It's two days days post-flight and what a time Joan and I are having! We drove to Danville, Illinois yesterday. This is my home town. Up until this trip, Joan and I have been able to spend the night at her childhood home, in the exact room where I spent the night so many times from the age of 4! Her father passed away 4 years ago and the family house was sold. We stayed at a motel. But that did not prevent us from visiting all our old haunts.
Memorable events include: 1.) a lunch visit with our former English teacher, Darlene Grimes. She was fresh out of college when Joan and I had her for English. So she is only 6 years older than we are. It meant a lot to her and to us that we were able to reconnect and remember those early days of her teaching career. 2.) trips around town to see where we used to live, where our friends used to live and visits to the graves of her mother, and my baby sister. Cemeteries are pretty fascinating as we see all the names of families that we knew growing up. We have always agreed that we could come back and spend an entire afternoon prowling around the cemeteries looking at headstones and remembering people from our past. Joan and I are nostalgia-junkies, and we are not above using cemeteries to get the memories flowing! 3.) our reunion party where we met with about 20 or so of our high school classmates and spouses. Always fun to catch up and to see who still looks young (none of us). It's also fun to be on equal footing with everyone finally. People who would not have given me the time of day are now happy to see me and interested in my life. Being an adult has its advantages. It was a challenging evening for me because it was Karaoke night at the bar and one had to shout to be heard over the volume of the music and mostly bad singing. But fun nevertheless.
Today we left Danville and came to Bloomington/Normal. Joan and I lost touch during college, but were only about 2 miles apart. . . me at Illinois Wesleyan University, she and the much bigger Illinois State. We prowled both campuses and had to marvel at the differences in our college experiences. Me at a small University and an even smaller school of music. My classmates and I shared all the same classes. I lived in the Sigma Alpha Iota house on Franklin Park. We went by there first and I was hoping to be able to go in. To my shock and delight it was not only homecoming weekend and open house, but my "sisters" were hosting the alums with an impressive lunch spread, recital and singing in the living room. I actually ran into three women who were at the house the same time I was. Poor Joan had to sit and listen to all of us sing all our rather sappy SAI songs. But I was in hog heaven! What a thrill to be back. I took Joan through the house showing her all the rooms where I had lived, and my picture on the composites that represented my college years. Then we hoofed around the IWU campus. I loved going back into the music building and reliving the experience of being there. I was overjoyed all throughout college at the small, intimate, family environment.
We then went to Illinois State and walked where Joan had walked during her years. She was much less happy with college than I was. The hugeness of the school and the inability to really hook on with a close group of friends made the experience challenging for her. But we did love being on the college campuses.
We checked into our hotel and there was a pool! So my first order of business was to walk the block to the Goodwill Store and buy 3 swim suits! They were $2.99 apiece, and I wanted to try them on! Two out of the three work great! I'll donate the third back to my thrift shop. So I went to the pool and moved around for about a half hour before we left for dinner. Tonight we went to Steak and Shake for dinner and then to see the movie "The Big Year." We enjoyed both the dinner and the movie.
Once again I marvel at the possibility that all of this wonderful time with old friends would have been lost to me had I not gotten on that plane! Yea me! More adventures tomorrow! Having a great time in the Midwest!
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
LANDING!
I swear I should have been a Native American! I have suffered from anxiety my whole life. I have always been able to get myself worked up into a frenzy about the possibility of something bad happening. Now I know that the answer to that is to not know what is coming!
Take last week. I was in my room at Jean's house sorting through my clothes. The weather had been dreary and misty all day. Jean and I were going to go out to dinner. Since I no longer watch TV I really don't know what is going on at any given moment. Now flash back only a couple of years. . . . I am constantly checking the weather and the radar to see if any storms are coming. Because, you see, if there are storms coming, then maybe they will kill me. A perfect excuse to reduce myself to a sniveling, pathetic fraidy-cat. But I've never even been close to being in a life-threatening storm. Okay. . so back at Jean's. Suddenly I notice that the rain is coming down in sheets outside. It's raining sideways! And I'm thinking, "Well, I'm glad we haven't left for dinner yet!" And I continue to sort clothes. Before too long the rain has passed and we proceed with our plans. The next day my sister calls to ask if I'm all right. "And why wouldn't I be?" I answer. Well, she says, she has been watching the stories about the tornadoes that went through our area. Huh? Then I realized that the sudden burst of rain must have been the tail end of a system that spawned a couple of tornadoes. I had no idea that weather was coming, so I didn't have any reason to be anxious. Just like the Native Americans. They didn't know when a hurricane was coming. There was no Al Roker in a slicker giving them minute by minute details of the potential carnage. They just weathered any storm as it came. I should have been a Native American.
