisance. Sheesh. We’re bonded already… now can we get this silly thing off of my nose?

So poor Bruce, the guy doing the procedure – he had to endure my ceaseless chatter the whole time. I hate things like this. Much rather watch a surgery on myself (done that) or see my wisdom teeth come out (that too), but this needles-and-electrodes-in-your-face thing just kinda freaked me out. He was kind and gave me a topical which he says he doesn’t usually do first. But I guess he acquiesces for wimps like me.

Not digging the preliminary topical shot. But I appreciate it for sure.

Now he’s doing the cauterizing, which as I understand it is done by electricity. ? Medical folks, please correct me if I’m starting rumors here. You can smell your flesh burning. Kinda crazy.

Ah, Bruce’s done. Phew. I can’t believe how worked up I got – I’m covered in sweat! Took less than three minutes. And thanks Lesley, for taking the pictures! Very sweet of both of you to put up with me. Yack, yack, yack.

Here I am a few hours later. Some scabbing at the site (he zapped a second, budding young bump as well – 2fer Tuesday!), so I’m off to a good start. I no longer see a large red sphere out of the corner of my eye which makes me quite happy. Yeah, I’m a grateful gal. Whew! Glad to have this chapter concluded.

Golden Touch

April 7, 2014April 13, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Birding, Farm Life, Low Vision Life, Mommy Mind, Pics, Waldorf LifeLeave a comment

We’ve been crazy-busy lately, but in spite of that, we both have enjoyed something of a golden touch this past week, starting, of course, with Elihu’s wonderful performances as King Midas in his class’s annual play. (Many times he made sure I knew its true title was The Masque of Midas, with a ‘q’ and not a k.) I cannot relate to you how robust a performance he gave, how clear were his lines, how his understanding of their meaning (in spite of the flowery, archaic language) translated so easily through his speech and gesture… His voice was as crisp, bold and commanding as was his character; his body moved so much like royalty too… I personally loved the part where he admits the fickle nature of humans, and concedes how quickly we forget the small miracles of the everyday. As he eats a grape (which previously his spell prevented him from tasting) he admits that in spite of the lesson he’s learned through having – and then losing – his golden touch, even now the precious fruit was losing its ‘ambrosial taste’. And beyond that, Midas expected that in very little time he would revert to his old ways and completely forget the lessons he had only just learned… I loved the way Midas – and Elihu too, in his understanding and appreciation for the meaning of his lines – had the clarity to recognize that through his human ways he would likely in the end lose the ability to recognize the true value in the everyday. This was a kid who got it, and who conveyed it. The whole cast was wonderful, and many children were able to play their instruments in the production, everyone of the children sang beautifully, and a handful of them enjoyed playing some very animated and funny scenes. The play was a beautiful ensemble piece that will live long in the memories of these children, their beloved teacher, and all their proud friends and family who were there to share in the experience.

Please forgive – or overlook – the donkey ears. They come out at the end, and we forgot to stash em for the photos.

A fitting instrument for the king to play, I think.

Things weren’t entirely golden at the start, but we persevered, looking for that unanticipated golden ending… Had a coupla goodnews/badnews scenes of our own play out this past week. Elihu’s bass broke. I went to tune it for one of his plays, and the strings just weren’t responding. I took a closer look at the tuners, and glad my attention was there, for I saw the giant headstock just fall over forward. I caught it, thankfully, so no more damage was done. And the break itself wasn’t a clean one. Worth a look-see at the shop, but deep-down I kinda knew Elihu’s days with this instrument were over. Sad, I thought. My father had seen him first play on it. He’d learned a lot on it – we’d enjoyed making some good music together with it. But then I caught myself, and reminded myself not to get too sentimental. There will be many basses yet to come as he grows. This is a rental, and only a quarter size at that. But still. It was his first. We prepared for a good month without an instrument when good old Ed called from the shop and told us he had a new one in for us. Huh? Really? That only took like a day! Here’s the good news/bad news part. The endpin just wouldn’t come out. Had to be pounded back in when we did finally pull it out with some pliers. Nope. Wouldn’t cut it. Besides, the action felt bad, and I think it sounded like a box. We really had lucked out with that first instrument. (Glad we took down the maker’s name… may try finding him again.) This generic rental was made in Romania, and while we’re pretty sure some fine polkas likely come from this country, this instrument itself was sure not serving as the country’s best calling card. Elihu saw far more promise in his new discovery of a Bajnolele as we awaited the fate of this new rental… Last visit he had his first sit-down with a mandolin, and now this…. Perhaps his problems with these basses was helping to open doors to new adventures… Elihu’s eleventh birthday is in three weeks… He may have another instrument (or two) in his bag of tricks by then…

