Happy Mardi Gras, to anyone who celebrates.
I am not catholic, nor have I ever visited New Orleans, but I love the whole idea of it.
As I was headed for home today, three red tail hawks flew, one by one, across the road in front of my car.
I thought to myself, "That has GOT to be some kind of a good omen."
Then, this evening, I got a call from the people who arrange real estate showings. I have a showing tomorrow. This will be the first time in FOUR MONTHS that a potential buyer will set foot in my home.
Wish us, my husband and me, good luck!
They say that the new moon brings new beginnings, and that whatever you start at new moon time brings results by the next full moon.
Here's to hope! Cheers!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
I will always remember
It was on this date, Feb. 22, in 1995, when my only living grandparent passed away.
I was at work when I got the call. I collapsed onto the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. When my brother and I arrived at the place where she'd died, and we got out of the car, I heard sand hill cranes calling somewhere above the clouds.
She was 94 and a half years old, and had been suffering- on and off- for 5 years, with congestive heart problems. On that day, she just...went to sleep. She went to meet her waiting husband, on the other side.
She'd been seeing him around her, and talking to him in her dozes, as I sat nearby, reading.
She'd been in the hospital that winter, again, and had been moved to the convalescent center (where she was mis-treated by an orderly, who was fired on my demands), and then back to her residential senior center.
But, rather than going back to her own apartment, she needed extra care, so she was still in the assisted living wing when she went to sleep.
This was the woman who rescued me when I ran away from my abusive mother as a kid. This was the woman I was named after. This was the woman who was the closest one to my heart for my entire life to that point.
I was completely devastated by her passing, even though I knew it was imminent. One can never be truly prepared for the death of a loved one.
I had a dream about her last night. I've been dreaming of her more and more lately. Not sure what that's about.
I still miss her.
On the first anniversary of her death, the house I had purchased, with money she'd left to me, flooded. The ground was frozen outside, and it had rained for 3 days solid, and the neighbor's back yard had turned into a lake.
The lake crept closer and closer to the foundation of my house, and, ultimately, into the window wells. One of the windows gave way, and my basement became a lake of freezing cold water, fed by a waterfall. The sump pump was useless in a situation like this.
The waterfall broke through in the corner of the basement where all of the as-yet still packed boxes were stored. All of my mementos, year books, scrap books, photos...as well as stereo equipment, all of my record albums (I had a huge collection), musical instruments, and a futon couch, were down there, waiting to be unpacked..
All of it was ruined...completely ruined.
Funny how we'd managed to move and unpack the boxes that contained my ex husband's similarly precious items. All of his things escaped the deluge.
Anyway, somewhere in a box of keepsakes that was destroyed, was my Grandma's journal of her trip on the train out west to go to the San Francisco World's Fair.
This item had been so precious to me, and now it was gone....like her.
I remembered what it looked like.
What it smelled like.
In the immature, rounded hand of a teen, she'd written with the enthusiasm and excitement of a young person discovering a whole new world.
I will never forget that she wrote passages in that journal about seeing her first automobile, and passing an Indian camp, tee pee's and all.
It really was a new world for her, and for many, in 1915.
She used to tell me about her father's livery business back home in Mine LaMotte, Missouri. She and her mother, and some of her dozen or so siblings, would take one of the horses, and one of the carts, and go out into "the country" to pick dew berries in the summer.
They could do that without being arrested, in those days.
She told me of the room in the house where the loom was, where Mother made rugs. She told me that the oaken chest, which now sits in my bedroom, was "100 years old when I was born! It was just always there, in the house, with the bowl and pitcher on it."
When I use lemon oil on the chest, I think about that.
Because of her, I have a different appreciation for how things change in a life time. I used to use her as my measure, when I'd hear things about "this day in history."
Since she was born in 1900, it was easy to calculate her age on a given historical day. And it was easy to project my imagination, using my growing years, into what it might have been like to be her age, at such and such a time.
Amazing.
I will always remember her, and, since my eyes look just like hers did, I hope that I will always view the world with wonder, and that I will always appreciate whatever experiences come my way. Even the difficult ones.
I was at work when I got the call. I collapsed onto the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. When my brother and I arrived at the place where she'd died, and we got out of the car, I heard sand hill cranes calling somewhere above the clouds.
She was 94 and a half years old, and had been suffering- on and off- for 5 years, with congestive heart problems. On that day, she just...went to sleep. She went to meet her waiting husband, on the other side.