So today is my big flight to Indianapolis. I say big because in my life any flight is big. But I have been doing a great job in the past weeks since making the plane reservations, of carefully steering my thoughts away from my default setting of visions of complete and utter destruction via airplane. And then this morning before leaving I checked the Indianapolis weather. Uh-oh. High wind advisory for the middle of the day. . . like the time I would be flying. YIKES! Visions of planes being tumbled into the dirt after being blasted by a 40 mph wind blast come quickly to my awareness. I went to the airport just a bit edgy. But I got on that plane. I let them take away my half full tube of Tom's of Maine toothpaste because it was too big for carry-on. I let them toss my half consumed bottle of water. I boldly got on that plane and just determined that whatever happened around Indianapolis was just going to have to happen. I channeled Charisma Dubois, my son Casey, Eleanor Roosevelt, Dave, and several members of the Choral Arts Society who seem to spend about half their lives on planes. Well, as it happens, it was a relatively smooth trip. Only an hour and 20 minutes. When the captain came on and said it would be a bumpy descent and landing, I took a deep breath. But it really wasn't and it was a perfect landing. It is FREEZING cold in Indy. And I would say there is a breeze but nothing dramatic.
So I landed safely. I would liken this experience to a colonoscopy. The reality was not even remotely on the level of the dreaded anticipation. I really should not know about things in advance. I would be much happier.
Take last week. I was in my room at Jean's house sorting through my clothes. The weather had been dreary and misty all day. Jean and I were going to go out to dinner. Since I no longer watch TV I really don't know what is going on at any given moment. Now flash back only a couple of years. . . . I am constantly checking the weather and the radar to see if any storms are coming. Because, you see, if there are storms coming, then maybe they will kill me. A perfect excuse to reduce myself to a sniveling, pathetic fraidy-cat. But I've never even been close to being in a life-threatening storm. Okay. . so back at Jean's. Suddenly I notice that the rain is coming down in sheets outside. It's raining sideways! And I'm thinking, "Well, I'm glad we haven't left for dinner yet!" And I continue to sort clothes. Before too long the rain has passed and we proceed with our plans. The next day my sister calls to ask if I'm all right. "And why wouldn't I be?" I answer. Well, she says, she has been watching the stories about the tornadoes that went through our area. Huh? Then I realized that the sudden burst of rain must have been the tail end of a system that spawned a couple of tornadoes. I had no idea that weather was coming, so I didn't have any reason to be anxious. Just like the Native Americans. They didn't know when a hurricane was coming. There was no Al Roker in a slicker giving them minute by minute details of the potential carnage. They just weathered any storm as it came. I should have been a Native American.
So today is my big flight to Indianapolis. I say big because in my life any flight is big. But I have been doing a great job in the past weeks since making the plane reservations, of carefully steering my thoughts away from my default setting of visions of complete and utter destruction via airplane. And then this morning before leaving I checked the Indianapolis weather. Uh-oh. High wind advisory for the middle of the day. . . like the time I would be flying. YIKES! Visions of planes being tumbled into the dirt after being blasted by a 40 mph wind blast come quickly to my awareness. I went to the airport just a bit edgy. But I got on that plane. I let them take away my half full tube of Tom's of Maine toothpaste because it was too big for carry-on. I let them toss my half consumed bottle of water. I boldly got on that plane and just determined that whatever happened around Indianapolis was just going to have to happen. I channeled Charisma Dubois, my son Casey, Eleanor Roosevelt, Dave, and several members of the Choral Arts Society who seem to spend about half their lives on planes. Well, as it happens, it was a relatively smooth trip. Only an hour and 20 minutes. When the captain came on and said it would be a bumpy descent and landing, I took a deep breath. But it really wasn't and it was a perfect landing. It is FREEZING cold in Indy. And I would say there is a breeze but nothing dramatic.
So I landed safely. I would liken this experience to a colonoscopy. The reality was not even remotely on the level of the dreaded anticipation. I really should not know about things in advance. I would be much happier.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
TAKING FLIGHT!
Literally and figuratively.
Literally in less than 48 hours I will be getting on a plane to fly to Indianapolis to see Joan. There the trip down memory lane will commence. We will revisit our childhood home in Danville, Illinois and gather with a group of our high school friends, the ones who are on Facebook, for a little get-together. Although Joan and I have both discussed the likelihood that the venue selected will be a smoking bar. Hmmmmm. Haven't had to deal with that in the last few decades. And for me it is a deal breaker. But we shall see. Maybe Danville, Illinois has been brought into the non-smoking 21st century. One can always hope. Then we will head for Bloomington/Normal Illinois. I attended Illinois Wesleyan University in Bloomington, and Joan went to Illinois State in Normal. We had almost no contact with each other during those years. . . .I can't remember why. But it will be such fun showing each other where we were. . . if where we were in fact still exists. It has been 40 years.
Now I'm really looking forward to this trip with my friend. And I'm proud that I made the plane reservations. An enthusiastic flyer I am not. However, I will assume the identity of my alter-ego Charisma Dubois. I created her a few years back when I lived in Alexandria and my sons lived in Phoenix and Atlanta respectively. I knew if I wanted to see them, I was going to have to suck it up and get on a plane now and again. So you see, Charisma was a necessity. She loves to fly. And I bought her a new red suitcase to represent this new found freedom. Even though Ruthie was terrified. I remember my first flight of that era. . .a flight to Atlanta to see Casey. And upon landing and making my way through the miles of terminal hallways up to where I would be greeted, there was my baby boy with a big smile on his face and a sign - ala chauffeur - which said: Charisma Dubois! Man I laughed.