Ed ascertains that there’ll be no easy fix here. Time for a new rental. Too bad, this one sounded and played great.

So in the meantime, Elihu picks up a mandolin. Hey, they’re strung just like violins. Hey, Elihu can play a violin…

Ed really helped us by getting a new rental in ASAP, only the silly end pin’s stuck. That’s ok, the thing sounded like a box anyhow. Hope the next one sounds and feels better than this. He’ll use his upright electric tomorrow in orchestra – that’ll be kind of a new adventure. Make him a rock star at school, too.!

While Ed tried to work on the bass, Elihu discovered a Banjolele – and now it’s Mama who knows the tuning here and can show lil man a couple tricks. Wow, this thing is fun! Hmm… this might be a lot of fun to add to the collection….

The culture of fifth grade boys: a renaissance of Pokemon

Thankfully jamming holds some solid interest. Drums, Wurlitzer, Melodica and Clarinet. !!

Yes, we’ve had some golden moments in the past few days; the class play, the trying out of a couple new instruments (and getting along with em just fine), a couple of long play dates with his two buddies, one of which was outdoors in the new warmth of Spring (and which also included some making of music, video gaming, Pokemon trading, trampoline hopping, woods exploring, plane flying and chicken chasing). Then there was the day we’d waited for for a long time now. We went to visit an old family member. We went to see (with our breath held and hopes not too high) our beloved goose Maximus in his new home. We’ve been told he’d keen on a certain gal, and that he’s found his place in the large flock. That we even saw him at all was a bit of a surprise to us. We’d come expecting the worst – we’d thought he’d likely be deeply embedded in his flock, that he’d turn and run the other way, aloof, wild, anything but how we’d once known him. Thankfully, he was close by when we arrived, and in spite of Elihu’s advances and Max’s slight protests, in very short order Max had allowed Elihu to pick him up. How our hearts warmed! And I got to hold my beloved Max’s sweet head in my hands and kiss his cheeks and head as I had always done. I swear that bird recognized us in his heart. I swear he knew it was us. That we were there – not just any crazy humans trying to pick him up and smooch him – but us, his first family. Elihu spent some alone time with Max, talking to him. Saying things I didn’t need to ask him about – as they were between a boy and his bird.

The folks who took Max in have taken other sad creatures in to live with them. They’re angels who are giving a handful of God’s creatures a better experience on this planet. Good people, good work they do. And we’re eternally grateful that they were able to give our Max a wonderful, full-goose life here on their side of the mountain. My goodness, they even have a pond! Heaven on earth! I think of that tiny pond I’d made here last summer – and remember Maximus doing his ‘up tails all’ move in that tiny triangle of water… Such joy he radiated, and yet in such tiny confines. Can you imagine the goose-joy he’ll feel when finally in a real pond for the very first time? We hope that we can be there to witness it… we hear that when they pull that winter fencing back and open the pond to all the critters of the farm for the first time each Spring – it’s a BIG deal – an event of sorts. The birds all know and wait at the edge…. Like patrons at a concert waiting to stake out their spot on the lawn… The geese all hang about, nearly frantic to get on that glorious water… The fence goes back and the geese go forth…. A golden moment for sure.

Now it’s off to visit Maximus in his new home

Elihu spotted him right away.

And had him in his arms just about within seconds.

After an ‘enforced’ smooching (I got to kiss him too), Max regards us from a distance.

