As "Navy brats", my siblings and I were largely raised in rented homes/housing. Our dad was a Navy officer. We went where he did, except during WWII and the Korean Conflict, but being moved around a lot was our norm. It was partly due to Uncle Sam and partly due to our folks' grabbing needed housing wherever we were moved, then upgrading. We were never stationed anywhere for more than two years. (Danville, IL, was the exception. We were there for three-and-half years. During that time, we moved three times. I went to three different elementary schools.) Also during that time, our parents actually purchased a newly-built home in a brand new subdivision in Danville, just a couple of blocks from the school. It was SO new that my father put the lawn together himself. We lived there for two-and-a-half years before Dad got his orders for Japan. I hated leaving that place because, for the first time in my 10-year-old life, I had a friend. Susie Kochell and I were bosom buds. We lived only a block apart. Living there had become my roots.
Prior to Danville, the only "roots" in my life was at the family farm. No matter where else we lived in the world, we always came home to our grandparents' farm. That was home. My grandparents were my mother's folks. (My dad's folks both died before I was born. I never knew them.) My father adored them as his own, and they adored him. He was their son, just as surely as their biological son was. In any case, I never considered myself to be a world-traveling gal so much as a farm girl, even though the farm was never our address. I never realized it as a kid, but I think I longed for a place to call my home town. I wanted roots. And when I became a mother, I wanted roots for my child.
I had married a school administrator. Nobody told me that the shelf life of a school administrator in any school district is tentative, depending on the politics of a given district. It seemed that we were also constantly moving. No big deal, except we had a child. (He had two other children by his first marriage.) We needed to stay close to our families--his, mine, and his kids'--just to stay grounded. And once again, we were strapped to rental housing. We kept up the properties and even tried to improve on them, but they weren't ours. We always knew that it wasn't in our financial interest to put a lot of money in a place. I remodeled and redecorated every home--in my brain. Never had the money to do it in real life.
In a traumatic move in 1988--traumatic because we were changing states and there were complications--we moved into yet another rental home in a new community in a new state. Not long thereafter, I spied a house on a double lot in that godforsaken town and suggested that we look into buying it. It was a nice place--tri-level--maybe something over 2,000 sq. ft. By this time, our daughter was in fourth grade. She was depressed about leaving everything/everyone she'd ever known in Illinois. She had gained 50 pounds, broken her foot, and was a very unhappy young lady. I was beside myself, trying to be everything to everyone. My husband wanted to play and wanted me to play with him. My daughter was at a selfish age, needing more of us than ever before. I was taking college courses to get certification in my new state so I could teach. And so it was. With a gift from his parents, we bought that house. Roots! Our own home! Then the bottom fell out.
All good things must come to an end, right? Before we even bought the house, I perceived that we were in trouble. I wasn't happy. My daughter wasn't happy. And my husband seemed to be unconcerned about either--distracted, perhaps. But we bought the house anyway, and within mere months of moving in, he was gone--lying, cheating, and in an affair with his secretary. It took me MONTHS to figure out that I needed to get the hell out of there, but I did. I "let" him keep the house but required a buy-out. He complained that since it was HIS parents' down payment loan that got us that house to begin with, I guess I was just supposed to leave everything to him, for cheating???
How did I get out of Dodge? I got a teaching position. I continued to take courses for Indiana certification, just to keep my job. I relied on a friend whose recommendations took me to a 2-bedroom duplex in Plainfield, IN, the owner of which was a local real estate agent and rented the place to my daughter and me. We'd had two cats in our former home which my ex refused to keep while we attempted to find places for them, so my cat-lover brother took them, temporarily. (That required a trip to Chicago and is a WHOLE other story!) Family and friends helped us move on Memorial Day weekend of 1991. We settled in, as best we could. Bad things happened with my ex there, but we endured. The divorce process continued. Dammit, still no roots for my kid!
After few months of our living in the duplex, it was announced that United Airlines was going to have a hub at Indy International. People from California were going to relocate here. The housing they could afford out there would provide them with VERY nice homes in the lesser cost of living in Indiana. I was afraid that housing prices would peak. I also was irritated to think that my ex had the privilege of his own home--our home-- while his daughter and I were, once again, paying rent.
Seven months into our lease on the duplex, I asked our landlady if she could help us find a house to buy and would release me from the lease. She was okay with that. She showed us two homes in the Hillcrest subdivision. Both had the same floor plan. The one I bought had no central air conditioning, but it did have a half-bath that other similar homes didn't have, and a covered patio. I figured I could always add central air but maybe not another bathroom, so I bought the second home I was shown! The gal, who happens to go to my church and is a very practical gal, said, "This is the only house you and Megan will ever need." She was right. Many times, I wish I'd had more space, but the reality is that I don't need anything more. Megan has moved on from her meager roots, but she knows that my home and I will always be here for her and my grandchildren.
