Category Archives: Family

Quite a Yarn

Fall                                Waning Back to School Moon

October 5th, 2010 Union Station, Chicago, Room 4, Car 0730

Last night I found a Korean restaurant just off State Street in Lafayette. I ordered the Duk Man Guk, a spicy soup with egg, pot stickers, seasoned beef and sliced rice balls. After a quick glance over to t he young woman across the way who looked Korean and had ordered the same thing, I used the long spoon. The owner brought me another dish of kimchee after I finished off the first one fast. She seemed pleased I liked it. There were only Asian students eating there, just off the Purdue campus.

The Hilton Garden Inn had nowhere near the character of the Western Hotel at Camp Chesterfield, but it did have an internet connection. I finished some work I had to stop when I moved into the 19th century over the weekend.

This morning it was up at 6:30 am, shower, pack and walk across the pedestrian bridge over the Wabash to the Amtrak section just at its end. A lovely slice of Back to School moon hung in the dark blue sky while we huddled together in the morning coolness waiting for the train to come around the bend. A young man of 2 or 3 years screamed and hollered. He did not want to go on the train. His mom said he thought it was too big.

It wasn’t.

Three hours later we rolled into Union Station. Backwards. Don’t know why.2010-10-05_0323

Wandered around Chicago for a while, just looking, admiring building facades, enjoying the skyscrapers, blending in with the busy and the distracted. I decided to head down to Printer’s Row, the South Loop, hoping I could pick up a jazz related gift for 88.5 listening wife. There are jazz joints down there. No joy. All closed up at 10:45.

Having missed breakfast I went into an Italian restaurant and had an early lunch.

After lunch I discovered a fancy yarn shop and found a good gift for Kate. She’s a textiles and yarn artist, so I bought her some merino wool yarn. It’s a beautiful multi-colored pattern, 1800 feet worth. Seems like a lot to me.

Back to the Metropolitan Lounge in Union Station and now on the train.  Heading north.

Grounded

Lughnasa                               Waxing Back to School Moon

Finished digging the potatoes.  The crop seems smaller than last year’s, but I can’t tell for sure.  Still, we don’t eat potatoes often and we have enough to last us quite awhile.  Kate made an early autumn roast vegetable medley with onions, carrots, leaks, garlic, beets and one potato I pierced with the spading fork.  It was delicious.  So was the raspberry pie–of which we have two.  Our raspberry bushes have been exuberant.  We’ve still got leeks, greens, beets, carrots and squash in the ground.  Some of it will stay in the ground until the frost and freeze gets serious.  I made a mistake last year with the carrots and didn’t get them out before the ground froze.  They became organic matter for the soil.  We also left our entire potato crop out in our garage stair well.  When the temps dropped down, way down, the potatoes froze, then thawed.  Not good for potatoes.  We’re trying to not make those mistakes this year.  We’ll make new ones!

Working with Leslie today reminded me of the punch there is in ministry.  Yes, the institutional confines squeeze life out of faith, but the individuals, the people can put it back.  She asked me an interesting question.  We got to talking about Christianity and she wondered, “Do you miss it?”  I’m not sure anyone has asked just that question of me.  I don’t, not at a faith level.

I miss the thick web of relationships I once had there.  I miss the opportunity to do bible study.  That may sound strange, but higher criticism of the bible is a scholarly affair requiring history, language, knowledge of mythology and tradition, sensitivity to redactors (editors), an awareness of textual differences, as well as a knowledge of the bible as a whole.  I spent a lot of time learning biblical criticism and I enjoyed it.  Not much call for it in UU or humanist circles though.

By the time my nap finished it was too late to put the shims in the hives.  I hope there’s some clear, sunny time tomorrow.  Also need to put the feeder back on the package colony.

The Vikings.  Not sure.  Favre needs some better wide receivers, yes.  The defense played well.  Adrian Peterson did, too.  It felt as if we were outcoached the last two games.  Not sure about that, that’s a murky area to me, but something doesn’t feel quite right.

This Time, I Moved the Art.

Lughnasa                                  Waxing Back to School Moon

A bit bleary eyed this morning, I ate breakfast, drank some Awake tea and stumbled out the door without my glasses.  I was on my to the U-Haul store to rent a truck, a whole truck to carry one painting.  Jeremiah Miller, my brother-in-law, married to Kate’s sister Sarah, painted it.  Kate bought two of his works quite a while ago.  He’s an accomplished landscape painter living in North Carolina who exhibits and sells mostly in the South East.

His works are usually big, the one I needed the truck to move measures 5′ 10″ by 5′ 10″.  Here’s an example of a recent work for sale on his website:

We put a four inch slice in it while moving it from one room to another.  It had to go into the art doctor, the Midwest Art Conservation Center.  After securing it with a roll of landscaping cloth and a Cuties tangerine box, just the right amount of pressure to keep it flat and in place, I drove it into the MIA where the MACC has space in the basement of the new Target wing.