She'd been seeing him around her, and talking to him in her dozes, as I sat nearby, reading.
She'd been in the hospital that winter, again, and had been moved to the convalescent center (where she was mis-treated by an orderly, who was fired on my demands), and then back to her residential senior center.
But, rather than going back to her own apartment, she needed extra care, so she was still in the assisted living wing when she went to sleep.
This was the woman who rescued me when I ran away from my abusive mother as a kid. This was the woman I was named after. This was the woman who was the closest one to my heart for my entire life to that point.
I was completely devastated by her passing, even though I knew it was imminent. One can never be truly prepared for the death of a loved one.
I had a dream about her last night. I've been dreaming of her more and more lately. Not sure what that's about.
I still miss her.
On the first anniversary of her death, the house I had purchased, with money she'd left to me, flooded. The ground was frozen outside, and it had rained for 3 days solid, and the neighbor's back yard had turned into a lake.
The lake crept closer and closer to the foundation of my house, and, ultimately, into the window wells. One of the windows gave way, and my basement became a lake of freezing cold water, fed by a waterfall. The sump pump was useless in a situation like this.
The waterfall broke through in the corner of the basement where all of the as-yet still packed boxes were stored. All of my mementos, year books, scrap books, photos...as well as stereo equipment, all of my record albums (I had a huge collection), musical instruments, and a futon couch, were down there, waiting to be unpacked..
All of it was ruined...completely ruined.
Funny how we'd managed to move and unpack the boxes that contained my ex husband's similarly precious items. All of his things escaped the deluge.
Anyway, somewhere in a box of keepsakes that was destroyed, was my Grandma's journal of her trip on the train out west to go to the San Francisco World's Fair.
This item had been so precious to me, and now it was gone....like her.
I remembered what it looked like.
What it smelled like.
In the immature, rounded hand of a teen, she'd written with the enthusiasm and excitement of a young person discovering a whole new world.
I will never forget that she wrote passages in that journal about seeing her first automobile, and passing an Indian camp, tee pee's and all.
It really was a new world for her, and for many, in 1915.
She used to tell me about her father's livery business back home in Mine LaMotte, Missouri. She and her mother, and some of her dozen or so siblings, would take one of the horses, and one of the carts, and go out into "the country" to pick dew berries in the summer.
They could do that without being arrested, in those days.
She told me of the room in the house where the loom was, where Mother made rugs. She told me that the oaken chest, which now sits in my bedroom, was "100 years old when I was born! It was just always there, in the house, with the bowl and pitcher on it."
When I use lemon oil on the chest, I think about that.
Because of her, I have a different appreciation for how things change in a life time. I used to use her as my measure, when I'd hear things about "this day in history."
Since she was born in 1900, it was easy to calculate her age on a given historical day. And it was easy to project my imagination, using my growing years, into what it might have been like to be her age, at such and such a time.
Amazing.
I will always remember her, and, since my eyes look just like hers did, I hope that I will always view the world with wonder, and that I will always appreciate whatever experiences come my way. Even the difficult ones.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Canceled
The Winter Storm Warning that was posted for today, has been canceled.
The ONE TIME this season when I was forward thinking, and stopped after work yesterday to do my grocery shopping, along with throngs of similarly bright suburbanites... and the storm gets canceled.
Sigh.
Oh well....at least I still don't have to go out today, unless I decide that I want to.
We did still get a substantial snowfall, but, so far, the temperatures are staying pretty warmish, so the roads are probably just wet.
They were calling for 8 to 12 inches. We got about 3 so far.
Maybe 4.
Anyway, the plan for today is to try to focus on actually relaxing. The stress and anxiety of the past, oh, YEAR, has been wearing on me. My health is a delicate balance, with adrenal glands that have caved from such ongoing stress in the past.
When the insurance tech came and drew my blood, and took my vitals, he said my blood pressure was 106 over 68. That's low, considering that I was pretty freaked out about having to do a blood test.
"Wow, you must be very relaxed," he said. I just nodded.
When my blood pressure was that low before, it was during the time that my adrenals weren't working. So, that was a bit of a red flag for me.
So, this weekend, I have no definite plans, other than to stay close to home, rest, read, cook, and watch a movie or two.
Let's see if I can actually pull that off!
I am so used to having to get stuff done on the weekends, that making time to just relax is pretty foreign.