My little house is probably apartment-sized. It was built on a concrete slab in 1968, as a National Home--prefab, I think. The walls are 3 inches thick rather than the normal 6 inches. Electrical service is 120-amp. (Not enough to serve modern needs.) I don't need a sump pump because there is no flooding, and because the furnace is in the house near plumbing, I've never had to worry about frozen pipes. I almost lost this place to foreclosure once, due to my own stupidity, but it didn't happen, and I have happily lived in this little place since March of 1992. In just a couple of months, I will have been here, if God lets me, for 27 years.
Think of it! Twenty-seven years! Twenty-seven years in one place! Roots! By many standards, my little house ain't much, but it's mine--now paid off. When I mention my little "house-on-a-slab", I'm not apologizing. I worked hard for this little place. I'm very comfortable here in my old age. It ain't much, baby, but it's all I've got!
Sunday, January 27, 2019
Saturday, January 19, 2019
Me, Me, Me...
There is a human trait that I very much dislike in others when I see it, and that is the necessity of some people to turn the focus of conversations with others back to themselves. Everyone does it, of course. It only becomes maddening when the other party in the discussion does it without fail. Interacting with such folks is much like talking to a lamp shade, impossible to tell if they've actually heard you or are just thinking of what their response will be before you have even completed your thought. (I had a dear friend, now deceased, who was frustratingly guilty of this, and I talked to him by phone every morning of the week, except Sunday. It got old. I learned to stop trying to get past it, merely shaking my head to myself at the end of each call.)
But, guess what? The older I get, the more I see this in myself! What to do...what to do?
This is something that has developed over a lifetime:
As a new teacher (in 1969), I was only four years older than the Seniors I had that year. I wanted the students to understand that my experiences were not that far removed from theirs, so I often used personal anecdotes to relay that to them.
As an administrator's wife (from 1977 to 1991), I learned to keep privileged information private, but still soaked it all up to learn from it. And learn, I did.
As a new mother (in 1979), I traded stories with other mothers--as all mothers do--about my labor/delivery, and ask advice about what to do to help my baby with milestones. I shared as much as I got.
As the Youth Director at my church (short stint...1985 or so?), I was trying to guide the kids in their spiritual journey in a planning session. I was using some personal experience to illustrate a point to them, when one of them challenged me: "Ms. McNary, it was so much easier for your generation. We have so many stresses to deal with." In an instant, my mind flashed back to my teenage years when I had said the exact same thing to my mother. "It was easier for your generation!" (Please forgive me, Mom! I was young. I was stupid. I paid no homage to your growing up during the Great Depression when even farm families worried about how to meet expenses. I didn't think about the years that Dad was off to war and you were raising two kids alone, or the fact that the family homestead burned to the ground when you and my sisters and grandparents were living in it. I never factored in the tragic loss of a beloved child in an awful home accident since that happened before I was even born. But yeah...it wasn't easier for your generation at all. And bless you for agreeing with my ungrateful butt in order to diffuse the argument! Hard to argue with someone who agrees with you, right?)
A dividing line happened that day. I realized that I was suddenly a dinosaur, no longer in touch with the way things are for kids, yet I went on to teach kids for another twenty years or so. I continued to use personal experiences to help my students try to understand what I was teaching them. And why not? I'd had so many experiences that formed who I was. I'd lived in post-war Hawaii and Japan. I'd endured the assassinations of a President, a President's brother, and a well-noted civil rights leader. I'd seen (and almost participated in--passively) the riots at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago in 1968. I'd followed all of the violence that occurred because of the Civil Rights Movement. I'd been a passive part of The Women's Movement of the 1970s. I'd worked on a Hollywood movie set; met famous stars; was a Girl Scout leader; a Youth Director; a Sunday School teacher; and a teacher. Every day of my life of working with kids/parents/administration, I learned something new about life. Why not share it? Doesn't it help others get a feel for what is being presented?
The answer? No, it doesn't. It became more and more difficult to bridge the gap between my understanding of the world and other's. When I retired in 2009, a couple of years too early, I understood that it was time. That was a horrible year for me in many ways, and the things I learned that particular year made me even wiser and more introspective. Why not share my experiences with the world? Because the world no longer looks to the past to learn from experience. The statement that those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it is sadly true. But today's thinking is that the past doesn't count. Today's generations are too far away from it to understand. Unless you've lived it, you can't comprehend it.
So now you might ask what, in Heaven's name, brought on this post? One word answer: my granddaughter. I got word that she is participating in the Women's March in Seattle today. My first response to that news was that I hoped she'd be safe. And then I came back to myself. I admire her courage. It's courage I never had. I think that I've been a scared little duck all my life, too frightened to follow any passion that would create a risk. I never lived farther than 200 miles from my parents. Couldn't have survived. Was totally shocked when my own child moved 2,000 miles away, twice. Couldn't fathom--still don't--how my ex-husband could pull up stakes and drive off into the sunset without wanting/needing to see our daughter and his only biological grandchildren (who are the lights of my life) more than he does.