Loading Dock B has big folding doors, installed to mollify angry neighbors who complained about truck exhaust polluting their neighborhood.  They open up, like the jaws of a leviathan, inviting you in, then closing on you after you park.

At that point a guard comes up and wonders what the heck a u-haul truck is doing in the museum’s dock area.  I explain that Jonathan expects me.  She nods and calls.  Yes, he was.

Jonathan came up and helped me carry the painting up the stairs and onto the MACC’s shiny elevator. This is a very new wing.  We whirred downstairs one floor below ground level and carried the painting out of the elevator and into the painting conservation room, a room I had visited while on a tour about a year ago.  This time it was one of our paintings that would be tended to the by careful ministrations of the conservators.

Art conservation is a rarified world inhabited by people who have both a fondness and talent for fine art and an interest and skill in chemistry and materials management.  Paintings are not the only objects conserved.  The MACC handles conservation work for the Upper Midwest, covering many museums, its usual patrons, and the occasional job for private art owners.  Sculpture and frames constitutes another department, textiles another and works on paper yet another.  Each of these departments has its specialists who know how to remove paint one flake at a time, how to resew a moth eaten tapestry or restore life to an ukiyo-e print damaged by scotch tape.

The process requires a 100 dollar examination fee.  The result of this work is a condition report and a treatment proposal.  We’ll receive ours in one to two weeks.

I drove the truck back to the U-haul store.  I had estimated, off the top of my head, that the trip would require 50 miles.  I went 51.  Not bad.

Chicken Leek Pie

Lughnasa                                Waning Artemis Moon

The chicken leek pie has cooled down and sits in the refrigerator awaiting lunch tomorrow.  Using our own leeks, onions, carrots, parsley and thyme made the cooking fun and satisfying.

Kate’s first night back at work and she was the only physician scheduled.  Unusual.  She came home tired, but no more tired than I would have expected after major surgery and a two month lay off from the standing and walking she does at work.

Well, tomorrow will come soon.

Eternal Tru Luv

Lughnasa                               Waning Artemis Moon

Kate’s at work.  Two months almost to the day after her hip surgery she has returned to the Allina Clinic in Coon Rapids for her last four months of full time practice.  I anticipate a successful evening and final four months for her, having seen a remarkable recovery in terms of her day-to-day pain.  The hip is wonderful, the back’s pretty good, the only clinker right now is her bursitis on her left hip.  Still, compared to the awful weeks just prior to her surgery, she’s a different woman and it’s great to see.

Having her home full time, practice retirement, helped us see the possibilities in the next phase of our life together.  We’ll manage our gardens and our orchard and our bees with greater ease, two persons engaged from the start of the growing season.  We’ll have time to go into art galleries, out to lunch, just wander around more.

Other people must find the one who gets them, around whom they can be their authentic selves, I’m glad to say I’m among them.  And that the experience is reciprocal.

Eternal tru luv, as we used to say.

Shame, Guilt, Fear

Lughnasa                                                  Waning Artemis Moon

While it’s fresh.  A meeting this morning with our financial manager where we went over, again, the various moving parts of our investments.  It resulted in a down feeling, almost defensive.  What was this?  He said we’d be fine financially and I believed him.  We overhauled our whole approach to money now over ten years ago and have a great track record since then.  When I mentioned my feelings to Kate, she said she trusted in our ability to adapt.  Again, I believed her.  We have and will adapt to changed circumstances.

It took a while to delayer my feelings.  First, I noticed anxiety (my unfortunately favorite response to the unknown), as if a vast pit were about to open ahead of us.  A pit of this and then a possible that and more stuff we didn’t know, or have impact on.  A little deeper I recognized a fear about being dependent on a bag of gold held in some financial dragon’s lair and only won back by dint of great effort.  Silly.  Obtuse.  Still, the case.

Pushing a little further, a different layer.  Retirement.  When Kate retires, my long tenuous connection to the world of work would fray, then vanish.  It’s as if she’s retiring for both of us.  Or, rather, that I feel the imminence of retirement perhaps in a manner similar to the couvade, a strange situation in some cultures where a husband takes on the characteristics of his wife’s pregnancy, often placing a heavy rock on the belly near the birth moment and heaving it off.  So, there’s the unknown, the strange sense of money coming in from a pot somewhere far away, a feeling of retiring that is sympathetic or empathetic rather than actual.  But, that wasn’t the end.

What finally came to me was a mixture of shame, guilt and fear, all related to no longer having a viable connection to the world of work.  This is my middle class roots talking.  As long as Kate practices, I have a tangible though fragile link to work and the income it produces.  After she retires, all semblance of that relationship vanishes.  In the central Indiana world where I grew up not to work was shameful, weak, irresponsible.  Kate responded with, “Well, I’m upper middle class and I don’t care! (about the abandoning work)”

All of our life comes along for the ride and we never knew when one part or another will express itself, rise up and claim attention.

