Category Archives: Family

Bees, Family, Feelings, Great Work

Bee Diary: The Ruth Entry

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Summer                                                                              Solstice Moon

Took grand-daughter Ruth with me on a hive inspection today.  I showed her how to fire up the smoker, use a hive tool, check for brood and move slowly when working with the bees.  She hung in there, saying a couple of times, “Now it’s making me really afraid.” but not moving away.  Gradually her fear receded.  Now she can back me up when I need help.

There’s something profound about sharing a passion with a grandchild, as Kate has done already with Ruth and sewing.  Whether they choose to pick it up or not, the indelible memories, for both Ruth and me in this instance, speak of today and tomorrow walking the ancientrail of life together.

Because, like most current beekeepers, I have 9 frames to a 10 frame hive box, the frames are easier to manage that way, the bees often fill up the empty space with comb and honey.  I harvested a lot of this today, so we have fresh comb honey, both comb and honey made in the last week.

 

Family, Travel

Family. Gathering.

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Summer                                                                            Solstice Moon

Little feet pounding up and down the hallway.  Non-residents in the steam bath.  A dining

table set for six.  Cartoons on the tv.  Visitors coming to visit the visitors.  A storm of energy.  Talk about extravagance.

Rigel, our most wolfhound-like dog, likes to go into the entry passage between the garage and the kitchen to lie down.  It’s her safe place when thunderstorms approach.  She was back there last night and Gabe, 5 years old, looked at her and said to me, “Your dog is lonely.”

Gabe is all frenetic energy.  Running, opening, closing, activating electronic devices of all kinds, carrying this from here to there.  Banging on the piano.  (right now in fact) Switching his interests like mercury contacting an electrical lead.  He has mosquito bites, all swollen a bit more than I would find normal, probably due to his hemophilia.  When he came, three sacks filled with factor came with him and went into the downstairs refrigerator.  The factor adds back the clotting factors he’s missing in his clotting cascade.

Ruth has her energetic side, too.  She’s 7 after all.  But she said to me, “I read all the time.” She also recognizes onomatopoeia, alliteration, negative numbers and has a shy eagerness about learning.  We also watched her bowl a 195 on the Wii, then proceed to win a tennis match.  Her small body flows with grace.  In addition, and perhaps most tellingly for her future, she designs.  Dresses.  Which grandma then makes.  Her flare for color and shape surprises me.

Her parents are friends of mine.  We talk, often like college students, late into the night.  Jon and I dissected the American political economy last night.  Jen and I discussed the strange relational behavior of her psychiatrist uncle.  They’re teachers, Jen elementary and Jon art for elementary kids.  This is serious work, formative for our future, and yet also frustrating with high stakes tests and the reality of working with Latino and African-American kids coming from poor homes.

Mark, too, is still here.  He passed his driver’s license test yesterday and now will sport a Minnesota driver’s license as he travels the world.  His money is here as well.  So, in some defining ways, Mark has become a Minnesotan though he describes himself a warm weather guy, having spent most of the last 20 + years in either Thailand or Saudi Arabia.

As often happens when family gathers, I find myself wishing we were closer together.  When I grew up, my whole extended family on my mother’s side lived within a radius of 40 miles.  This allowed constant interaction that kept family life rich, but, also mundane, ordinary.  Now, it happens in these episodic bursts, the Stock Show in Denver, the occasional visit here, other times in Denver.  Mark and Mary come from time to time.

These infrequent family visits, supplemented in a powerful way by Skype and Facetime, represent the new reality for many.  I don’t know whether it’s better or worse, but it is different from the way I grew up, though I suppose I should add that my Dad’s family was spread around: Oklahoma, Texas, Louisiana and Georgia.

 

Family, Travel

House Guests

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Beltane                                                                                   Solstice Moon

The grand kids have arrived.  With their parents in tow.  We have a playhouse for them that we put in the woods at the same time we put in the orchard.  Now, just outside the area of the playhouse, we have the new fire pit.