I still (and will continue to) catch myself using my own life experiences to try to illustrate things that I think are important to others; however, I now understand that they can take or leave my contributions to a discussion as useful to them...or not.
Looking back on my life, I wish I'd had the strength before that I have now. I could have saved myself much heartache and focused my emotional energy on things that might have made a difference in the world. And what my granddaughter does today is part of the plan of her life. Someday, she can talk about her passion in marching with other women in the interest of equality. (Which is what "we" did back in the 70s. History repeats itself. Maybe it will mean something this time?)
But, guess what? The older I get, the more I see this in myself! What to do...what to do?
This is something that has developed over a lifetime:
As a new teacher (in 1969), I was only four years older than the Seniors I had that year. I wanted the students to understand that my experiences were not that far removed from theirs, so I often used personal anecdotes to relay that to them.
As an administrator's wife (from 1977 to 1991), I learned to keep privileged information private, but still soaked it all up to learn from it. And learn, I did.
As a new mother (in 1979), I traded stories with other mothers--as all mothers do--about my labor/delivery, and ask advice about what to do to help my baby with milestones. I shared as much as I got.
As the Youth Director at my church (short stint...1985 or so?), I was trying to guide the kids in their spiritual journey in a planning session. I was using some personal experience to illustrate a point to them, when one of them challenged me: "Ms. McNary, it was so much easier for your generation. We have so many stresses to deal with." In an instant, my mind flashed back to my teenage years when I had said the exact same thing to my mother. "It was easier for your generation!" (Please forgive me, Mom! I was young. I was stupid. I paid no homage to your growing up during the Great Depression when even farm families worried about how to meet expenses. I didn't think about the years that Dad was off to war and you were raising two kids alone, or the fact that the family homestead burned to the ground when you and my sisters and grandparents were living in it. I never factored in the tragic loss of a beloved child in an awful home accident since that happened before I was even born. But yeah...it wasn't easier for your generation at all. And bless you for agreeing with my ungrateful butt in order to diffuse the argument! Hard to argue with someone who agrees with you, right?)
A dividing line happened that day. I realized that I was suddenly a dinosaur, no longer in touch with the way things are for kids, yet I went on to teach kids for another twenty years or so. I continued to use personal experiences to help my students try to understand what I was teaching them. And why not? I'd had so many experiences that formed who I was. I'd lived in post-war Hawaii and Japan. I'd endured the assassinations of a President, a President's brother, and a well-noted civil rights leader. I'd seen (and almost participated in--passively) the riots at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago in 1968. I'd followed all of the violence that occurred because of the Civil Rights Movement. I'd been a passive part of The Women's Movement of the 1970s. I'd worked on a Hollywood movie set; met famous stars; was a Girl Scout leader; a Youth Director; a Sunday School teacher; and a teacher. Every day of my life of working with kids/parents/administration, I learned something new about life. Why not share it? Doesn't it help others get a feel for what is being presented?
The answer? No, it doesn't. It became more and more difficult to bridge the gap between my understanding of the world and other's. When I retired in 2009, a couple of years too early, I understood that it was time. That was a horrible year for me in many ways, and the things I learned that particular year made me even wiser and more introspective. Why not share my experiences with the world? Because the world no longer looks to the past to learn from experience. The statement that those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it is sadly true. But today's thinking is that the past doesn't count. Today's generations are too far away from it to understand. Unless you've lived it, you can't comprehend it.
So now you might ask what, in Heaven's name, brought on this post? One word answer: my granddaughter. I got word that she is participating in the Women's March in Seattle today. My first response to that news was that I hoped she'd be safe. And then I came back to myself. I admire her courage. It's courage I never had. I think that I've been a scared little duck all my life, too frightened to follow any passion that would create a risk. I never lived farther than 200 miles from my parents. Couldn't have survived. Was totally shocked when my own child moved 2,000 miles away, twice. Couldn't fathom--still don't--how my ex-husband could pull up stakes and drive off into the sunset without wanting/needing to see our daughter and his only biological grandchildren (who are the lights of my life) more than he does.
I still (and will continue to) catch myself using my own life experiences to try to illustrate things that I think are important to others; however, I now understand that they can take or leave my contributions to a discussion as useful to them...or not.
Looking back on my life, I wish I'd had the strength before that I have now. I could have saved myself much heartache and focused my emotional energy on things that might have made a difference in the world. And what my granddaughter does today is part of the plan of her life. Someday, she can talk about her passion in marching with other women in the interest of equality. (Which is what "we" did back in the 70s. History repeats itself. Maybe it will mean something this time?)
Thursday, January 17, 2019
Ahhh...The Sights and Sounds of Winter...
Hail, Winter! You are the reason why people love the other seasons of the year!
You inspire us to think ahead when your storms are forecast. (Is there enough TP, milk, bread, alcohol, and smokes in the house to get through? Do we know where the snow shovel and ice scrapers are?)