It reminds me of a great visual that was posted on Facebook a couple of weeks back. It showed a large circle. Written inside the circle it said: "Where the magic happens." Off to the side from the circle was a small square. Inside that it said: "Your comfort zone." Love it.
So I'm going out of my comfort zone into a plane to where the magic will undoubtedly happen in Indianapolis. Some of the pinnacle moments in my life have been accomplished by my climbing on a plane. And so it will again.
Oh yeah. . . and figuratively taking flight is MY HOUSE!!!!! We reached an agreement. Let the building begin! I couldn't be more excited. The location of the well has to be changed, and that will take place while I'm gone on this trip. Hopefully the work can be accomplished in a couple of months. I know, I know. But maybe it will. I'm going to contemplate being in my house right after the New Year. Let's see what happens.
Literally in less than 48 hours I will be getting on a plane to fly to Indianapolis to see Joan. There the trip down memory lane will commence. We will revisit our childhood home in Danville, Illinois and gather with a group of our high school friends, the ones who are on Facebook, for a little get-together. Although Joan and I have both discussed the likelihood that the venue selected will be a smoking bar. Hmmmmm. Haven't had to deal with that in the last few decades. And for me it is a deal breaker. But we shall see. Maybe Danville, Illinois has been brought into the non-smoking 21st century. One can always hope. Then we will head for Bloomington/Normal Illinois. I attended Illinois Wesleyan University in Bloomington, and Joan went to Illinois State in Normal. We had almost no contact with each other during those years. . . .I can't remember why. But it will be such fun showing each other where we were. . . if where we were in fact still exists. It has been 40 years.
Now I'm really looking forward to this trip with my friend. And I'm proud that I made the plane reservations. An enthusiastic flyer I am not. However, I will assume the identity of my alter-ego Charisma Dubois. I created her a few years back when I lived in Alexandria and my sons lived in Phoenix and Atlanta respectively. I knew if I wanted to see them, I was going to have to suck it up and get on a plane now and again. So you see, Charisma was a necessity. She loves to fly. And I bought her a new red suitcase to represent this new found freedom. Even though Ruthie was terrified. I remember my first flight of that era. . .a flight to Atlanta to see Casey. And upon landing and making my way through the miles of terminal hallways up to where I would be greeted, there was my baby boy with a big smile on his face and a sign - ala chauffeur - which said: Charisma Dubois! Man I laughed.
It reminds me of a great visual that was posted on Facebook a couple of weeks back. It showed a large circle. Written inside the circle it said: "Where the magic happens." Off to the side from the circle was a small square. Inside that it said: "Your comfort zone." Love it.
So I'm going out of my comfort zone into a plane to where the magic will undoubtedly happen in Indianapolis. Some of the pinnacle moments in my life have been accomplished by my climbing on a plane. And so it will again.
Oh yeah. . . and figuratively taking flight is MY HOUSE!!!!! We reached an agreement. Let the building begin! I couldn't be more excited. The location of the well has to be changed, and that will take place while I'm gone on this trip. Hopefully the work can be accomplished in a couple of months. I know, I know. But maybe it will. I'm going to contemplate being in my house right after the New Year. Let's see what happens.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
BACK TO BASICS
Well, well, well. . . . . .
We've changed the house plans again. Basically it came down to this. . . the new planned addition was lovely. . .really it was. A new, larger, light filled living room bumped off the back of the house. What's not to like? But (duh!) it made the house cost go 60% over my budget. Hmmmmm. It seems like this could have been predicted pretty easily. So I have spent some time reconsidering my choice of builder. And I've done a little tossing and turning in the wee hours of this morning which led to internet research and ultimately my doing this rare AM blog. (But really. . .once again I marvel at the technology that allows me to get up at any time of day or night and find answers to questions I have! My kids will always take this for granted because they will never have had to wait through a weekend to be able to pick up the phone and start searching for answers to something!)
Bottom line. . . I am sticking with this guy. I've read enough to understand builder mark-ups and construction issues. Yesterday after my meeting with him, and upon hearing the estimate and subsequently amputating the addition and getting the price back down closer to budget, I walked away with a plan that I'm satisfied with. Just need to wait for final figures.
But as in all silver linings, this whole situation has allowed me to revisit my motivations. Much like the afghan issue of the previous post. My impetus for doing all this. . . selling my Coles Farm house and finding a tiny house to live in. . . originated at Chautauqua 2 summers ago. And I know now that I want to stay true to that original vision. I want to live happily and comfortably in no more than 1000 square feet (okay. . .full disclosure. . . the current house will be 1004 square feet but you can't cut off 4 square feet!). I don't want to get lured into additions and expansion. It's just more space to acquire more stuff. Now I've had a bit of a peek over to the dark side of more room and more bells and whistles and have decided to come back to the light of the original decision.