Probably the very most important thing we did this weekend was to stock our incubator. These twenty-four eggs are worth their weight in gold to us… Each year we put them in the machine such that they’ll hatch out the day of Elihu’s birthday party. I can hardly believe it, but this will be our fifth year doing it. It has truly become a tradition on his birthday. What a lovely way to remember his childhood birthdays, too… We were given eggs from our friends at Elihu Farm (I know, right?) and also from Max’s new family. We added some of our own, and between all three sources hope for a good hatch out in twenty-one days. Ya never know. The sound of the small, table-top incubator clicking along, day and night is for us a sound of Spring. From within those tiny machine noises comes a certain kind of hope, of excitement for the future. It gives us a refreshed sense of happiness and possibility…. So much potential, so much unknown…. such a metaphor for life itself.

Mary Pratt of Elihu Farm. She kindly gave us some (hopefully) fertile eggs to raise up a new flock.

Here they are today going into the incubator. They’ll hatch in 21 days.

Ah, such a hopeful time of year. Snow still lingers, but each day there’s less and less of the stuff. Just today Elihu and I both heard some Redwing blackbirds (haven’t seen one yet – that will have me pulling over to the side of the road for sure). This morning the air was absolutely filled with the sounds of nearly a dozen new arrivals – all of whom were heard for the first time today! It’s as if some threshold has been crossed now. How do they do it? we shake our heads in wonder each year, but more unimaginable still is that they all seem to arrive at once. We don’t even try to understand. In this world of 24/7 illumination and patches of untouched nature so few and far between, it breaks our hearts to attempt to comprehend their task. So all we can do is revel in their return and let them know how much we love them, how glad we are to see them. “They really are like family, aren’t they?” Elihu asks me each year as we lean on our elbows and watch the visitors on our platform feeder. “Yes, they are”, I always answer.

Elihu has loved and consulted his audio bird books for half his life now. They come out again this time of year.

One of our many daily visitors

My mother hates these sneaky cowbirds, but hey, they can’t help how they’re engineered….

The most precious gold of all in our world is the brand-new Spring plumage on our little goldfinch friends…

Blue

March 16, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Birding, Mommy Mind, Pics15 Comments

It’s probably the cold. Day four and it’s still pretty bad. My nose is sore, I’m pooped and this endless winter isn’t helping. My poor kid is fed up too, and he’s not even sick. But God bless that little man, he finds joy enough to keep both of us afloat when I’m at the very end of my rope. Not saying that Elihu hasn’t felt it too – oh he has. He’s had his mini-meltdowns, been brought to a point of near weeping for the endless cold and indoor living. But he rebounds fairly well. Better than I do.

House-bound as we are we’ve had to make do like the rest of the world in our northern neighborhood. But even with the gift of a new tv in our basement, we’ve found other things to keep us entertained. Good thing too; I’m fairly ready to sink into despair. A quick visit to the Studio today was a bit discouraging and had my mood becoming even darker; the workers have torn out more of the walls than we’d originally planned on. It was not a happy surprise. Guess it was necessary. Must have been some additional damage, I don’t know. It’s Sunday, and there are no answers today. Gotta get thru til tomorrow before I find out where we’re at now. But for the moment, I rest in a very blue mood.

I’ll get to bed soon, heal myself with a generous night’s sleep, and then rally tomorrow. Another long week ahead, more on my plate than I can ever see achieving, but what can I do? Either give in or push back. Right now I don’t feel the strength to do a single thing. But knowing that I share my life with such a boy as Elihu gives me the inspiration I need to keep it together just a little longer. After all, blue moods don’t last forever….

A little music….

and then some tower-building.

Impressive, huh?

In the end, it’s always about the birds…

Because they’re such a big part of our daily lives.

Inspired by his desire for Spring, Elihu drew this lovely picture. I had not the heart to tell him that the reeds were as blue as the jays… He would have been heartbroken that his use of color wasn’t accurate. But notice what a lovely mood has been created precisely because of the blue palette…

Maybe blue’s not such a sad color after all.