You require us to be resourceful and strong. (Can't find the salt for the sidewalk? How about kitty litter? Maybe table salt? Sand? Pushing snow with the shovel creates muscles. How much can we throw in order to stay outside the shortest amount of time possible? Do we know the condition of our hearts?)
You teach us to be patient and hopeful. (Hopeful that Spring will come early. Hopeful that the furnace will keep working and that the power stays on. Hopeful that our newfound human togetherness inside the house can be endured without snarling at our loved ones too much.)
Your beauty stuns us, for a day. The pristine fields of newfallen snow. The tree boughs bent low with the weight of the white stuff...so pure...so quiet. Gorgeous!
And then the other sights and sounds and feelings:
*The sounds of the snowplows scraping the pavement, throwing what we have already shoveled out back up into our driveways.
*The pitter-patter of little ice balls hitting the windows.
*The weather alerts and school closings that run along the bottom of our favorite TV stations.
*The pock-marked snow as the rain falls and makes dirty slush out of your lovely white stuff.
*The road salt all over our dark cars. The road dirt all over our light ones.
*The delightful smell of thick soups and stews coming from our kitchens, filling our bellies' needs to hibernate and fill up in order to stave off the boredom of long nights...and thwarting our desires to be "bikini ready" the minute the season breaks.
*The rounds of chapped lips that defy medication.
And last-but-not-least, the horrifying realization that Winter isn't even a month old! There's more to come, and every day is a crap-shoot. We just have to get through it!
I yield to the English poet, Percy Bysshe Shelley in his poem, "Ode to the West Wind", when he says, "O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?"
Yeah, Percy. I'm with ya! Go, Winter! Give us your worst! Sooner or later, you will give way to sunshine, warmth, and flowers again...
You inspire us to think ahead when your storms are forecast. (Is there enough TP, milk, bread, alcohol, and smokes in the house to get through? Do we know where the snow shovel and ice scrapers are?)
You require us to be resourceful and strong. (Can't find the salt for the sidewalk? How about kitty litter? Maybe table salt? Sand? Pushing snow with the shovel creates muscles. How much can we throw in order to stay outside the shortest amount of time possible? Do we know the condition of our hearts?)
You teach us to be patient and hopeful. (Hopeful that Spring will come early. Hopeful that the furnace will keep working and that the power stays on. Hopeful that our newfound human togetherness inside the house can be endured without snarling at our loved ones too much.)
Your beauty stuns us, for a day. The pristine fields of newfallen snow. The tree boughs bent low with the weight of the white stuff...so pure...so quiet. Gorgeous!
And then the other sights and sounds and feelings:
*The sounds of the snowplows scraping the pavement, throwing what we have already shoveled out back up into our driveways.
*The pitter-patter of little ice balls hitting the windows.
*The weather alerts and school closings that run along the bottom of our favorite TV stations.
*The pock-marked snow as the rain falls and makes dirty slush out of your lovely white stuff.
*The road salt all over our dark cars. The road dirt all over our light ones.
*The delightful smell of thick soups and stews coming from our kitchens, filling our bellies' needs to hibernate and fill up in order to stave off the boredom of long nights...and thwarting our desires to be "bikini ready" the minute the season breaks.
*The rounds of chapped lips that defy medication.
And last-but-not-least, the horrifying realization that Winter isn't even a month old! There's more to come, and every day is a crap-shoot. We just have to get through it!
I yield to the English poet, Percy Bysshe Shelley in his poem, "Ode to the West Wind", when he says, "O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?"
Yeah, Percy. I'm with ya! Go, Winter! Give us your worst! Sooner or later, you will give way to sunshine, warmth, and flowers again...
Tuesday, January 15, 2019
Alexa
How am I supposed to navigate the world when it keeps changing faster than I can adjust?
Meet Alexa!
My daughter informed me, just before I left for her house in Washington, that they no longer subscribe to cable TV, but that they had a "walkaround". She understands that TV is my alternate entertainment in the lonely hours of the night. I hoped for the best. She didn't tell me, however, about Alexa until I arrived. Yikes!
Alexa controls the house.
For the uninitiated, Alexa is artificial intelligence which, when programmed, will do almost anything you ask, as long as you say her name first.
"Alexa, turn lights off." Lights go off.
"Alexa, turn TV on." TV comes on.
"Alexa, set timer for 30 minutes." Timer set and alarm sounds at the end of the time.
Alexa keeps shopping lists, to-do lists, announces reminders, acts as a public address system, a Google question answerer, and all of the things that you wish you had when you were younger. (My brother, now long deceased, would have had one or more Alexas in his life, since he spent the better part of his younger existence wiring control boards to do what Alexa does digitally.)
You get the picture.