I will be choosing cork for the flooring of the main areas, but vinyl for the bathrooms and laundry room. The kitchen is smaller. . . an issue I am going to have to address with Lowes where I've already paid for the previous kitchen. But the cabinets have not been built yet so it shouldn't be a big problem. The living room is smaller. . . .but except for an occasional book club meeting, it's just me. And that's the point. There will be room for guests, but within the spaces that I will be using on a daily basis. No more guest suites held in abeyance for the occasional visitor.
Fear not, friends who might want to visit. . .there will be a guest room and actually a guest bathroom. . . but it will also be my den/study. And I want you all to come. I will be able to handle one or two at a time max!
So I'm ready to get the latest price quote and then get started. First thing to begin is the new location for the well . Not cheap, but necessary if I ever want to add a screen porch. . .which I do.
Feeling good. Back to basics!
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
A STORY
It's been a week since I wrote. So I'll tell you a story. It's called
THE AFGHAN: or Learning to change your mind
Once upon a time there was a 62-year-old woman. Let's just call her Ruth. She decided that she didn't need all her stuff anymore. After all, it just got in the way. And it was messy. And some of it stayed in a box in a closet permanently and wasn't doing anybody any good. Ruth had struggled managing her stuff her whole life. Heck, she lost multiple roommates over this issue. First there was her sister Bonnie, who had had it sharing rooms with this messy, stuff-non-manager sister by the time she was 8 years old. And she still had 10 more years of room sharing to go!
Then there were the college room mates. And then there were the two husbands. Like the one who said to Ruth one day, "Don't you see the 8 pairs of shoes on this floor?" And Ruth replied, in complete honesty and innocence, "Well, I do now! But I didn't before you pointed it out!" Ruth had to face it, some of the roommates were better off lost. But that did not solve the stuff issue. After all, she had to share a room with herself and sometimes that was just hard.
Flash forward to her retirement years. Ruth sat herself down one day (after cleaning a space to do so) and decided that she was through spending one more second of her life worrying about all this stuff. And she decided to purge. . . . .big time. Nothing was safe from her scrutiny. She decided to spend all her energy figuring out the few things to keep, and then let everything else go! Wow. . . it felt great!
Many things went that Ruth loved. But she decided that just because she loved something was no reason to keep it. She was looking forward to this new life without organizing issues. So out went the gifts from family and friends. Out went the antiques and memorabilia that she bought at shops over the years. She gave many things to friends so that she knew her stuff had a good home. She donated many things to the thrift shop so that she knew that the money would support a worthy cause. She was sure that her mother. . . .the one that had so clearly made her aware of her organizational issues in the first place. . . . would be so proud of her. As a matter of fact, getting rid of things that had been owned by each of her parents was very difficult. But she realized that their stuff was not them anyway. And wouldn't her mom in particular be much happier if she knew her stuff was serving a need for someone?
I don't need to tell you that the thrift shop in question LOVED Ruth and all her stuff. Every day she took more and more car loads. Every day she was asked the same question, "Are you SURE you want to get rid of these things?" Every day she was treated like some sort of celebrity by the thrift store people. Once they were convinced that she was serious, they gratefully helped her unload her car. This was great!
And the stuff was selling. Because when Ruth went into the thrift shop she rarely saw any of the items she had donated. The lady behind the counter assured her that the stuff was flying off the shelves. Ruth even walked in one day to find one of her acquaintances buying something that she had donated.
Ruth went away for the summer and forgot about all the stuff that was gone. She came back to her house not remembering anything that had been given away, but feeling the freedom of having a relatively small storage area that housed all the stuff that had made the cut.
Then one day in October Ruth decided to stop by the thrift shop to look for winter shirts. She wandered all around the thrift shop, even in the room that housed mostly men's clothes. There was a rack with several hand made blankets, mostly crocheted. And then she saw it. The two-toned green afghan that she and her mother had knit. Ruth had bought the yarn to make the afghan way back when she was adding a porch to her townhouse. She thought it would look nice on the futon out there. But true to form, the yarn was bought, but the afghan never finished. . . or even begun for that matter.
One week Ruth's parents were visiting her at her townhouse. Her mom saw all the yarn and offered to take it home and make up all the squares (63 in all. . . each knitted with a different pattern). She said that she would make the squares if Ruth would crochet around them and sew them together. This seemed like a great idea. So Ruth agreed.
Eventually her mom brought all the squares back. . . all finished. And Ruth put them in her closet because she was SURE she would get around to sewing them together. And there they sat. And there they were when Ruth moved to Alexandria. And they were transferred in the box to a new closet on a new street.
And then Ruth's mom died.
And one day several weeks later, Ruth found that box of squares and decided that now she would take the time to sew them together. And she did. Night after night she crocheted around each square. And when she had two done she would sew them together. And then two more. And two more. Because her mom always said, "Inch by inch, everything's a cinch." And damned if that wasn't true.
But by this time, the colors Ruth had chosen for the afghan did not go with any of the colors of her house. And she was in a matchy-matchy phase, having watched many many hours of HGTV. So the afghan, now finished, languished.
When it was time to part with her stuff, she decided that the afghan would go. Someone would buy it and it would be wonderful and warm and cozy for them. And her mom would like that.