Tomorrow night we’re going to have an inaugural solstice bonfire.  We plan bonfires on the two solstices and on Beltane and Samhain.  I hope these can begin to be gathering moments for folks interested in celebrating these turning points of the Great Wheel.  Stay tuned for more about these events. We’re going to test the bonfire concept tomorrow night on the grand kids, after that, y’all come.

This family has been on the road since last Friday, driving from Denver to Chicago, then north across the Mackinac Bridge into the U.P., across the U.P. to the Brule for a night, then here this afternoon.  That’s a lot of time in the car for four people.  Exhausting might not even cover it.

Good to have them here, building memories.  We get out there quite a bit, but it’s nice to have them here, too.

Family, Travel

Ex-Pats

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Beltane                                                                           Solstice Moon

The two ex-pats nodded knowingly at each other as they discussed returning to the U.S. for visits from their home’s abroad.  Mark said, “Yes, I walk down the hall at the motel and people move aside.”  Mary said, “Yes, I now what you mean exactly.”  Mark continued, “It’s the nuances.  I understand the signs here.  I don’t have to communicate with sign language.”  Again Mary agreed, but added, “Still, when I come back, there are also things that are strange.”  She talked about a time when she needed to call me to tell she had gotten delayed, but could no longer find a pay phone.  But they both agreed, Mary from Singapore and Mark from his motel in Coon Rapids, that there was a feeling of comfort at being in the home culture.

Mary says the pollution in Singapore is bad enough to make breathing difficult.  Loggers in Indonesia burn the forests, then the smoke crosses the Straits to reach this fortunately air-conditioned nation.  When Singaporeans and Malaysians complain  to Indonesia, the Indonesians point that the companies which own the forests and do the clear cutting and burning are owned by Malaysians and Singaporeans.  Meanwhile, many people wear masks or stay inside.  With little wind during the hot summer months it’s unclear how long this pollution will be around.  It began last Friday.

(Singapore yesterday)

Mary also reports that dengue fever, also known as bone break fever, has infected 10,000 already this year as opposed to 5,000 last year.  This has lead officials to declare dengue hot spots, marked with red circles, in which there have been ten or more cases.  In those hot spots mosquito control will come into your home and check for mosquitoes.  We know about mosquitoes, but not dengue fever, though West Nile virus is here.

(sand storm, Riyadh)

In response to a question Mark said that sand storms create similar problems to the haze in Singapore, with respiratory illnesses increasing.

The ex-pat life.

Family, Woolly Mammoths

Mark of Arabia

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Beltane                                                                         Solstice Moon

The desert rambler has returned to visit.  Mark showed up at the backdoor this afternoon.
He went with me to the Woolly meeting at Bill Schmidt’s apartment.  Bill had a delicious meal and a very thoughtful video called Griefwalker. Stephen Jenkinson is a man who has chosen to live into death rather than away from it and has discovered great riches in the process.  Check out his website if that sort of living interests you.

(Mark two years ago)

Bill, Stefan, Mark, Warren, Frank, Scott, Mark Ellis and I were there.  Mark O. had a 60 mph car accident this last Friday, thankfully door to door rather than head to head, but scary with considerable to his car.  He reports some fears about driving now, understandable.  Warren’s making some moves on their various houses, of which they seem to have at least 2 too many and maybe 3.  Frank’s picking out burial plots.  Scott’s helping a friend deal with a schizophrenic relative who has ended up in a locked unit for her safety.  Stefan has begun to recognize that the racing, cramming pace of his life has begun to overtake him.  I talked about the shoulder pain and the p.t.

The Woolly meeting is here next time and, barring rain, we plan to make good use of the fire pit.

 

 

Family, Feelings, Garden, Memories

Archaeology of the Heart

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Beltane                                                                         Solstice Moon

While watching a NOVA program on dogs, a reference was made to archaeology.  I studied archaeology and the broader discipline of anthropology seriously in college.  Seriously enough that I applied for doctoral work in theoretical anthropology.  Why I didn’t follow that up is a story for another time, but archaeology resonates for me and the mention of it in this context triggered a memory only recently interpreted.