The only real problem comes when you don't speak Alexa's language. For example, the Alexa that I dealt with in my room in their house didn't understand the word "television". She did comprehend "TV". It's frustrating if the programmer in the house is in bed and can't be always be counted on to help. Also, Alexa has excellent hearing. Things that are requested from one room can sometimes be heard from another room. Strange things can happen!
My daughter suggested that I need an Alexa because "she" could call an emergency number if I asked. Well...it's a nice idea, but I am not surrounded by techno-geeks the way she is. I wouldn't be able to deal with one single glitch because I have zero knowledge about how these things work. Nor do most of the people of my acquaintance. It's not the same as asking someone to come help flip an electric breaker...
I'm not knocking Alexa. Having that kind of service in a busy household is awesome, as long as there are folks there (my son-in-law) who know how to deal with the glitches. I'm just not in that position. Not sure I ever could be. There are just things in the real world that are lost to people in previous generations who just don't get it. I'm one of them. God knows, I try!!
Meet Alexa!
My daughter informed me, just before I left for her house in Washington, that they no longer subscribe to cable TV, but that they had a "walkaround". She understands that TV is my alternate entertainment in the lonely hours of the night. I hoped for the best. She didn't tell me, however, about Alexa until I arrived. Yikes!
Alexa controls the house.
For the uninitiated, Alexa is artificial intelligence which, when programmed, will do almost anything you ask, as long as you say her name first.
"Alexa, turn lights off." Lights go off.
"Alexa, turn TV on." TV comes on.
"Alexa, set timer for 30 minutes." Timer set and alarm sounds at the end of the time.
Alexa keeps shopping lists, to-do lists, announces reminders, acts as a public address system, a Google question answerer, and all of the things that you wish you had when you were younger. (My brother, now long deceased, would have had one or more Alexas in his life, since he spent the better part of his younger existence wiring control boards to do what Alexa does digitally.)
You get the picture.
The only real problem comes when you don't speak Alexa's language. For example, the Alexa that I dealt with in my room in their house didn't understand the word "television". She did comprehend "TV". It's frustrating if the programmer in the house is in bed and can't be always be counted on to help. Also, Alexa has excellent hearing. Things that are requested from one room can sometimes be heard from another room. Strange things can happen!
My daughter suggested that I need an Alexa because "she" could call an emergency number if I asked. Well...it's a nice idea, but I am not surrounded by techno-geeks the way she is. I wouldn't be able to deal with one single glitch because I have zero knowledge about how these things work. Nor do most of the people of my acquaintance. It's not the same as asking someone to come help flip an electric breaker...
I'm not knocking Alexa. Having that kind of service in a busy household is awesome, as long as there are folks there (my son-in-law) who know how to deal with the glitches. I'm just not in that position. Not sure I ever could be. There are just things in the real world that are lost to people in previous generations who just don't get it. I'm one of them. God knows, I try!!
Sunday, January 13, 2019
First Snowfall
Here I am, stranded in my little house-on-a-slab by six inches of snow. First snow of the season.
It's January. It's Indiana. No big deal.
Bless his heart, my neighbor across the street came over yesterday afternoon to use his snowblower to create a path behind my car and on the sidewalk up to my door. He does this out of the goodness of his heart. I've never, ever asked. More snow came down on what he plowed, but not all that much. When I decide to venture out, I will have to dig out my own vehicle, but my neighbor did the big stuff!
This time of year, when there are storms and rumors of storms, I take stock of what I could possibly run out of for three days or more. Trust me--I always have enough ingredients in the house to create meals for more than just me. This week, I stocked up (not much) a whole day before working folks had the time to think about it. When the rush was on, I was home and peaceful. Thankfully, I don't have anyone to worry about anyone but myself. If I had children to consider, things would be different.
The snow is beautiful. I like it from the inside. Were I outside--which I will be, at some point--I wouldn't feel the same. Every season has its own beauty. The lovely colors of fall give way to the black-and-white of winter, and that's good, too. Can't wait for the green of spring!
So what's the down side? Boredom. I'm bored out of my mind. Weekend TV programming is awful. I don't sleep well enough to even want the long nights. There is plenty to do. In fact, what I have to do is overwhelming. I just don't do it.
I know--it's the snow's fault. I'm blaming it on the snow!
It's January. It's Indiana. No big deal.
Bless his heart, my neighbor across the street came over yesterday afternoon to use his snowblower to create a path behind my car and on the sidewalk up to my door. He does this out of the goodness of his heart. I've never, ever asked. More snow came down on what he plowed, but not all that much. When I decide to venture out, I will have to dig out my own vehicle, but my neighbor did the big stuff!
This time of year, when there are storms and rumors of storms, I take stock of what I could possibly run out of for three days or more. Trust me--I always have enough ingredients in the house to create meals for more than just me. This week, I stocked up (not much) a whole day before working folks had the time to think about it. When the rush was on, I was home and peaceful. Thankfully, I don't have anyone to worry about anyone but myself. If I had children to consider, things would be different.