Well all of that was fine and good. Except that here she was, in October, 4 months after donating it to the thrift shop. And there it was. Still sitting with its $15 price tag. Which Ruth thought was a good price. That way no one would buy it for a dog blanket! But there it was. And it made her sad. It wasn't making anyone happy. It was just hanging there not being bought.
Ruth left but she couldn't help thinking about the blanket. And the more she thought the more she decided that she had to go back and get it. After all, now she had a summer condo in New York where the afghan would fit in quite nicely with the decor, and would keep her warm on those nights when the upstate temperatures dipped sometimes. The more she thought about getting the afghan back the happier she became. She planned it perfectly. She could not go back and get it the next day because it was Sunday and the shop was closed. And she could not go back the next day because it was Monday and the shop was closed again.
So she had three days to get excited about getting the afghan back. She had to rethink this whole getting rid of things agenda. Parting with the afghan had clearly been a mistake. She would have to undo it.
On Tuesday morning early she went to her workout class at 7:30. She had the whole thing planned. She would go home after the workout, clean up, get her money, and be back at the shop by the time it opened. She would not ask the woman to give the afghan back. . . .she would pay the $15. And if the woman insisted on giving it back, due to the enormity of her other donations, she would accept it, and then give the woman a $20 donation to the shop. She was so excited about reclaiming the afghan that she even told the woman she was staying with all about this wonderful morning she was going to have.
After the workout, Ruth had a couple of stops to make. But as soon as she could she got her purse, climbed into the car and headed for the thrift shop. Her heart was actually beating a little faster as she anticipated the conversation with the lady at the shop. It was okay to change her mind. It was okay to go back on part of what she had been determined to do. She parked the car and flew into the shop and headed to the rack with the blankets.
The afghan was no longer there. It was apparently in the home of some other person who had liked it. Which was the idea in the first place. And Ruth will eventually feel really okay about that. But not quite yet.
THE AFGHAN: or Learning to change your mind
Once upon a time there was a 62-year-old woman. Let's just call her Ruth. She decided that she didn't need all her stuff anymore. After all, it just got in the way. And it was messy. And some of it stayed in a box in a closet permanently and wasn't doing anybody any good. Ruth had struggled managing her stuff her whole life. Heck, she lost multiple roommates over this issue. First there was her sister Bonnie, who had had it sharing rooms with this messy, stuff-non-manager sister by the time she was 8 years old. And she still had 10 more years of room sharing to go!
Then there were the college room mates. And then there were the two husbands. Like the one who said to Ruth one day, "Don't you see the 8 pairs of shoes on this floor?" And Ruth replied, in complete honesty and innocence, "Well, I do now! But I didn't before you pointed it out!" Ruth had to face it, some of the roommates were better off lost. But that did not solve the stuff issue. After all, she had to share a room with herself and sometimes that was just hard.
Flash forward to her retirement years. Ruth sat herself down one day (after cleaning a space to do so) and decided that she was through spending one more second of her life worrying about all this stuff. And she decided to purge. . . . .big time. Nothing was safe from her scrutiny. She decided to spend all her energy figuring out the few things to keep, and then let everything else go! Wow. . . it felt great!
Many things went that Ruth loved. But she decided that just because she loved something was no reason to keep it. She was looking forward to this new life without organizing issues. So out went the gifts from family and friends. Out went the antiques and memorabilia that she bought at shops over the years. She gave many things to friends so that she knew her stuff had a good home. She donated many things to the thrift shop so that she knew that the money would support a worthy cause. She was sure that her mother. . . .the one that had so clearly made her aware of her organizational issues in the first place. . . . would be so proud of her. As a matter of fact, getting rid of things that had been owned by each of her parents was very difficult. But she realized that their stuff was not them anyway. And wouldn't her mom in particular be much happier if she knew her stuff was serving a need for someone?
I don't need to tell you that the thrift shop in question LOVED Ruth and all her stuff. Every day she took more and more car loads. Every day she was asked the same question, "Are you SURE you want to get rid of these things?" Every day she was treated like some sort of celebrity by the thrift store people. Once they were convinced that she was serious, they gratefully helped her unload her car. This was great!
And the stuff was selling. Because when Ruth went into the thrift shop she rarely saw any of the items she had donated. The lady behind the counter assured her that the stuff was flying off the shelves. Ruth even walked in one day to find one of her acquaintances buying something that she had donated.
Ruth went away for the summer and forgot about all the stuff that was gone. She came back to her house not remembering anything that had been given away, but feeling the freedom of having a relatively small storage area that housed all the stuff that had made the cut.
Then one day in October Ruth decided to stop by the thrift shop to look for winter shirts. She wandered all around the thrift shop, even in the room that housed mostly men's clothes. There was a rack with several hand made blankets, mostly crocheted. And then she saw it. The two-toned green afghan that she and her mother had knit. Ruth had bought the yarn to make the afghan way back when she was adding a porch to her townhouse. She thought it would look nice on the futon out there. But true to form, the yarn was bought, but the afghan never finished. . . or even begun for that matter.