Let’s hope a good night’s rest helps us do away with the winter blues…

Gone

March 14, 2014March 15, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Elihu's Room, Low Vision Life, Mommy Mind, Pics2 Comments

Well, think I understand why I was so to-the-bones exhausted the other night. Woke up with a cold the next day. Aches all over, a sore throat and a voice like a 3 pack-a-day smoker. Last night was a long, sleepless one. (Ironically it happened the day after I’d commented to a co-worker that I rarely got sick. !) But today in spite of feeling lousy I didn’t slow; too much to do. Vacuumed the house, gave the stove a good going-over, did the requisite making and cleaning up of three home-cooked meals, baked some bread, did a load or two of laundry and spent some time at the piano. (Not too thrilled about the ceaseless list of material I must learn – it requires an investment of time I hardly have to give and don’t get reimbursed for either, but I give it nonetheless as the music must be learned regardless.) After a good day’s labor I decided that Elihu and I would commence to pass a couple of hours as all self-respecting Americans are wont to do – in front of the tv. Our very new, long-awaited ‘real’ tv, that is (not the tiny counter top tube type, the likes of which we do already have in the kitchen. Mr. Colbert is my one true love, may all know it, and he keeps me company when I do the dishes). Our new tv is every bit as up-to-date as the Jones’, thank you very much. All 39 diagonal inches of it. !! This was a purchase I’d researched up and down, thought long and hard about after finally making a decision. Even to have decided that we should actually have such a creature in our house – that in itself was something of a big move for us. During the course of life as usual, we haven’t much extra time to watch the thing – but as this relentless winter drags on and on and on, we do find ourselves occasionally with an hour here or two that we might care to fill with something other than jam sessions or homework. I mean, how many polkas can one learn, right?

Our cellar (that’s what one calls the basement in these parts) is kinda chilly, so we now have a resident down comforter to drape over our laps as we hunker down in our new bean bag chairs a-la-Walmart and pull up real close to that giant tv. Elihu’s vision is such that we often say that ‘if he can’t touch it, he can’t see it’. While it’s kind of an exaggeration mostly designed to make a point, there is some truth to it. He, and all other Achromats must sit within a couple of feet of a tv screen to register the images. Plus, being extremely photosensitive, the image must be adjusted about as low as the brightness settings can go – while maintaining contrast, so the images are still distinct. I’m glad to have him mostly all to myself as a parent – because when it comes to his visual comfort, I know what he needs, and I make sure he has it. He has no ‘normal’ sighted folks other than me to share with here, so the screen is set for his maximum comfort. As a mom, that gives me peace. I get such joy looking over at him, his eyes wide (they’re seldom wide open) and a look of awe on his face as he watches his very favorite Ben 10 character kicking all manner of alien butt….

He may still get a thrill out of Ben 10, but he’s on that cusp of little boy/bigger boy now…. He’s taking his bath as I write, something I’ve almost always been present for, but tonite, he tells me he feels he’d like to be alone. It’s not the first time he’s told me something like that, but once again it highlights for the the new terrain coming up in the not-too-distant future. Yesterday he laughed as he pulled my hand across his legs, arms and then upper lip, all of which were becoming hairier than I’d remembered them being… He knew I’d be a bit taken aback. He got the reaction he’d wanted. (I fake cried for him to bring my baby boy back – or stop growing!) Elihu is excited about the changes coming up, and why shouldn’t he be? Why shouldn’t I be? The tender years are wrapping up, and how lucky are we to be entering into the years where we can play music together, do things, have even more adventures, be better matched as partners, and less like parent and child…

I admit it, I’m ambivalent about this growing older thing. I want my arms always to fit around my boy, I want him to always fit in my lap here in this cozy chair (it’s getting a tad tight these days). Hell, I want always to hold my seven month old babe in my arms, sit in my rocking chair and sing him to sleep…. A baby is an easy thing to miss, but it’s also easy to forget ever having had such a tiny thing in your arms at all…. I can understand why people have more of em… so tender, so sweet… But SO much goddam, relentless work they are too! Yeeks. Ah, but then I can let all that weepy nostalgia go when I envision the future yet before us, and realize the downshifting of domestic duties that go along with the territory (if you know different, maybe don’t tell me, cuz I’m really building it up in my mind as the wide open future as soon as he can feed, dress and clean himself without any assistance or prompting.)

