No Strings

The other night I got lost on YouTube for several hours, which is the main reason I try to avoid it. But I'd heard a snippet of one of my favorite songs from my teen years at the end of a TV show and wanted to hear the whole song. So, of course, I headed to YouTube.

The song? Chad & Jeremy's "A Summer Song" from way back in 1964. (It was a very good year for songs, by the way.) So I find it and get sucked in - not just by the memories that the song dredged up, but by the lush orchestration that included strings, brass, and some guitar pickin'. Ah, lovely, I thought.

And as always happens with my ventures into the black hole of YouTube, one song led to another and before I knew it, I'd gotten lost for three hours. I moved from Chad & Jeremy to Sergio Mendes &  Brasil 66's version of "Fool on the Hill" and the Fifth Dimension's "Up, Up, and Away" and "One Less Bell to Answer" to assorted Ray Charles, Roy Orbison, and - OK, I'll admit it - Barry Manilow. While, yes, many of these songs were ballads, many weren't. I hit ballads, dance tunes, upbeat, downbeat rock and roll, country, folk, and 60s/70s rock. And while these recordings employed plugged-in guitars, electric keyboards, and drums out the wazoo, at some point, full-on strings and brass moved in to grab me in the gut. And those strings still pull.

Now, I will admit that I don't listen to much new music. Ballads, if there are any, are smarmy and bland (and maybe ballads always are), and the upbeat stuff is all computer-generated thump-thump - perfect for club dancing, but not much for using as my background life-music. Maybe new music does employ more orchestral pieces than I give it credit for, but I'm missing it whenever I tune in.

Yeah, I do sound like an old fogey. But have we totally thrown over real live strings, brass, and woodwinds? Is it a result of computers or format-radio/satellite, something that keeps us in our own genre silos? Who knows? Or maybe I'm stuck in my own geezer-music silo.

Still, those violins really added something to the tunes. And that something seems to be missing now. A world with no strings is less rich. But, hey. "They say that all good things must end someday. Autumn leaves must fall."

Happy Birthday, Queen of Quotes!

Today is my beautiful, funny, loving mother's birthday. She died in 2004 and would've been 97. I miss her every day and wish she were here to be a part of our lives and to see her great-grand children. She had many funny quirks, one of which was her quote-sprinkled retorts.

Whether pulling from the Bible, Shakespeare (which she attributed to the Bible), or a mash-up of something she once heard, she was a great one for tossing out little proverbs and "Catherine-isms," instilling these sound bites of wisdom (or confusion) in her children. Must've worked, because we can still recite them.

So in her memory, a few of her favorites:

True politeness is to say the kindest things in the kindest way. (Usually said to me as I headed out the door to do battle with my 4th grade teacher).

Neither a borrower nor lender be. (Always attributed to the Bible, though we all know it's Polonius' advice to Laertes from Hamlet by that Shakespeare guy.)

To thine own self be true. (See above)

I knew of a man one time . . . (insert whatever we were complaining about) . . . and he died. (Yeah, she was a cut-up. No sympathy whatsoever.)

Gad poor Aleck! (Who knows what she meant? I think it was a sign of frustration.)

Well, Albert Sprouse! (Her reaction if we kept something in it's original box or packaging; refers to an aunt's boyfriend who carried his Bible in the box it came in)

OK, that's just a sampling. I left out all the Bible verses, as well as her version of "shit," which was about 15 syllables and drawn out so long that it lost all shock value. Still, she knew how to turn a phrase. Repeatedly. The fact that I can still quote her Catherine-isms is proof that she won the quote-brainwashing game.

So Happy Birthday, Mother, you Queen of Quotes! I love you and wish you could see all your sweet great-grand babies. And I trust that God and Mr. Shakespeare have straightened you out on the Hamlet quotes by now.

Secrets of the Garden

One of the benefits of living in Spanish Harlem is that I'm 5-minutes' walk from the top end of Central Park. I spend a lot of time in one of the real jewels of the park, Conservatory Garden. Most folk hang out in the much tromped-through lower and mid sections of the park and never get up to this series of gardens tucked just inside the Vanderbilt Gate on Fifth Avenue.