One week Ruth's parents were visiting her at her townhouse. Her mom saw all the yarn and offered to take it home and make up all the squares (63 in all. . . each knitted with a different pattern). She said that she would make the squares if Ruth would crochet around them and sew them together. This seemed like a great idea. So Ruth agreed.
Eventually her mom brought all the squares back. . . all finished. And Ruth put them in her closet because she was SURE she would get around to sewing them together. And there they sat. And there they were when Ruth moved to Alexandria. And they were transferred in the box to a new closet on a new street.
And then Ruth's mom died.
And one day several weeks later, Ruth found that box of squares and decided that now she would take the time to sew them together. And she did. Night after night she crocheted around each square. And when she had two done she would sew them together. And then two more. And two more. Because her mom always said, "Inch by inch, everything's a cinch." And damned if that wasn't true.
But by this time, the colors Ruth had chosen for the afghan did not go with any of the colors of her house. And she was in a matchy-matchy phase, having watched many many hours of HGTV. So the afghan, now finished, languished.
When it was time to part with her stuff, she decided that the afghan would go. Someone would buy it and it would be wonderful and warm and cozy for them. And her mom would like that.
Well all of that was fine and good. Except that here she was, in October, 4 months after donating it to the thrift shop. And there it was. Still sitting with its $15 price tag. Which Ruth thought was a good price. That way no one would buy it for a dog blanket! But there it was. And it made her sad. It wasn't making anyone happy. It was just hanging there not being bought.
Ruth left but she couldn't help thinking about the blanket. And the more she thought the more she decided that she had to go back and get it. After all, now she had a summer condo in New York where the afghan would fit in quite nicely with the decor, and would keep her warm on those nights when the upstate temperatures dipped sometimes. The more she thought about getting the afghan back the happier she became. She planned it perfectly. She could not go back and get it the next day because it was Sunday and the shop was closed. And she could not go back the next day because it was Monday and the shop was closed again.
So she had three days to get excited about getting the afghan back. She had to rethink this whole getting rid of things agenda. Parting with the afghan had clearly been a mistake. She would have to undo it.
On Tuesday morning early she went to her workout class at 7:30. She had the whole thing planned. She would go home after the workout, clean up, get her money, and be back at the shop by the time it opened. She would not ask the woman to give the afghan back. . . .she would pay the $15. And if the woman insisted on giving it back, due to the enormity of her other donations, she would accept it, and then give the woman a $20 donation to the shop. She was so excited about reclaiming the afghan that she even told the woman she was staying with all about this wonderful morning she was going to have.
After the workout, Ruth had a couple of stops to make. But as soon as she could she got her purse, climbed into the car and headed for the thrift shop. Her heart was actually beating a little faster as she anticipated the conversation with the lady at the shop. It was okay to change her mind. It was okay to go back on part of what she had been determined to do. She parked the car and flew into the shop and headed to the rack with the blankets.
The afghan was no longer there. It was apparently in the home of some other person who had liked it. Which was the idea in the first place. And Ruth will eventually feel really okay about that. But not quite yet.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
NOT MISERABLES!
Well, I know I just blogged this morning. But I have another blog in me. Two in one day. I may have to smoke a cigarette (which I have never done, I might add).
Anyway. . . just returned from a fantastic evening with Dave. We ate at the Watergate restaurant and were able to eat outside since it has FINALLY STOPPED RAINING!!!!!! And it was pretty mild. I had the most fantastic vegetarian (which I'm technically not) Indian dish. YUMMERS! I didn't feel too bad, Weight Watchers points-wise since I had actually gotten my carcass out of my jammies this morning and went to the South Run Rec Center where I spent a glorious hour in the pool. I just swam back and forth in various ways for almost an hour. Minus about 5 minutes in the hot tub. Which I thought I would spend longer in. But I swam about 40 minutes and then got in and it was too hot and what I really wanted to do was keep swimming. So that should have earned me a couple of extra points for a fantastic Indian meal. . . . . . and a glass of wine.
But really, the piece de resistance (no pun intended, get it? Resistance? Les Miz?) was watching Les Miserables tonight at the Kennedy Center. I had seen it many years ago. I may have seen it twice during the past 25 years. But Dave was a LM virgin. We were in Row H so were barely out of the range of the people spitting from the stage as they sang. Wow! That show is so unbelievable. The man who sang the role of Jean Valjean has performed the play more than 2900 times!!! YIKES! And here's a cool thing. I went to the ladies room during intermission and almost ran smack into Senator John Kerry (well, he was not in the ladies room, but in the aisle). I came back to tell Dave about it and we turned around and the Kerry's were sitting about 4 rows behind us. Not only did we see them, but we had better seats than they did!!!!! I love that!
Luckily I had downloaded the 10th anniversary concert edition of Les Miz on my IPhone last week, so I can listen to it all the way home tomorrow. I am definitely not MISERABLES!!!!!!
PROGRESS!
So progress is a good thing, right? And to piggy back on that theme, there is also progress on the house renovation front! YIPPEE! Since that picture was taken 4 days ago I have been back to Nelson County, met with my builder, picked plans, and chosen a cork floor for the house. I'm waiting for the estimate of cost and then hopefully we'll sign a contract and get this puppy going. I could not be more excited. Things waited for are always sweeter to receive, I think.