I have been feeling under the weather, but at least I know it’ll last only a day or so. Our sick hen, Sophia, however, finally had to give up today. In spite of a week’s tender treatment in the house; antibiotics, warm towels, fancy feed and the occasional serenade by a young bassist, and in spite of a good start to her re-entry into coop life, last night her breathing had become labored once again. I realized that I could either bring her back inside and committ myself fully to her recovery, stinky kitchen, random poops and all, or I could let nature run her course and decide for me. There was another option we considered; we could call neighbor Zac over for a quick “Axe-u-puncture” treatment. Unless I kept her inside for a good month and mad her my top project, I didn’t see ever restoring her to optimum hen health. And although I do have a lotta love inside my heart for creatures in need, I just couldn’t find the oomph this project would require. So when I saw a strange, black shape on the snow today, I knew what it was, and I realized that Nature had made the choice for me. Of course I was saddened to see she hadn’t made it, but beneath that ran a sweet feeling of relief, for her as much as for me.

I ran out to see, and learned that she’d separated herself from the flock, walked a strange, drunken curve into the snow, then simply fallen over. Elihu had seen her just an hour before, so I knew it to be recent. I picked her up and cradled her in my arms, leaned over and kissed her. Brought her to the house for Elihu to see, but his need for closure hardly existed, this was just more business as usual. I laid her out on the snowbank across the driveway as an offering for the meat-eating crows. I think tomorrow they’ll be quite pleased to find her. And it pleases both of us to know that Sophia is no longer suffering, and that now she brings a benefit to others in need. A bittersweet conclusion, but still, ultimately speaking, a happy ending.

My happy end will come when this kid finally gets out of the bath and I can myself head off to bed. Mama don’t go down til the house is settled and ready. And some nights it just seems to drraaagggg oooonnnn aaannnddd oooonnnnn. Yes, I do realize that ‘These are the good old days” and one day I’ll miss em. But sometimes I’m just really ready for these good ol days to be long done n gone.

Sophia listens patiently

And she stays close by while Elihu plays for her

Yeah, she just hasn’t looked too hot in a while now.

Dear Sophia is no longer in distress. You were a fine hen; thanks for coming to live with our family here at the Hillhouse for a bit, we were delighted to know you.

Clean Slate

February 22, 2014February 23, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Growing Older, Pics6 Comments

For me this has been a day of very mixed feelings. From elation at the prospects of the future to intense pangs of sorrow at having lost something precious, now irretrievably gone from my life…

Today some friends and I cleared the Studio out of its contents. There was so much more stuff than I’d realized there’d be. And I do understand pretty well how stuff adds up – I’m rather a stickler for organization and pairing down to the most important stuff – but the piles and the boxes just continued to appear. It’s amazing how we humans manage to stash away objects. And when you finally do get around to excavating every last corner of the place and have set all the piles out before you, what then? How do you let go of things when they’re so loaded with nostalgia, longing, subtle shades of regret? Where do you draw the line?

I regarded the boxes and when pressed as to whether or not they should go out onto the big trash pile I found myself sounding a lot like those poor souls on the show Buried Alive… “Mmm, uh, I might use those again, uh, maybe just put them here for now. Hm, um, wait, wait… I’m not sure, I don’t know…” Wait, me? I can’t let go? I myself used to help others let go of their stuff and organize their possessions long before it was trendy, long before places like The Container Store were even dreamt of. Under the informal moniker of “Assess a Mess” I’d go to people’s homes and help them throw away all of their crap or send it back out into the world. A combination of psychologist, personal assistant and trashman, I’d help them make all the hard choices. I employed what I called my “rule of two”: if you hadn’t used it in the past two years and didn’t plan on using it in the next two months, then out it went. I wasn’t cold-hearted about sending stuff away; I always tried to find objects a second life – and this was before the era of Freecycle, Craigslist or Ebay, yet somehow I’d make it through mountains of stuff, leaving a perfectly clean and organized joint behind. But now that it’s come to me – now that we’re talking about my recently deceased father here and all the tangible results of his life’s work – it just isn’t the same deal at all. And my mother’s hand is here too; it was she who kept the place running, made the videos of all the concerts, fed and watered the audiences at intermission, the musicians before and after concerts and rehearsals – her things are here too, and it’s troublesome to vote her things out when I know all the love and attention they represent…