Over the course of my life when confronted with the odd plumbing job or carpentry task, you know, the men things, I would fob them off with the stock phrase, “Oh, I learned everything my Dad knew about these things.  Nothing.”  And, as far I know, that’s a true statement in both instances.  I’m still not able in those areas though I admit I’ve never tried too hard to learn.

Kate and I work outside together a lot, though she works in one area and I work in another.  I found myself having a rising sense of impatience, irritation about her work.  Those who know me well would recognize this mood in me.  I’m not proud of it, but it does surface from time to time.  This time I knew my mood simply had no basis in reality.

Kate works hard.  She works well.  And she was doing both of those, as I know she always does, so this mood was about me, not her.  Suddenly buckets of water sloshing in the wee hours of the morning came to mind.  Uh, oh.  When we moved to our home at 419 N. Canal, it was the first, and last, home my father and mother owned.  We moved there in 1959 and my dad had his stroke there in the  1990’s and died after having moved to a nursing home from there.

In my years there, from 1959 to 1965, I don’t recall a service person ever coming to our house to repair anything.  Likewise, I don’t recall anything ever getting repaired.  Must of have happened, but I don’t recall it.  The only such incident I do recall was a recurring one in which our basement, which housed our furnace and little else, would flood.  When that happened, Dad would get me up and together we would bail out the basement, one bucket at a time.

Roused from sleep, cold and wet, these were not my favorite memories.  I do remember that as we worked, Dad would become silent, sullen.  In fact, I remember him being irritated and impatient with my willingness to do this chore.  Aha.  My memory of teamwork seems to be tied to those nights and I seem to have selected my father’s attitudes to carry on, carrying his water into my own life.  As sons often do.

Rethinking this time also made me realize a second thing.  Why didn’t Dad try to solve the problem rather than resort to such a makeshift solution every time?  I don’t know the answer.  It might have been money.  It might have been pride.  It might have been that these matters simply didn’t show up as problems to solve, but rather came up as problems to ameliorate.  Whatever the reason, I learned to be incurious about solving problems around the house.  Doesn’t matter.  Maybe it’ll go away or fix itself.

Now, I have owned homes since 1969, 7 altogether, one in Appleton, Wisconsin, one in Minneapolis, one outside Nevis, Minnesota, 3 in St. Paul and 1 here in Andover.  Over that time I’ve learned some very minor skills in home repair and one big one.  The big one?  Hire somebody.  Works most of the time.  As far as I can tell, solving day to day problems in the house is one of the few things I’m incurious about.  Fortunately Kate is better than I am and together we can call anybody.

The archaeology of our own thoughts and feelings is the most rudimentary and personal dig we will ever engage.  And that, I’m plenty curious about.

 

Faith and Spirituality, Family, Feelings, Memories

Memories

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Beltane                                                                     New (Solstice) Moon

Over the last couple of weeks I’ve had interactions with folks from Alexandria, Indiana resulting from a reader posting a blog entry, a 50’s boyhood, to an Alexandria Facebook site.  It’s been interesting.  The most interesting interaction has come from an old classmate who found my memories romanticized.  You can see her comment under Who.

(1st)

I wrote her and in doing so discovered that she was a girl (then) who had done very well in our class, but didn’t (apparently) get the recognition she felt she deserved.  I had to reflect that could have been true.  Sexism (though not named) was alive and well back then and I’m sure it effected teacher’s perceptions and other students opinions.  It may have helped me to some awards and recognition.  Impossible to parse out now at this remove, but I’d never thought of it until she wrote.

Having said that I want to add that happy memories are not necessarily romanticized.  That’s a word used by an outside observer.  As resident in those memories, they were happy.  Being a kid among kids is a great way to spend time when you’re young.  Sure, we had our hassles, too.  Our arguments and fights.  I remember one incident where a next door neighbor pulled my pants down in front of my friends.  This was the nuclear option at the time.  I thought life was over and I could never face anybody again. Until the next day of course.