Since I had the day off, I took advantage of a new offering from Central Park Conservancy, a docent tour of Conservatory Garden. It was an opportunity to learn about the history of the Garden through the eyes of its curator, Diane Schaub, and included how seasonal displays are designed, planted, and maintained to shape unique sensory experiences throughout the year. 

 

The tour started at 10, a time I'm rarely in the park - I'm usually there late afternoon - so I literally saw it in a whole new light. We met at the Vanderbilt Gate, which is the actual gate for the old Vanderbilt mansion on Fifth Avenue (on the site of what is now Bergdorf Goodman), and leads into the expansive lawn, fountain, and wisteria-twined pergola.

Conservatory Garden isn't original to the Olmstead-Vaux design .From 1898-1934, it was the site of glass houses (conservatories) for various park flora). By the 1930s, the conservatories were in lousy shape and were torn down. The infamous Robert Moses had a hand in getting the garden going, with help from WPA workers for the construction and planting. Fun factoid: the planting plans for the garden were created by the aptly names Betty Sprout. Conservatory Garden opened to the public in 1937.  

The garden is divided into three types: French (northernmost, with my favorite young girls of the Untermeyer Fountain), Italian (center, the lawn and fountain), and English (southernmost, or Secret Garden), with the lovely crab apple bowers dividing them. 

Diane has curated the garden for 19 years, so she was the perfect guide for its history and seasonal plantings. She described the designing and planting as choreography, since everything has to constantly showcase seasonal color, texture, fullness, and height. She shared drawings of the current season's plantings, carried out by six staff gardeners and many capable volunteers year-round.
 
Perennials and annuals (and bi-annuals) are used, but always removed as the season demands (yes, even the perennials). The plants, seeds, and bulbs come from nurseries on Long Island, upstate New York, and New Jersey, many from seeds and bulbs gleaned from whatever's planted in Conservatory Garden.

I can't remember the names of all the plants Diane pointed out, though I do remember a couple of things. I liked learning that the tree-lined bowers on either side of the Italian Garden is made up of crab apple trees - two different types on either side of the walkways. They provide beautiful shade most of the year, but winter really shows off their twisty, multi-branch trunks. Also (and unsurprisingly), many of the plants are edible (Swiss Chard and varieties of sweet potatoes are used in the garden for color and texture of their leaves). And I didn't know that milkweed is an attractor of monarch butterflies (though it repels most insects). 

If you get the chance to join Diane's guided tour through Conservatory Garden, just do it. Make it a point to get to the northern third of Central Park to spend time in each of the sections of the garden. It is a Quiet Zone and bikes/scooters/skateboards aren't allowed. I love that you can find a shady bench, surrounded by spectacular plants, flower, trees, and fountains, and just think or read. Yep. Right in the middle of busy ol' New York.

 
Join the dance of the Conservatory Garden's plant choreography. You'll be swept off your feet.

 

The Sights a Girl Can See From Brooklyn Heights

About a year ago I discovered "Friendly Native New Yorker Walking Tours" when I was looking to expand on my own self-guided tours of the city. Over late spring through October, our guide Linda offers a range of  topics for her Saturday afternoon/evening walking tours for a mere $15 each, and believe me you get more than your money's worth. You'll walk and learn for at least 2 1/2 hours (usually running over 3 hours), as Linda fills you in on the people, buildings, and events of the tour topic. So on Saturday, I did not hesitate to show up at Brooklyn Borough Hall for Linda's Twilight Tour of Brooklyn Heights SOUTH: War, Churches, and Real Estate!

Yes, I actually crossed the East River and ventured off the Isle de Manhattan  to lovely Brooklyn Heights! I'd been there for a Brooklyn Symphony concert in April, got a taste of the historic area, and really wanted to learn more. Our group met on the steps of Borough Hall, a lovely Greek Revival edifice built in 1848. The building was Brooklyn City Hall until 1898, when the City of Brooklyn was merged with the City of New York and transformed from a city to a borough. (Brooklynites are still bitter about that, by the way.)