But, no one has seen my condo since early November. I doubt that I need to be as vigilant in keeping it "showing ready" as I have been... so there aren't even many chores to be done.
The dance thing has virtually disappeared since my injury in September. No one asks me to join in anymore, despite my asking when we are going to start rehearsing again.
There is nothing pressing that I have to do. It feels strange, but I am going to just try to relax.
Wish me luck!
The ONE TIME this season when I was forward thinking, and stopped after work yesterday to do my grocery shopping, along with throngs of similarly bright suburbanites... and the storm gets canceled.
Sigh.
Oh well....at least I still don't have to go out today, unless I decide that I want to.
We did still get a substantial snowfall, but, so far, the temperatures are staying pretty warmish, so the roads are probably just wet.
They were calling for 8 to 12 inches. We got about 3 so far.
Maybe 4.
Anyway, the plan for today is to try to focus on actually relaxing. The stress and anxiety of the past, oh, YEAR, has been wearing on me. My health is a delicate balance, with adrenal glands that have caved from such ongoing stress in the past.
When the insurance tech came and drew my blood, and took my vitals, he said my blood pressure was 106 over 68. That's low, considering that I was pretty freaked out about having to do a blood test.
"Wow, you must be very relaxed," he said. I just nodded.
When my blood pressure was that low before, it was during the time that my adrenals weren't working. So, that was a bit of a red flag for me.
So, this weekend, I have no definite plans, other than to stay close to home, rest, read, cook, and watch a movie or two.
Let's see if I can actually pull that off!
I am so used to having to get stuff done on the weekends, that making time to just relax is pretty foreign.
But, no one has seen my condo since early November. I doubt that I need to be as vigilant in keeping it "showing ready" as I have been... so there aren't even many chores to be done.
The dance thing has virtually disappeared since my injury in September. No one asks me to join in anymore, despite my asking when we are going to start rehearsing again.
There is nothing pressing that I have to do. It feels strange, but I am going to just try to relax.
Wish me luck!
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Paula's Chicken Mulligatawny stew
I searched on line for mulligatawny recipes, and combined elements of several into one of my own.
1 lb. skinless, boneless chicken breast, diced
1 sweet onion, diced
3 T organic butter (or ghee, if you have it)
1 C cooked brown basmati rice (preferably cooked in chicken broth)
1 T curry powder (more or less to taste)
1 T flour
5 or 6 C chicken broth (preferably home made)
1 large yellow bell pepper, diced
2 ribs of celery, diced
2 med. carrots, diced
1/2 t salt
pepper to taste
1 can diced tomatoes
1/2 C plain yogurt
In a large soup pot, melt the butter, then brown the chicken and onions in the butter. Remove with slotted spoon, leaving as much of the drippings as possible.
Sift flour and curry together into the drippings, and whisk to combine. Add some broth to make a smooth roux.
Add the rest of the broth to the roux, and blend well. Add diced veggies, salt, and pepper. Bring to a boil, lower heat, cover and simmer 20 minutes.
When veggies are tender, add chicken and onions, tomatoes, and rice. Cover and simmer to allow flavors to combine.
Add yogurt just before serving.
1 lb. skinless, boneless chicken breast, diced
1 sweet onion, diced
3 T organic butter (or ghee, if you have it)
1 C cooked brown basmati rice (preferably cooked in chicken broth)
1 T curry powder (more or less to taste)
1 T flour
5 or 6 C chicken broth (preferably home made)
1 large yellow bell pepper, diced
2 ribs of celery, diced
2 med. carrots, diced
1/2 t salt
pepper to taste
1 can diced tomatoes
1/2 C plain yogurt
In a large soup pot, melt the butter, then brown the chicken and onions in the butter. Remove with slotted spoon, leaving as much of the drippings as possible.
Sift flour and curry together into the drippings, and whisk to combine. Add some broth to make a smooth roux.
Add the rest of the broth to the roux, and blend well. Add diced veggies, salt, and pepper. Bring to a boil, lower heat, cover and simmer 20 minutes.
When veggies are tender, add chicken and onions, tomatoes, and rice. Cover and simmer to allow flavors to combine.
Add yogurt just before serving.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Long distance Valentine
My husband sent a package to me at work. It contained lovely satin pajamas and a note.
I sent him some chocolates made by a locally famous company, and a card.
We have never spent Valentine's day together. It's supposed to be the day we celebrate our togetherness, and we've never been able to do that.
Sigh.