Thankfully I had my partner Ceres and her kids here to help. It was far more work than it appeared to be at first, and I – physically or emotionally – couldn’t have done it alone. After getting a bit further into the job I discovered that the more I excavated, the more that I liberated the walls and corners of long-forgotten stuff, the more hopeful I became. I began to envision little future scenes of what one day happen here in this room. I’d been listening to the boombox I’d bought dad for Christmas last year (so he could listen to his favorite Bob and Ray CDs) to keep me going, and I heard violinist Andrew Bird on the local college station and wondered… might I host him here one day? I realize he’s become kinda big now, but I knew him in Chicago back in the day. Never know. And what of my other friends from my old life? I started imaging concerts, combinations of folks whose music I love… I didn’t want to spoil my fantasy with all the ‘yes, but‘ conditions, so I held back the sober voice of reality and limitation and allowed myself to continue to dream while I cleaned… Later on I heard jazz vocalist Janice Borla – also another fellow Chicagoan – and man, I though her recent recording sounded great. A totally different kind of music and crowd, but maybe, I thought, might I have something like that here too?

All manner of possibilities started to come to me, and I let myself fantasize for a bit as I worked. I loved music of all kinds – I just couldn’t see limiting the room to one thing or another. House concerts? Maybe that’s the route to go… Baroque Ensembles that are starting out and need a smaller venue? Hm. The jazz kids from Skidmore hosting small ensembles and including some of the high schoolers in town?? Stuff just kept coming. But then I’d feel a sudden wave of panic, when I’d look up from my task for a moment and see in my mind’s eye the room as it had been for decades… In an instant it was a late summer afternoon and the house was full of people, there was the scent of freshly cut hay in the air, and of course the music. The harpshichord, the gambas, violins, flutes, voices… The familiar sound of the chairs being scooched back on the wood floor as people got up to stretch and mill about… The dreamlike vision came upon me and with it all those subtle feelings I associate with my entire childhood. In my head I could still see so clearly the golden sunlight streaming through the western doors; I remember the flowers, freshly cut from the local roadsides, that my mother would arrange for a vase on the stage; I remember the murmur of the audiences’ voices as they chatted during intermission….

Baroque music and the scent of newly cut hay, the warm sunlight, low in the sky… The memories all swirl around my head, tugging at me to remain there with them, never to leave them lest they die forever… My heart wants things to continue to hear and see these very same things for years without end. But of course, this is impossible now. Their leader is gone, that era has closed. I know I sure don’t feel like much of a leader myself, and I haven’t a clue what I’m in for. But I guess there’s no question about it. It’s my party for now, ready or not. Into the future we go, much to learn, much to do, and lots of great music and memories yet ahead. Thanks, mom and dad, for the great start. The Studio won’t be the same, but it will continue to have a lot of heart and soul.

The Studio as it appears from the South from just outside mom and dad’s house.

This is the side of the Studio people see first, the main door and box office are here. Note the stuff already piling up out front.

I really wanted to convey the size of this hump in the middle of the room. Seriously, right now we could rent the place out as a skate park! Look at this stool – all four legs are on the floor!

A selfie with the ever-present tapestry on the back of the stage wall. Dad and I once had a picture taken of us on this very same spot. I’m feeling a bit sad about things right now.

See the tilt of the floor now? Crazy!

I was hoping this might illustrate the drama of the mid-room bump. Kinda…

Ceres’ son, Christoper, is being creative in trying to illustrate the big bump. In real life it looks much more impressive.

This is the green room. None of us (mom and me, that is) ever liked dad’s ridiculous choice of green. Ich. Thank goodness I can finally get rid of it. This room served as a backstage area, holding pen for several harpsichords and apartment for musicians and their families while they played here at the Festival. Now my Rhodes lives here – but after sitting in three inches of water for over a week, it’s in need of some serious cleaning and looking-over. So back to my basement it’ll go. That’s grandma’s rocking chair on the left – in good shape. Anyone want it? It’s yours!