We covered the early Dutch history of the area, the British take-over, and Brooklyn's place in the American Revolution, which included a humiliating loss as well as a daring retreat across the East River to Manhattan under the cover of darkness to escape the Red Coats. We learned of movers, shakers, and real estate entrepreneurs like Hezekiah Pierrepont, whose good friend Robert Fulton made it possible to corner the mechanized ferry boat market, easily linking bucolic Brooklyn Heights to Manhattan.

Almost every famous American architect left his fingerprints on the southern end of Brooklyn Heights, with the most obvious examples being the beautiful old churches. St. Ann & the Holy Trinity Episcopal Church (now one congregation, but old St. Ann is still standing as part of Packer Collegiate Institute), Our Lady of Lebanon Maronite Cathedral (with great bronze doors rescued from the French liner SS Normandie), Spencer Memorial Presbyterian Church (now deconsecrated and a luxury residence building), the St. Charles Borromeo Catholic Church on quiet Sidney Place, and Grace Episcopal (Brooklyn cousin of Manhattan's Grace Church) all have interesting histories and spectacular architecture. Don't look for high steeple on these churches.

The buildings pre-date the subway system and once had glorious steeples, which had to be brought down as dynamiting began for subway construction in the early part of the 20th century. And I learned a new architectural term: ashlar masonry, which I shall now try to work into conversations occasionally. (Be prepared.)

The shady streets, brownstone and brick row houses, gated gardens, and trendy restaurants along Montague street afford for easy (on the feet and on the eyes) exploring. But it all culminates on the Promenade. What a view! The Statue of Liberty, Lower Manhattan, the Brooklyn Bridge are spread out before you on this wide, tree-lined walkway. We were there just as the city lights were coming on, and, wow!

Yes, you Manhattan babies must hop one of the 2/3/4/5 trains, get off at Borough Hall, and strike out on your own. Or look for Linda to offer another tour next summer. You won't even have to slink back to Manhattan under cover of darkness to avoid the Red Coats.


 

The Hopefulness of a Cigar Box Full of New Pencils

I kinda get excited this time of year. It's not just knowing that dreadful, hot old summer will soon be on its way, but it's that back-to-school feeling that's in the air. Now, I haven't been back to school or had a child going back to school in a long time, but something about the season makes me want to stock up on notebook paper, paste, and a rarely-used-but-always-required protractor.

Lots of kids hated to see the summer come to an end, but I always looked forward to heading back to school, especially the getting-ready part. In the run-up to the big day - always the Tuesday after Labor Day - we had a long to-do list to get through. We'd pick out fabric at the cloth store for a few new dresses Mother would run up on her sewing machine, then we'd hit the shoe store for a pair of new school shoes and perhaps a new Sunday pair as well. A new raincoat was usually in the offing - something with a hood, because I don't recall having to fumble with an umbrella - since we walked to our elementary school just down the street.

After the clothes were taken care of, the fun really started. School supplies! I don't remember teachers handing out a preferred list of supplies like they do today. Common sense told us we'd need new writing tablets for younger kids and a cool 3-ring binder with plenty of notebook paper for the older ones, a stash of #2 Ticonderogas (aka, pencils), a tube of paste (the kind that tasted good - oops, giving myself away, there), and a brand, spankin' new box of Crayolas (no off-brands, please). If our parents were in a good mood - in other words, if we were shopping with Daddy, we added in a pencil box or plastic pouch that fit into our binders, a box of reinforcements for our notebook paper, and perhaps a ruler.

Once the supplies were gathered, Daddy would set off to find the perfect container for our supplies, which was, of course, a fresh cigar box. I'm not sure where daddies got all these cigar boxes, but they always smelled heavenly (without the smoke!) and everything fit neatly inside. After that, we were ready to go.

The first day was a little anxious, as you checked the list to see which teacher you got and which of your friends would be joining you. But there was always that sense of a new beginning. You could start all over. This would be the year you would master cursive writing or learn all the states and capitals or conquer long division (which took me more than a year, I confess - yeah, I''m blaming you, Miss Abel). It was much more of a New Year's celebration than January 1.