The Buddha

Lughnasa                                   Full Artemis Moon

No.  Not that Buddha.  A small, bald, slightly pudgy baby Buddha.  That was what we called my sister when she was still an infant.  Mary had an inscrutable baldness going for her.  Now she lives in the land of the Buddha, the oldest Buddhism of all, Theravada, and has long since shed her Buddha appearance.  She’s traded the robes, or the diapers, of the Buddha for academic regalia, Indiana for Singapore, North America for Asia.

She’s been over there a while now, a long while, living a good part of her adult life on the Malay Peninsula, first in Kuala Lumpur and now in the Air Conditioned Nation of Singapore, a city state like days of old.

The life of an ex patriate had no texture, no reality for me until first Mary, then Mark ended up in Southeast Asia, both spending at least two decades there, plus a little.  That left me the only stay at home, still rooted in the Midwest.

As things go, however, I developed an ongoing interest in Asia art and from that Asian history and, in particular, Chinese philosophy, so we all share a common fascination with the Far East, though mine is more bookish and museum oriented while theirs is everyday life.

Mary has gone faraway and built a life in a land with lifeways and assumptions often very different from our own.  It’s an impressive achievement and as she nears her 58th birthday I wanted to acknowledge it.  Happy Birthday!  Dr. Sis.

Feeling Better. Me. Dwindling. Hilo.

Lughnasa                                    Waxing Artemis Moon

Ah.  It seems the nasties have journeyed on to other warm bloody creatures, leaving me in peace for now.  I hope my body now recognizes and will fend off these creatures that live only to replicate and in so doing make us feel bad.  But they don’t care.

Groceries this morning.  Filled up the cart with fruit and vegetables and turkey burgers, soy milk and slim milk, Sharps and Diet Cherry Coke, a bit of feta cheese, some sliced turkey for the dogs, a few cheese curds, some peanut butter, oops, just realized I forgot the cereal, chicken breasts.  You know.  The stuff of daily eating.  It was church time while I shopped so I suppose we were all heathens in there, except for those righteous Catholics who went to Saturday night mass.  Grocery shopping has a soothing quality.  It combines shopping with a genuine need so the selection of items reflects not so much consumer driven behavior–though that does rear its head–as it does animal needs.

(The Mexicans do mercado better.)

Hilo has, as Kate says, the dwindles.  She’s becoming very thin and tentative.  We believe she’s lost the better part of her sight.  Last week she seemed frightened, wide-eyed and jittery; this week feels different.  Perhaps a resignation of sorts.  It’s sad to watch her fade away, but she still lives her life.  Napping with us this afternoon, going outside to wander around the yard.  Eating a bit now and then.  Live until you die.  That’s what I want for me and for her.

The sewing machine is on its movable platform, the wind-up reels for the cloth are in place, we attached a high-tech stitch regulator and a laser pointer to the apparatus that allows Kate to guide the needle.  Now it’s RTFM, a couple of extension cords and she’ll be ready to practice.  No more taking pieced work out for quilting, now it happens here, right in our lower level.

So Ordinary. So Unique.

Lughnasa                                   Waxing Artemis Moon

Kate’s birthday has drawn to a close.  We spent part of the afternoon continuing to assemble her long-arm quilter.  This machine is big, a full 10 feet in length, large enough for a queen size quilt.  We have the base set up and need now to put on the rollers and mount the quilting sewing machine.  That’s the last step and she’ll be off to the races.

In some ways birthdays are so ordinary.  Every one has them.  They commemorate a day, a particular spot in the earth’s orbit, when birth occurs.  Births are common; we’ve each been through at least one, the women among us sometimes many more than one.   People are common; there are billions of us.  Billions.

At the macro level birthdays are ordinary.  But in the particular, in the idiosyncratic, in the once ever in all of history side to it, birthdays are downright unique, very special, celebrating the beginning of a life, a life that will never be lived again, will never be lived by anyone else.  So special.

Take Kate, for instance.  There is no other person on all the earth, in all of history like her.  She’s a combination of genes, a lived history, a spark, a singularity.  She has a rare compassion, a keen mind, manual dexterity, dogged persistence, creativity and a talent for relationship.  I’ve been lucky that my own journey joined hers.

Here’s to another 20 journeys around our Sol, maybe 25, for Kate and me.

Happy Birthday. Giggle, giggle.

Lughnasa                                Waxing Artemis Moon

A red letter day here at chez Olson/Ellis.  Kate’s 66th.  She’s upstairs right now signing up for social security.

We went out for breakfast this morning to Pappy’s, a place that already has a place in my heart.  It reminds me so much of Indiana, a part of it that I didn’t know I missed.  As a gift, I gave her a photo album of her ascent to grandmahood starting with a pregnant Jen and running up to the present.   She liked it.

Being married to Kate these 20 years we’ve shared many birthdays and each one finds me more in love with her than the last.

We had a waitress at Pappy’s that had a Fargo accent and ended each encounter with a girlish giggle. More coffee?  No?  Giggle, giggle.  Here’s the check, pay me when you’re ready.  Giggle, giggle.  Creeped me out.  Like having too much sugar in your coffee.  Hee, hee, hee.