The new house plan is vastly different from the old one. And I have had to struggle a bit with this because there was a lot of me invested in the old plan. . .both financially and emotionally. I had already started to live there in my mind, and now this stranger has come along in the form of a new plan and abducted my house! So it's been an adjustment.
But I think this new plan will be terrific and will give me much more flexibility in the house. There will be a small addition in the back for the living room in order to get lots of light into the room. The hip roof that exists on the house hangs over the house all the way around, and keeps the light from getting in.
Well, trust me here, it's going to be great. You'll just have to stand by and wait for the progress. . . . . of me and my blogging, picture-adding skills, and of the house project in general.
In the meantime, I'm back up at Dave's. Rehearsal last night for new concert. Les Miserables tonight! Then back home. Life as a nomad. . . . it sure isn't blah!
One more cool IPhone thing: came home last night from rehearsal, and within about 10 minutes had downloaded all the music we're going to sing into my phone, which is also an IPod. I spent some time last night "studying" the new music by listening to it. I used to have to wait a week or more to get the CD's I ordered for just such practice. Now that's progress!
Saturday, October 1, 2011
THE VIEW FROM THE MOUNTAIN
Here's why I love performing at the Kennedy Center:
1. Standing on the stage looking out at the audience: Friday night's audience was amazing. At least the people in the front orchestra section appeared to be completely familiar with Carmina Burana. This is not surprising given the piece's universal appeal. . . it's lively, it's melodic, it's dramatic, and you can hear parts of it on most car commercials. But still I have mentioned it to many friends who stare at me with blank expressions and you realize that this is not something that EVERYONE knows. But Friday night's audience (at least the people in the front orchestra section) have been here before. They hung on every word. They smiled in anticipation BEFORE a particular movement. And then they smiled more broadly as they realized that this was an extraordinary rendering of that movement. They appreciated the entire piece, segment by segment and movement by movement. It was so gratifying to watch the joy in these people's faces. I love that when it happens.
2. Being able to watch the conductor from the front. In this case, Fruhbeck. He's a master of this piece. He arrived on stage in his tails, no music stand or score . . just his own self on the podium. And he masterfully drove this piece. No sweat from his brow. Just command. It's a times like these that I completely understand the word revere. I'm not speaking of a silversmith on a horse. I'm speaking about a feeling that comes over me when I look at someone who so completely understands his gift and his mission. I am in awe of this quality, and particularly someone who is in the final years of his greatness. This is me, with him, at the summit of his career. I get to observe and participate in the culmination of his musical learning. I feel the same way about Norman. I revere these two men right now. The dictionary defines revere as to regard with respect tinged in awe. I have more than a tinge of awe for these two great musicians. I can't believe I get to be here doing this.
3. We stand behind the National Symphony Orchestra. Every single solo in the piece is played with exquisite virtuosity. It's so amazing to stand there while they play the one or two movements of Carmina that are designated for orchestra only. I'm not in the audience. I'm right behind them. I can follow the notes on the trumpet players parts. I'm in the middle of the whole ensemble. Choir to the left. Choir to the right. Choir behind me. Orchestra in front. If I'm drowning, don't save me.
4. The almost prerequisite standing ovations and cheers. I know, I know. There are people who bemoan that the standing O is so ubiquitous as to render it without meaning at all. But, heck, this is the Kennedy Center, and if you're in a group that gets to perform there, at these ticket prices you better give a standing ovation performance! And the last two nights have been just that. But here's what's really cool. This was not a Choral Arts performance, it was an NSO performance. There is a difference. When someone attends a concert out of our season, they are coming to hear the choir. When it's the NSO season, they are coming to hear the orchestra. So at the end of the concert, when the bows are being taken, and the choir gets the loudest outburst of applause and cheers, that is just pretty damn fabulous.
5. Going out after a performance to head for the car and having audience members compliment the performance. I feel like a celebrity in my long blue dress.
NOW . . . . . . .
Here's what I hate about singing at the Kennedy Center:
1. Standing around waiting to go on. We have to overkill this. . . .but we line up for this concert at least 20 minutes prior to actually walking on. We have to stand a long time in this concert and to stand for 20 - 30 minutes before even going on is hard. I'm no spring chicken. I'm glad I work out and that yesterday I went to Kohl's and got a better pair of black shoes (and that I got an extra 30% off!). But standing for long periods of time is hard.
2. Sweating. One of my issues in life is that I'm a profuse head-sweater. It's just as well that I was an overweight teenager with no dates, because if I had gone to a dance and actually danced, within 10 minutes I would have looked like I just got out of the pool. People at my gym always ask if I'm working harder than they are, and maybe I am, but more likely, I'm just sweating like a pig from the head and I look drenched. So once we are on the stage under the incredibly hot lights, packed in like sardines, and the music starts. . . . .LOOKOUT! I usually stand front row center, so I can't just stand there like Louis Armstrong and wipe my face off. So this means that about 20 minutes into the concert, what with the lights and the effort it takes to sing the music, and the proximity of all the other choristers, I can feel sweat just pouring down my face and landing on my neck. It's miserable. And I can't really do anything about it until after #10 when we get to sit down. Then I try to be as inconspicuous as possible as I get out my little tissues and mop up. Let me just tell you, a pocket pack of Kleenex does not do the trick. I need towels. . . .badly. So that part is not wonderful.