(3rd)

Once my life moved away from Monroe Street it began to take on a more serious, turning toward adult tone.  We had a house on Canal Street, one  we owned, rather than rented.  In junior high I remember a fight with Rodney Frost, a bad one by the standards of the day. (low)  Rodney died several years ago and my first memory when I saw his obituary was of that 6th grade fight near the junior high school.

Girls remained a mystery for me well into college, so I had the normal ration of pre-teen and teen angst over dating, sex and self worth.  Those were not happy memories.  My father and I began to part ways emotionally during junior high, a fact I credited only much later to a growing unease he had with my intellectual maturing.  When this distance had reached its maximum, around my senior year of high school, my mother had a stroke and died seven days later.

(4th)

Those months and the years following them were more than unhappy times.  They were a constant struggle for self-worth capsized often by grief and the estrangement I had with my remaining parent.  This was just the way it was.  Do I wish it could have been different?  Of course.  Do I know it won’t be.  Yes, I do.

That period and its attendant miseries are now in my past, but they are in my past and they show up whenever I visit that period or that place, Alexandria.

(third phase)

Cinema and Television, Family, Our Land and Home

First Fire

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Beltane                                                                   New (Solstice) Moon

The old moon went to black and the new moon in waiting, the Solstice Moon, has not yet appeared.  The weather stayed on the cool and cloudy side today though it did get a bit warmer later.

Kate and I had first fire in our new fire pit area, dining on a delicious dinner of cowboy caviar, chicken wings and a broccoli, bacon and raisin salad while part of a dead black locust tree burned.  The crushed gravel we had Javier put around it will have to be modified in some way since it tends to slough when walked upon.  Could have foreseen that but didn’t.

We sat there, watching the smoke rise among the ash trees around the border of what used to be a compost pile.  Our woods surrounds the area, in essence a new outdoor room tucked into the front edge of the trees near the grandkids playhouse.  Looking back into the woods I kept wondering what it would have been like, looking into woods like these and not knowing where they ended.  You can’t even see our property line, so the woods could be impenetrable for all that can be seen.

Afterward we watched two more episodes of the Swedish crime drama, Wallander, not the Branagh one, but the original.  I like the Swedish one better.  In it Wallander has more personality in it than the depressive, uncommunicative character portrayed by Branagh.

Family, Garden, Our Land and Home

Outside

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Beltane                                                              Early Growth Moon

Trying to reconcile everyday writing (a creative need and best practice) with everyday gardening (a practical need and also best practice).  Decided in conversation with Kate to get up at 7 AM regularly, eat breakfast, work an hour outside until 9, then come in to write.  Today was the first day of that new schedule.

(Summer – Pierre Puvis de Chavannes)

Mostly I weeded this morning among vegetable rows where a stealthy clover had crept in and those damned prolific chives, bright green beautiful spears.  Along the way I observed the onions, the kale, the chard, the beets, lots of beets and the carrots.  Unlike my garlic, which had a very low germination rate, the carrots, often a problem, have responded with vigor, many of them up, almost a solid line of small green feathery stalks in each of three rows.

Due to the removal of the ash, and possibly the river birch pruning, we no longer have as much as shade as we had.  A major part of the point in both actions.  Yet.  We planted hostas and ferns and hydrangeas in both spots.  The ones under the ash will need to go elsewhere, way too much sun.  Those under the river birch, I’m not sure.  It’s an east facing side and the tree is still there, plus the seven oaks on our hill shade them, too.  I’ll watch them.

Javier and his crew finished the fire pit with crushed granite, extra thick landscape cloth and five cubic yards of shredded bark.  It’s ready for the grandkids, for the Woolly’s and for us, another outdoor room, this one away from the house at the edge of the woods.  There is a short path from the fire pit area to the grandkids play house.  It’s now a very spiffy area with a home for the imagination and a place to make smores nearby.