More stuff.

The box office jam-packed.

Hmm. You can always tell a lot about a person by looking at their trash….

The spiral staircase to the balcony. As kids we had loads of fun on this. Note the high-tech, ten pound cam-corder mounted to the balcony railing – mom recorded every last concert on it. (We’ve since had them converted to DVD.)

The Studio’s sign came off the frame shortly before dad died, and it’s been sitting in a bank of snow. Lest it become warped and useless as the wood floor of the place, Ceres and son Brian moved it up from the road and into shelter. (The Conant’s summer cottage is in the background – it’s where my brother lives now.)

Ahh, such a great space.

Always loved this beam detail.

Even with the damaged floor, she still looks beautiful.

Had to take this pic from a distance so it’s fuzzy – but it’s from mom and dad’s very first festival in 1959. !

Here the Zabel family is going home after an afternoon of hard work. Thanks guys! We’re on our way now!!

Snowy Valentine’s

February 14, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Flight, Mommy Mind, Pics5 Comments

Yes, today was another snow day here in the great Northeast (you won’t hear me arguing – it’s always a treat to sleep in an extra hour). We are indeed beset with the stuff. I could hardly manage to shovel yet again, as I had to work to fling the snow high enough to get it out of the way. Worked up a healthy sweat, and felt good when I got back inside. It was nice to move my body a bit; Elihu and I had done hardly a thing all morning but sit on our butts, play video games and scoot around the internet following miscellaneous tangents and such. It was nice to have a day off, but after a while I felt it wise to use my day a bit more productively, so I washed the sheets (not something I do very often, I’ll admit, but later tonite we have guests arriving), vacuumed the place and did some other domestic chores. A satisfying mix of work and play.

Towards the end of the afternoon we migrated to the living room where we began to play a little music. Elihu had come up with a fun little funky, bluesy groove, and after that was played out we started a little old-fashioned jam. He gets the nuances of the different styles, and he has a great natural ability to cop a sound – but if left to his own he’d prefer simply to ‘oom-pah-pah’. The kid still loves polkas. Thought it might have been a phase, but it seems to be sticking around. That’s fine by me. You may not believe it, but there is some pretty amazing polka music out there – if you venture a bit beyond Myron Floren et al (and he’s fantastic, don’t get me wrong), there’s a whole world of charming and marvelous historic recordings to enjoy. I don’t care to be falsely modest here, I am proud of my kid’s ability to play, and happier still that it’s something we can do together.

My heart belongs to only one fellow – and how lucky I was to be able to spend the whole day with him. Tomorrow he goes to spend his winter break with his father. I’ll miss him, and I’ll remember this Valentine’s Day fondly.

A little music, some RC helicopter fun and tower-building. A perfect, easy-paced day.

Diorama Days

February 12, 2014September 23, 2014 Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Mommy Mind, PicsLeave a comment

No matter how prepared you are, there’s always that crunch time which sneaks up on you. Thankfully we were very nearly done with Elihu’s diorama of the Mojave Desert by the time our nerves frayed and he ended up having something of a mini-meltdown. But we persevered, as a team, and got it done. Elihu gave me a heartfelt apology for yelling, and I was happy to accept. Our evening ended on a positive and satisfied note. Until, that is, we discovered that he’d left his binder at school and we couldn’t locate the actual report itself (on which the diorama is based, of course.) A bit of stress-induced bickering followed, but after scouring the house we agreed it was most likely in his binder, at school, and if it wasn’t, we’d deal with it then.

We regrouped, and stepped back to admire the project. All the rocks he used were actually ones he’d brought home from the Mojave Desert himself, when he’d been on tour with his father last summer. We thought that was a nice touch. Elihu had acquired his collection rather by chance – as the vehicle in which he’d been crossing the desert ran out of oil. (Of all places… yeeks. How often does that happen? How bout instead: “About to cross the desert, guys – maybe we should top off the oil and pick up a few extra quarts to be safe”. !? Just sayin.) They’d stopped and left the rv to explore the roadside, and lucky for him, he’d ended up with a pocketful of some cool rocks. Eventually the band was saved by some good Samaritans with oil to spare, and they left unscathed and with one hell of a good story for the books. So with the real, Mojave Desert rocks and the background panel that carries the scene off into the distance (like the ‘real dioramas at the Natural History Museum’ Elihu said), he’s got something to be proud of.