Okay. . . so standing and sweating. . . . not fun. But all in all, they are to be endured so that I can do the rest. At least my dress has been altered so that I can breathe this year. And I have comfortable shoes. I guess I can stop whining now. Thank you God for the opportunity to go back out there one more time tonight and sweat like a pig while standing for a long time. It doesn't get any better than this!
1. Standing on the stage looking out at the audience: Friday night's audience was amazing. At least the people in the front orchestra section appeared to be completely familiar with Carmina Burana. This is not surprising given the piece's universal appeal. . . it's lively, it's melodic, it's dramatic, and you can hear parts of it on most car commercials. But still I have mentioned it to many friends who stare at me with blank expressions and you realize that this is not something that EVERYONE knows. But Friday night's audience (at least the people in the front orchestra section) have been here before. They hung on every word. They smiled in anticipation BEFORE a particular movement. And then they smiled more broadly as they realized that this was an extraordinary rendering of that movement. They appreciated the entire piece, segment by segment and movement by movement. It was so gratifying to watch the joy in these people's faces. I love that when it happens.
2. Being able to watch the conductor from the front. In this case, Fruhbeck. He's a master of this piece. He arrived on stage in his tails, no music stand or score . . just his own self on the podium. And he masterfully drove this piece. No sweat from his brow. Just command. It's a times like these that I completely understand the word revere. I'm not speaking of a silversmith on a horse. I'm speaking about a feeling that comes over me when I look at someone who so completely understands his gift and his mission. I am in awe of this quality, and particularly someone who is in the final years of his greatness. This is me, with him, at the summit of his career. I get to observe and participate in the culmination of his musical learning. I feel the same way about Norman. I revere these two men right now. The dictionary defines revere as to regard with respect tinged in awe. I have more than a tinge of awe for these two great musicians. I can't believe I get to be here doing this.
3. We stand behind the National Symphony Orchestra. Every single solo in the piece is played with exquisite virtuosity. It's so amazing to stand there while they play the one or two movements of Carmina that are designated for orchestra only. I'm not in the audience. I'm right behind them. I can follow the notes on the trumpet players parts. I'm in the middle of the whole ensemble. Choir to the left. Choir to the right. Choir behind me. Orchestra in front. If I'm drowning, don't save me.
4. The almost prerequisite standing ovations and cheers. I know, I know. There are people who bemoan that the standing O is so ubiquitous as to render it without meaning at all. But, heck, this is the Kennedy Center, and if you're in a group that gets to perform there, at these ticket prices you better give a standing ovation performance! And the last two nights have been just that. But here's what's really cool. This was not a Choral Arts performance, it was an NSO performance. There is a difference. When someone attends a concert out of our season, they are coming to hear the choir. When it's the NSO season, they are coming to hear the orchestra. So at the end of the concert, when the bows are being taken, and the choir gets the loudest outburst of applause and cheers, that is just pretty damn fabulous.
5. Going out after a performance to head for the car and having audience members compliment the performance. I feel like a celebrity in my long blue dress.
NOW . . . . . . .
Here's what I hate about singing at the Kennedy Center:
1. Standing around waiting to go on. We have to overkill this. . . .but we line up for this concert at least 20 minutes prior to actually walking on. We have to stand a long time in this concert and to stand for 20 - 30 minutes before even going on is hard. I'm no spring chicken. I'm glad I work out and that yesterday I went to Kohl's and got a better pair of black shoes (and that I got an extra 30% off!). But standing for long periods of time is hard.
2. Sweating. One of my issues in life is that I'm a profuse head-sweater. It's just as well that I was an overweight teenager with no dates, because if I had gone to a dance and actually danced, within 10 minutes I would have looked like I just got out of the pool. People at my gym always ask if I'm working harder than they are, and maybe I am, but more likely, I'm just sweating like a pig from the head and I look drenched. So once we are on the stage under the incredibly hot lights, packed in like sardines, and the music starts. . . . .LOOKOUT! I usually stand front row center, so I can't just stand there like Louis Armstrong and wipe my face off. So this means that about 20 minutes into the concert, what with the lights and the effort it takes to sing the music, and the proximity of all the other choristers, I can feel sweat just pouring down my face and landing on my neck. It's miserable. And I can't really do anything about it until after #10 when we get to sit down. Then I try to be as inconspicuous as possible as I get out my little tissues and mop up. Let me just tell you, a pocket pack of Kleenex does not do the trick. I need towels. . . .badly. So that part is not wonderful.
Okay. . . so standing and sweating. . . . not fun. But all in all, they are to be endured so that I can do the rest. At least my dress has been altered so that I can breathe this year. And I have comfortable shoes. I guess I can stop whining now. Thank you God for the opportunity to go back out there one more time tonight and sweat like a pig while standing for a long time. It doesn't get any better than this!
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