The snow is beautiful. I like it from the inside. Were I outside--which I will be, at some point--I wouldn't feel the same. Every season has its own beauty. The lovely colors of fall give way to the black-and-white of winter, and that's good, too. Can't wait for the green of spring!
So what's the down side? Boredom. I'm bored out of my mind. Weekend TV programming is awful. I don't sleep well enough to even want the long nights. There is plenty to do. In fact, what I have to do is overwhelming. I just don't do it.
I know--it's the snow's fault. I'm blaming it on the snow!
Monday, January 7, 2019
Home Economics
When I was a young'un, there were courses in Home Ec that were offered by my high school. I never took any of them. I thought they were all about learning how to cook, but I was female. That comes with the gender, right?
Then, in a moment of brilliance, I took a Home Ec course in college and quickly found out that there is a whole lot more to keeping a household than just cooking. The operative word is "economics". I soon learned that any homemaker has three types of resources: money, time, and energy. Of course, this was in the days of more defined gender roles, but I came to understand that those suggestions are universal. If the person in charge of the house and the meals also has a job, he/she has more money than time or energy. If he/she stays at home to take care of the kids, there is more time. And so it goes. Naturally, the more there is to do, the less energy and time available, which requires more money which isn't always available. Still, we do the best we can with what we have.
But let's talk about a cooking episode. What is involved, especially when in someone else's kitchen?
Do you have all of the ingredients?
Determine eating time. Think back to how long it will take to cook it.
Prepare the ingredients. Figure out how to make it all done at the same time.
Plan out what pans will do the trick to cook everything, hoping there are enough, and how they will fit in the dishwasher later.
All of this doesn't happen by accident. It occurs through experience.
Ha! Asian cultures revere older folks for their experience. In America, old folks are made fun of as being out of touch. Carry on, young'uns. Just keep on reinventing the wheel. It's your generational legacy.
Then, in a moment of brilliance, I took a Home Ec course in college and quickly found out that there is a whole lot more to keeping a household than just cooking. The operative word is "economics". I soon learned that any homemaker has three types of resources: money, time, and energy. Of course, this was in the days of more defined gender roles, but I came to understand that those suggestions are universal. If the person in charge of the house and the meals also has a job, he/she has more money than time or energy. If he/she stays at home to take care of the kids, there is more time. And so it goes. Naturally, the more there is to do, the less energy and time available, which requires more money which isn't always available. Still, we do the best we can with what we have.
But let's talk about a cooking episode. What is involved, especially when in someone else's kitchen?
Do you have all of the ingredients?
Determine eating time. Think back to how long it will take to cook it.
Prepare the ingredients. Figure out how to make it all done at the same time.
Plan out what pans will do the trick to cook everything, hoping there are enough, and how they will fit in the dishwasher later.
All of this doesn't happen by accident. It occurs through experience.
Ha! Asian cultures revere older folks for their experience. In America, old folks are made fun of as being out of touch. Carry on, young'uns. Just keep on reinventing the wheel. It's your generational legacy.
Saturday, January 5, 2019
Seattle Trip, One Last Time...
On December 6th, my plane hit the ground at Sea-Tac on schedule, but the arrival gate had been changed. Thus, the three wheelchairs ordered for flyers were at the wrong gate. It took awhile for the chairs to catch up with us. Everyone else was off the plane while we handicapped folk chit-chatted with the flight staff who can't leave until the plane is empty. During that time, I was in text contact with my daughter. My luggage arrived before I did, and she told me we were ready to roll when I got there! When we all connected--even my grandchildren were there--my wheelchair pusher asked if those were my grandkids and said I was "blessed" when I told him they were. Yes, indeed, I am!!
It was easily 3:00 AM, Indiana Time, before I was able to go to bed. I slept well. Every time I go to visit, my daughter asks what I want to do while there. I never have a clue. It's enough for me to just be with them all, although they probably don't see the value in that. Because of the time of year in the PNW, we take advantage of every day that has sunshine in it.
The entire first week that I was there was taken up with play performances that my granddaughter was in, and then the appointment to have all of her un-emerged wisdom teeth removed. We did all we could to support her in her pain. It was at least a week before she even cared to eat normally, but seemed okay by the time I left, three weeks later.
The play was interesting. Totally directed and produced by students. Non-gender-related to roles. Robin played a male part. The love of her life directed it and played a main part. I enjoyed it.
One somewhat bright weather day, we decided to go north to the Nookshack River area to see if we could see bald eagles feasting on spawning salmon. We could! My daughter counted at least 30 eagles. I didn't see quite that many, but what a thrill to see even a few! On the way home, we saw a field of snow geese and trumpeter swans, plus the Glacier Peak volcano.
Meg and I worked out a menu for a week or two. That helped determine who would cook and what we needed to purchase in to do so. I was beginning to get nervous because Christmas was approaching and I wasn't pleased with what I had for people. Bless his heart, Denis took me to a couple of local shopping places to help me finish my list, such as it was.