Last night we’d put some time into the project, and Elihu had finally finished his hand-written final copy; cursive, in pen, all the corrections made. Ready to go. He was tired and hadn’t eaten in a long while. I made him a hot bowl of his Grandpa Riaz’s chicken curry – with rice, chickpeas and lots of sauce mixed in. (Big school projects or over-booked weeks require pots of food that can be ladled out and heated up in a hurry.) He kept saying how good it was, I kept saying it was all because of Grandpa’s spice mix. It’s a Haque family staple, and there are choice moments in life when nothing says comfort like Grandpa’s spice mix chicken. Tired as he was, Elihu shivered with cold, so I brought him his fuzzy bathrobe and helped him into it as he ate, rolling back the cuffs and getting him comfortable. “Mmmmm” he said. “I’m so happy right now.” I was too. It was a perfect end to a productive night, the end of a good day. “Mamas are good at this” Elihu said as he dug into his bowl. “What’s that?” I asked. “This. Making me feel good and warm and fed. And making dioramas. Mamas are so good at dioramas.” “Aww, thank you honey” I answered, thinking for a moment that I should make an effort to keep the equation as even as possible, “Daddies are good at lots of good things too… and you know your daddy loves you so very much.” Elihu, wrapped in his plush, navy blue bathrobe shook his head no as he continued to eat his curry chicken. “Daddies aren’t good for this. Mamas are.” Then he looked up at me with the sweetest, most earnest face – so sweet I was tempted to go the Charles Dickens route and turn it into a funny bit – but I dared not tinker with this moment, because I knew what he meant, and it was the most sincere expression of love. I returned a look of love, and we shared a moment of connection. I finally broke the spell by asking him, what then, were Daddies good for? “Getting serious.” He paused. “Going on adventures.” Hm. I’d have to agree. Running out of oil in the middle of the Mojave Desert certainly qualifies as an adventure. I suppose one could then go on to say that dads are also good for inspiring awesome dioramas too, I guess. !

These days won’t last much longer. I don’t remember making a diorama past third grade, if my memory serves me correctly. And I just don’t see a middle schooler coming home with any such assignment. As I think of it, this might even be it. The last diorama. We enjoyed ourselves though. (And we’re eager to see all the others tomorrow!) And I am loving this time in our lives – can’t say I’m taking a single moment of it for granted. How lucky I am to feed him that comfort food, wrap him in warmth and look at him in love. Although shades of the preteen are now beginning to emerge, he still has the tender aspects of a young child, and in spite of an appetite to learn more, do more and take on more responsibility, he still possesses that certain kind of sweetness that tells me he is still a young boy.

Because I know that this enchanted window in our life will one day be just another memory of many… (Hey Ma, remember that Mojave Desert thing we did for Ms. Reid’s class? Do you still have it?) I am savoring it fully. I am basking in the charm of this age, and trying to make sure the scenes and the feelings are safely tucked away inside me, so that I can revive them decades hence, when I need a little reminder of how sweet things once were ‘back in the days’….

The days of mom, son, and the diorama.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Post Script: As I recall, the tour van had a slow oil leak that no one knew about as they set out over the desert… I offer this addendum in an effort to report the story as correctly as possible, as Elihu’s father has expressed his opinion that I “post selectively”, and that is never my objective here. ! I just write what I know to be true from my own experience of things.

A More Important Post Script:

the entire sandy diaorama, with actual rocks from the Mojave desert and Joshua Trees hither thither and yon

a closer peek at one of those Joshua trees

look! It’s a burrowing owl uncharacteristically hanging out in a tree! Maybe not accurate, but kinda cute! (The other owl is actually doing what he’s supposed to and is sticking his head out of a sandy hole below.)

The Hillhouse

The Journey of a Mother and Son

Category: Pics