From a mother's point of view,  I remember Kate's back-to-school experience as being much the same. I confess her new school clothes weren't fashioned on my trusty Singer and her school shoes were usually some kind of sports shoe, not leather loafers or mary-janes. But, still, yeah. The binders, the notebook paper and tablets, and pencils were always such fun to gather. And there was still the excitement of which teacher she'd get and which of her buddies would be in her class, or which new friends she'd have the opportunity of making.

I realize that back-to-school loses much of it's charm the farther from elementary school one gets in the educational system, but amidst increasing anxieties of middle and high school were hopefulness and new challenges to be met. Plus, always new 3-ring binders and #2's.

No more school shoes or cigar boxes full of new pencils and crayons for me, alas. Still, maybe I could use a fresh pack of notebook paper and a set of 64 Crayolas.

Now, where can I find a King Edward cigar box?

Self-evident Truths and Unalienable Rights

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

I have a challenge for you today, my fellow Americans. In addition to my annual plea for everyone to take a few minutes to read the Declaration of Independence (it's quite short, so it won't cut into your barbecue-time), think of three things that you love about your country. Instead of getting caught up in petty partisan hatred - and yes, it does seem to be hatred at the moment - focus on three things that keep us together, make us who we are (the positive) at this time and place in history. 

Don't get caught up in hollow bragging or boasting. Dig down for the real stuff. And don't wander off into the negative, the mistakes; save that for another day. Yes, there's a lot wrong. News flash: there always has been, because we're only - and always have been - human. Duly acknowledged. So let's shine a light on what we love about the United States of America today.

--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. 

A couple of months ago, I read Ron Chernow's George Washington. Things almost went to hell in a hand-basket after the American Revolution. It's a wonder the great general didn't throw up his hands and ride back to Mount Vernon to enjoy the life of a gentleman farmer. The arguments and battle of words and deeds among the new legislators sounded an awful lot like what we hear from Congress today. It was ever thus, my friends. So, like good old George, we just have to get up every day trying to make things better - encouraging civil discourse and new ways of doing things - to ensure the foundation holds.
 
And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

Now, how can you ignore that pledge? Go out and celebrate the greatness of our country today, and save your bitching for another time. Happy Birthday, my country!

So Long, Little Tin Pin

It's just a little piece of bendable metal. For 42 years, the white M on a colored circle has been the wearable token that let you roam through the Metropolitan Museum of Art. And while there was a recycle box at the exit , most of us kept all those colorful little pins. Collect 'em all! That was my motto.

But now, the Met is retiring the pins for economic reasons, switching to throw-away-able paper stickers. Sigh. The march of progress, I guess.

I spent the afternoon in the Met. When I walked in and showed my membership card, the woman at the desk handed me a purple metal button and said, "The last one." I almost teared up. Yes, silly, I know. But that iconic M stamped on a colorful disk has been a friendly little piece of art and proof that I was keeping up my culture quotient.

I have a little wooden box filled with lots of pin colors, though by no means all of them. Every once in a while, I find one or two in the bottom on a purse. Now, I will cherish this very last purple button.

So long, little tin pin.

Morning in the Garden of Good and Evil, or What I Did in Savannah

I'm just gonna cut to the chase. Go to Savannah. I mean it. Get online right now, and make your reservations. Great history and outstanding food. Fun shopping and beautiful parks. Cemeteries and beaches. Fine old homes and haunted walking tours. A big old fort and a river walk. Did I mention the food, the parks, and the beaches? OK, well, it bears repeating.

It was our annual girlfriends weekend-turned-week. Over the years we've been to Memphis, Orlando, New York, Atlanta, Franklin (TN), Chattanooga, and the incomparable Sand Mountain, Alabama. Five of us get together to eat and gossip while we still have our teeth and can hear. This year, alas, Linda couldn't join us (and she was greatly missed, though we did gossip about her - kidding), Susan, the two Sharons, and this one Mary soldiered on. In Savannah, Georgia.