Every day there was a blessing. I learned more about my teenage grandchildren. I tried to be helpful--mostly cooking and doing dishes. OMG! The dishes! A constant stream of dirty dishes. The instant the dishwasher is full and running, the dishes just keep on coming!
I think my next trip to the PNW needs to be in the warmer months. I hope I live that long.
This visit was good for me. Not sure how the residents think of it. I'm sure they are relieved not to have Grandma there any more, but I sure miss them! They are in my mind and in my heart every moment of the day!
It was easily 3:00 AM, Indiana Time, before I was able to go to bed. I slept well. Every time I go to visit, my daughter asks what I want to do while there. I never have a clue. It's enough for me to just be with them all, although they probably don't see the value in that. Because of the time of year in the PNW, we take advantage of every day that has sunshine in it.
The entire first week that I was there was taken up with play performances that my granddaughter was in, and then the appointment to have all of her un-emerged wisdom teeth removed. We did all we could to support her in her pain. It was at least a week before she even cared to eat normally, but seemed okay by the time I left, three weeks later.
The play was interesting. Totally directed and produced by students. Non-gender-related to roles. Robin played a male part. The love of her life directed it and played a main part. I enjoyed it.
One somewhat bright weather day, we decided to go north to the Nookshack River area to see if we could see bald eagles feasting on spawning salmon. We could! My daughter counted at least 30 eagles. I didn't see quite that many, but what a thrill to see even a few! On the way home, we saw a field of snow geese and trumpeter swans, plus the Glacier Peak volcano.
Meg and I worked out a menu for a week or two. That helped determine who would cook and what we needed to purchase in to do so. I was beginning to get nervous because Christmas was approaching and I wasn't pleased with what I had for people. Bless his heart, Denis took me to a couple of local shopping places to help me finish my list, such as it was.
Every day there was a blessing. I learned more about my teenage grandchildren. I tried to be helpful--mostly cooking and doing dishes. OMG! The dishes! A constant stream of dirty dishes. The instant the dishwasher is full and running, the dishes just keep on coming!
I think my next trip to the PNW needs to be in the warmer months. I hope I live that long.
This visit was good for me. Not sure how the residents think of it. I'm sure they are relieved not to have Grandma there any more, but I sure miss them! They are in my mind and in my heart every moment of the day!
Thursday, January 3, 2019
Seattle Again, Two
My last post about my recent Seattle trip was about the voyage there. This one will be about the voyage home. I plan to talk about the activities while there in the next post. One thing at a time!
The day started early. I didn't sleep well because I knew that I needed to be up and moving for a 6:45-7:00 AM departure for Sea-Tac airport. We left the house at 7:11, but were on track to be at the airport by 8:00 AM, with curb service. The place was hopping! I never get enough of a chance to say a heartfelt good-bye to my family, partly because I hate good-byes, and partly because the unloading lane in front of Alaska Airlines was double-parked, requiring that the vehicle get on the move quickly.
The gal just in front of me at the curb check-in managed to drop her ID card onto the luggage scale, and it dropped beneath the works. The guy had to take the scale apart in order to find it. You simply can't believe the crap that was under that scale! Of course, it delayed things. I was already worried about getting where I needed to be on time. And I'm sure the people behind me weren't pleased, either.
I finally got through the curbside check-in, then didn't have to wait too long for a wheelchair...but I was taken into the terminal and parked in a handicapped area, waiting for a pusher. I guess I should explain that Sea-Tac was busy, busy, busy. People everywhere. Lines everywhere. Finally, I was pushed to Security, but had to be in line to wait my turn. (In other times, I was given priority.) Had to get out of the wheelchair to take out my laptop for inspection, my cell phone, and (for the first time) my breathing nebulizer. (The dude in charge saw it and just decided it needed to be checked out, I guess. He also seemed to think that my leather Fujitsu mouse pad was a "tablet". I had to show him that it wasn't.) HOWEVER, a bunch of people, including me, were let through the screening gate with absolutely NO scanning, removal of shoes, etc. Why?? Getting through Sea-Tac Security hasn't been the same twice in a row!
My "pusher" then took me directly to the gate without asking if I needed a restroom or food stop, and I didn't ask. He plunked me in a seat in the waiting area and took the wheelchair with him. I worried about that. When the gate personnel finally showed up, I walked over to explain that I would need assistance for boarding. I'm not sure I needed to because they were on it, but still...
I was the first one on the plane. It was a full flight. The fellow next to me was attending a conference of Catholic students in Indy. He'd never been to Indianapolis before. I had the window seat. We didn't talk much. He dozed and I dozed, and the trip that should have taken 4 1/2 hours actually only took 3 1/2. As we were descending into Indy, I pointed out the Indy Speedway to him from the air. Not sure he was duly impressed, but I did my Hoosier duty!