I could turn this into a series of posts or a coffee table book, but I'm just too darn busy/lazy to do that. So. Here's my Top 10 Savannah must-do list, a little quickie guide, to get you started:

1.  Savannah has lots of accommodation options - cute bed and breakfasts, chain hotels, flop houses, the street. May I recommend Inn at Ellis Square? We stayed in suites - one huge bedroom, one huge sitting room, and a fairly roomy bathroom. Breakfast is included. It's right next to the City Market, River Walk is just across the street, and you're conveniently situated in the historic district. 

2.  Ditto for food options. Savannah and environs are chock full of excellent, excellent restaurants (high-brow and low-brow), and we hit several of the best. The Olde Pink House, 1790 Inn and Restaurant, Clary's, Churchill's Pub, The Chart House, AJ's, The Crab Shack. And yes, we ate at Paula Deen's Lady and Sons. Anyway, this is an eatin' town. Go for it.

3.  And if it's an eatin' town, it's a drinkin' town. Even more so. In fact, it's an "open container" town. Yep, just like New Orleans, you can walk around the streets with a drink in your hand. Which made our ghostly walking tour sooo much more fun. 

4.   The squares. Savannah's Historic District is laid out in a series of parks, each unique, historic, and beautiful. They're beautiful in the morning and late at night. Charming!

5.  The cemeteries. Savannah offer two of the best cemeteries I've ever had the privilege to tromp through. Colonial Park Cemetery, smack in the middle of the Historic District, is the older. You'll have to drive a few miles out of town to get to the remarkable Bonaventure, my personal favorite.

6.  Historic homes. The only historic homes tour I took was of the Owens-Thomas house on Oglethorpe Square, but there are many, many prominent homes to visit, if you like that sort of thing.

7.  The churches. Many of Georgia's oldest churches are in Savannah, and their spires and steeples rise above the squares. Take some time to step inside the ones that are open to get another peek at history or say a little prayer.

8.  The ghosts. Might as well tell you now that the whole entire city is haunted. This is a city with a past, I tell you. Take a ghost tour, check your photos for strange blobs of blur, be aware of a sudden chill or breeze out of the blue. And of course, everything looks creepier with all that Spanish moss hanging from the trees.

9.  Tybee Island. You want beach? Savannah's got a great one, complete with a lighthouse. I recommend spreading your towel on the stretch between the pier and the southernmost point. Aaaaah. And it's less than 30 minutes' drive from the heart of Savannah.

10.  A fort. Make some time to pull over and visit Fort Pulaski as you head out to Tybee. This Civil War fort didn't make much of a stand against the Union Army, but it's well restored and maintained. Do go.

If I haven't convinced you (what are you, crazy?), then settle in with John Berendt's Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, and you will want to just pack up and head to Savannah. But you don't have to spend midnight in any of the gardens, evil or otherwise. They're just as charming in the morning.

I don't know about you, but I could go for a peach sangria in a to-go cup and a spooky walking tour right about now.

Plane Truth

It's been a while since I've posted about the joys of air travel, so it's time I make a few practical suggestions and remind the public and the airlines of a some basics that seem to have fallen through the cracks.

To the airlines:

• If you have to explain to people how to buckle and unbuckle a seat belt, they should be considered a danger to others and shouldn't be allowed to fly. Seat belts have been required in cars and, certainly, airplanes for many decades, so the whole seat belt buckle-spiel should be dropped. Require people to demonstrate buckle knowledge at the gate, and then you can spend more time explaining the best way to evacuate via those inflatable slides. Now, that's worth explaining.
• Wifi should be free on flights and at your gates. Charging for that is just silly, so stop it. And, yeah, it can be a problem when all the passenger has is a ticket scan on a mobile phone but no wifi at the gate.
• Do not make hot tea in the same pot you brew/serve coffee. The tea will taste like coffee. Just give me a bag and hot water, and I'll do the damn thing myself. Thanks.
• I'm not going to waste my breath on things like seat width and flimsy tray tables, because you just don't want to hear it anymore. (Wanted to let you know that those are still huge problems, though.)