Since I was gone from home for a month, I had two checked bags. It's problematic for wheelchair pushers, but the little gal that was pushing me was a trouper. My two checked bags, plus my carry-on bag and the "personal" bag to be stowed under the seat in front, made a formidable challenge to get me out to the curb. Traditionally, I have decided to take a taxi from Indy International to home. (It's a mere ten minute trip. The cost is $21, but well worth it to me because I don't have to disrupt friends to pick me up, etc., considering that there can be delays, cancellations, etc. There is a button just outside the terminal to push in order to call for a taxi. In other trips, I was the only one asking for a taxi. Today, I was third in line!
My driver was Ethiopian, having been in the US for 17 years. He was a little hard to understand and I wasn't all that pleased with his driving, but he brought my three bags to the door of my house, making it easier for me. The fare was $20.95. I gave him $21 in cash for the fare, then gave him a $10 tip. OMG! You would think that I had given him gold! He fairly yelled, "THANK YOUUU!"
I think I made his day!
I was in the door of my little bungalow by 6:00 PM. There was still a little light in the sky. The house looked good. Of course, I already miss my family. Tomorrow, I will have to refresh the pantry and refrigerator. It is what it is.
I love my visits with my family. I'm not always sure that they feel the same way, but I have to do what is necessary to be with them. They are all that I live for!
The day started early. I didn't sleep well because I knew that I needed to be up and moving for a 6:45-7:00 AM departure for Sea-Tac airport. We left the house at 7:11, but were on track to be at the airport by 8:00 AM, with curb service. The place was hopping! I never get enough of a chance to say a heartfelt good-bye to my family, partly because I hate good-byes, and partly because the unloading lane in front of Alaska Airlines was double-parked, requiring that the vehicle get on the move quickly.
The gal just in front of me at the curb check-in managed to drop her ID card onto the luggage scale, and it dropped beneath the works. The guy had to take the scale apart in order to find it. You simply can't believe the crap that was under that scale! Of course, it delayed things. I was already worried about getting where I needed to be on time. And I'm sure the people behind me weren't pleased, either.
I finally got through the curbside check-in, then didn't have to wait too long for a wheelchair...but I was taken into the terminal and parked in a handicapped area, waiting for a pusher. I guess I should explain that Sea-Tac was busy, busy, busy. People everywhere. Lines everywhere. Finally, I was pushed to Security, but had to be in line to wait my turn. (In other times, I was given priority.) Had to get out of the wheelchair to take out my laptop for inspection, my cell phone, and (for the first time) my breathing nebulizer. (The dude in charge saw it and just decided it needed to be checked out, I guess. He also seemed to think that my leather Fujitsu mouse pad was a "tablet". I had to show him that it wasn't.) HOWEVER, a bunch of people, including me, were let through the screening gate with absolutely NO scanning, removal of shoes, etc. Why?? Getting through Sea-Tac Security hasn't been the same twice in a row!
My "pusher" then took me directly to the gate without asking if I needed a restroom or food stop, and I didn't ask. He plunked me in a seat in the waiting area and took the wheelchair with him. I worried about that. When the gate personnel finally showed up, I walked over to explain that I would need assistance for boarding. I'm not sure I needed to because they were on it, but still...
I was the first one on the plane. It was a full flight. The fellow next to me was attending a conference of Catholic students in Indy. He'd never been to Indianapolis before. I had the window seat. We didn't talk much. He dozed and I dozed, and the trip that should have taken 4 1/2 hours actually only took 3 1/2. As we were descending into Indy, I pointed out the Indy Speedway to him from the air. Not sure he was duly impressed, but I did my Hoosier duty!
Since I was gone from home for a month, I had two checked bags. It's problematic for wheelchair pushers, but the little gal that was pushing me was a trouper. My two checked bags, plus my carry-on bag and the "personal" bag to be stowed under the seat in front, made a formidable challenge to get me out to the curb. Traditionally, I have decided to take a taxi from Indy International to home. (It's a mere ten minute trip. The cost is $21, but well worth it to me because I don't have to disrupt friends to pick me up, etc., considering that there can be delays, cancellations, etc. There is a button just outside the terminal to push in order to call for a taxi. In other trips, I was the only one asking for a taxi. Today, I was third in line!
My driver was Ethiopian, having been in the US for 17 years. He was a little hard to understand and I wasn't all that pleased with his driving, but he brought my three bags to the door of my house, making it easier for me. The fare was $20.95. I gave him $21 in cash for the fare, then gave him a $10 tip. OMG! You would think that I had given him gold! He fairly yelled, "THANK YOUUU!"
I think I made his day!
I was in the door of my little bungalow by 6:00 PM. There was still a little light in the sky. The house looked good. Of course, I already miss my family. Tomorrow, I will have to refresh the pantry and refrigerator. It is what it is.
I love my visits with my family. I'm not always sure that they feel the same way, but I have to do what is necessary to be with them. They are all that I live for!
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