To passengers:

• Do not prop your stinky bare feet on the seat in front of you or on your tray table.  Do I really need to tell you this? Were your parents wolves? Pigs? Find another way to be comfortable during air travel. And bring socks if you want to take off your shoes. Especially if you've never had a pedicure in your life.
• Got a snoring problem or TB? The guy behind me practically blew the windows out during his 2 hour nap to Los Angeles this morning. When he woke up he coughed up a lung every few minutes. We are in a confined space, sitting way to close to each other, and earplugs only keep out so much noise. May I suggest a stage coach or covered wagon for your next trip west?
• I've paid for my seat, small as it is. I get the whole thing for myself - the seat, the back, and half of the armrest we share. Please remember that. Do not encroach on space you have not paid for. Thank you.
• Never, ever, ever store your bag in an overhead compartment behind where you're sitting. Do not let a flight attendant do this, either. If there is no room in a bin directly overhead or in front of you, you may as well just let the attendant check the bag. It's no use trying to swim downstream when everyone's trying to de-plane and you're fighting to retrieve a bag six rows behind you. Your only option is to wait until everyone else is off the plane. 
• Be nice. Give and take. Go all zen. It's the only way to hang on to your sanity when you fly.

OK. That's it for this edition of the Plane Truth. Just remember: be nice and bring socks. Oh, and if you think you see a monster on the wing, just have another glass of wine and forget about it.

Working Away

Today is the last day I'll be working in New York City. For a month. Thanks to technology and a very understanding boss, I'm packing up a bazillion files - well, just my work laptop, really - and moving my office to Atlanta. The reason for my temporary relocation is so that I can lend a couple of hands with GrandBoy as we prepare to welcome his new baby sister, due within the next couple of weeks.

Besides phoning in to all the usual meetings, I am tasked with a handful of exciting social media/multimedia projects. Research and creative brainstorming are high on the list. The day-in/day-out busy-ness of my real-life office doesn't allow a lot of time to slow down and poke around with crazy, fun, interesting ways to engage folks in new ways. I'm being given permission and time to do just that.

Admittedly, I'm the type of girl who needs some kind of structure. That's why I don't mind schlepping into an office everyday with some sort of to-do list waiting for me. While there'll be no office-schlepping in Atlanta, I will be bringing an extensive to-do list with me, complete with work timelines and target dates. That should keep me on-task amidst the not-so-structured GrandMary duties. Fortunately, most of the work can be done at any hour of the day or night.

And after my work-month in Atlanta, I'll have a few days of vacation with girlfriends - a little trip to Savannah - before returning to New York mid-June. I'm sure strolling through the city's historic squares and lolling on the beach at Tybee Island will be much needed at that point.

One more thing: lest potential thieves get any ideas, my landlord lives in the apartment next to mine and will be keeping an eye on it while I'm gone. So fuggitabahtit.

Thank you, Boss Anne, and thank you to everyone who had a hand in inventing the technology for allowing me to telecommute at this wonderfully happy time in our family. I'm fortunate to have a job that gives me time to do some creative dreaming that might become reality.

New ideas, new ways of working, a new baby, new family memories. I'm packing lots of vitamins.

Tales From The Porch

It was a weekend of memories and making memories. Raucous laughter and earnest conversation. Sweet snacks, salty snacks, a thousand dips and two thousand dippables. Renewal and relaxation. For the second year in a row, friends who’d known each other since toddlerhood or since the first, fifth, or seventh grades gathered atop Lookout Mountain, Georgia, in affirmation that there is something special in maintaining childhood friendships.

Two Susans, a Susie, a Sharon, a Ginger, a Joy, a Debbi, a Margie, a Linda, a Maureen, a Janie, a Chris, and a Mary came bearing bags of fruits and veggies, special artichoke and spinach dips, cheese and cookies, water and yogurt and coffee to the lovely, hospitable Cottages in the Clouds for our Second Annual Barger Elementary/Brainerd Junior High School Girlfriends Weekend. We used Dogwood Cottage as home base for cooking, eating, socializing on the front porch, and as sleeping quarters for half of us and Chestnut Oak Cottage for bedding down the other half.

Most of us had attended last year's reunion (and Debbie and Rhonda were sorely missed this year). We welcomed three newbies - Janie, Chris, and Susan W. - who caught us up on what they'd been up to over the last *mumble-mumble* years.

Of course, I can't tell you everything we talked about (or I'd have to kill ya'), but my highlights include:

• Joy's artichoke dip and Maureen's cheesy beef dip. Excellent, women! You're signed up to bring those to the 2015 gathering. (Put it on your calendars.)
• A warm, sunny Friday afternoon, just the thing for sitting on the front porch, talking and snacking.
• Watching everyone greet each other. Usually involved hugs and laughter. 
• Relaxing, hard rains and rumbly thunderstorms that moved in early Saturday morning, God's way of saying "Y'all slow down, and enjoy this time together."
• Staying up till almost 1am with Debbi and Margie, talking family and faith and other big, big things. Yeah, out on that front porch. (Can you tell how much I love front porches?)
  
• The decibel level of four or five conversations going on simultaneously. Funny thing, we were all able to keep up with every one of those conversations. We've had years of practice. 
• Seeing Janie, Chris, and Susan W. for the first time in *mumble-mumble* years. Such fabulous lives we've all led!

We decided to gather on the mountain again in 2015, when there'll be more stories, more food, and guaranteed more laughter.  Here's hoping more of the Barger/BJHS girlfriends will join us on the porch. We're tired of making up stories about the ones who don't show up.

Till then, fall in line, Brainerd Bombers!

Or Am I Losing My Mind?

When you get to be my age, a lot of little worries start creeping in that you've never had time to think about before, what with child-rearing and career-doing and life-living. A lot of internet and print and broadcast space is given over to impending financial doom of retiring (ha! if ever!) Baby Boomers, but that's not what creepy-crawls under my skin in the deep, dark hours of night. What scares me about the future is the very real boogie man: dementia.

Both my mother and her mother had dementia. Daddy used to call my grandmother the Goddess of Confusion, which was correct on several fronts, I reckon. When Mother disappeared into the disease, I used to jokingly tell my daughter "Hey, this will be me in a few years. Get used to it." Not for years and years, though, right? A cure for all that by then, I'm sure. Right?

But I'm not so sure lately, especially after reading Alice LaPlante's Turn of Mind . The book is about Jennifer White, a former surgeon who's sliding into dementia. Since White's the one telling the story, it's sometimes lucid, but mostly it's all confusion and misunderstanding. The focus of the story is the murder and mutilation of her best friend (did she do it? how can we trust what she tells us?), but for me the real impact is trying to follow the woman's line of thinking (or lack thereof) about her career, her family, the murder.

As close as I was to dementia with Mother, LaPlante's book let me see how easily things can get turned around in the mind of someone who is losing rational thought. I completely understood where White was coming from. It's like a house of mirrors in the head, with lots of disjointed pieces and reflections that are only partly true.

I think I still have my mind. I write and work and do crosswords and sudokus and read and walk and take vitamins and eat a lot of fish. But if I'm predisposed to dementia, will any of that help? My only hope is that I take after Daddy and not Mother. Of course, while Daddy didn't have dementia, his body failed him miserably, thanks to diabetes. So. Sheesh. Is it better to have dementia and be physically healthy, or have all your marbles and physical deterioration and pain? I don't see a "None of the Above" offered.

The real burden of dementia is on those left behind, the much-loved folks the person no longer remembers. Financially and emotionally it can be devastating for family members, and while I still have a bit of a brain, that's what troubles me most. Sources tell us that it's the cost of dementia that will over-burden the health care system in the next 30-40 years. No shit. If I'm predisposed to this thing, how do I make preparations now to alleviate as much of that emotional/financial burden as possible? Oy. No answers.

Sorry. Now I've foisted my old-lady fears on you, when I started out just to recommend Turn of Mind. It's a great story; I mean, who did kill Amanda? The writing is superb. So superb that it gave me a window into what dementia must be like. The only upside I see is that this blog will get progressively interesting as my mind flecks away in the future. Pure entertainment value. Hang on!

Waiting

Something I hate to do. Wait. But it's a waiting kind of day, and as long as I have a good book, I can cool my heels anywhere. Unless there's someplace I have to be or standing in line at the post office. No book's that good.