It's all fresh and white outside this morning. Just enough snow fell overnight to pretty things up again. That's the perfect kind of snow.
I have to go out later and get groceries and such, and it will be refreshing to see the landscape all covered in white again. It was rather gray and brown, with all of the snow gone, and none of the green sprouting yet.
I sent him some chocolates made by a locally famous company, and a card.
We have never spent Valentine's day together. It's supposed to be the day we celebrate our togetherness, and we've never been able to do that.
Sigh.
It's all fresh and white outside this morning. Just enough snow fell overnight to pretty things up again. That's the perfect kind of snow.
I have to go out later and get groceries and such, and it will be refreshing to see the landscape all covered in white again. It was rather gray and brown, with all of the snow gone, and none of the green sprouting yet.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Waiting
The land is waiting.
It's one of those "midwinter thaw" days, where, around here, one gets a sense of what's to come in the cycle of seasons. If one pays attention.
I went to the woods today, and tried to visit the place where D and I were married. I couldn't actually GET to the exact spot where the wedding took place, because I don't have good hiking boots, but I was there.
In the woods.
I had intended to take my camera, because I knew there would be many opportunities for wonderful photographs. But, when I got out of my car for my hike on the mostly-clear roadways, I remembered the camera.
Oh well.
So, I had to take pictures with my mind, and hope to bring those images alive with words.
I used to be pretty good at that sort of thing.
As I walked along the roads, which were soggy, icy, and covered with a winter's-worth of sand (but clear, compared to the trails), I felt my leg muscles burning, and my lungs expanding.
I have not been out for a REAL WALK since November. Chicagoland's first snow came on December 1, and it's been real winter ever since. No chance to get outside until today.
It's 55 degrees in the sun today.
I could feel the sun warm upon my cheek, as I sat at the stop light outside of the park. That warmth on my skin filled me with a very deep sense of comfort.
Anyway, walking along the roads inside the park boundaries, I noticed that sense within me that the land, here, is waiting.
In other areas of the country, it's already full-blown spring, if they have seasons at all.
But here, February is still the middle of winter. We typically get our most brutal weather in February and March. But there's always, at some point, a few days of thaw.
Usually, by now, the really bitter cold is over with, but the heavier snows have yet to fall, and the ice storms have yet to come.
Usually. With climate change, anything is possible, of course.
As I walked, and filled my lungs, and felt my heart beat, I could almost feel the land blinking Her bleary, rest-clouded eyes. She was stirring a bit, turning in Her sleep.
There were patches of bare earth visible, where the deep snow has melted away, and charming rivulets of melt water were forming new brooks in old beds.
Deeper into the woods, all was still very frozen and white, and the air felt much colder there.
There were criss crossing trails in the still-deep snow; deer, coyote, fox, wild turkey.
Few birds greeted me today, but the ones who were present were VERY happy, flitting about in the bright sun, and chirping loudly.
Mostly, they were black capped chickadees. The tiny birds that will always remind me of my late mother.
As I walk in the woods, typically, I come into a Spiritual way of thinking. The woods are my church, and always have been. I go to the woods when I feel in turmoil, or when the stress in my life becomes overwhelming, and, in the woods, I find peace.
Walking in the woods is, for me, a sort of mini-retreat.
Today, looking at the land, I started thinking about waiting. Anticipating. Hoping.
I have been in a state of waiting, anticipating, and hoping for many months now.
My hopes have been dashed a couple of times, and the waiting is becoming wearisome. VERY wearisome.
But SOMETHING has got to give. SOME miracle has to happen. Some stirring.
I can't have been brought to a stage in my life where I FINALLY have the chance to be with someone who actually loves me, only to have to continue to ENDLESSLY wait.
And wait.
And wait... for it to really happen.
I often drive myself crazy with thinking: We found each other. We fell in love. We got married. Why did it then have to just....stop? It was just supposed to keep going, and we were supposed to be happy. We were supposed to have started a life together....
Today, walking in the waiting woods, I came to a different understanding of it.
It has not STOPPED.
It's just....resting. Waiting.
We are still here, we still love each other, and we KNOW that we WILL be together. Some day.
For whatever reason, in Whoever's plan, we are obviously not supposed to actually BE together yet.
But, as with all waiting, SOMETHING has to give. We can't sleep for ever. SOME miracle will happen. In much the same way that spring always happens. Eventually.
In the darkness of winter, it's easy to give in to hopelessness. To despair. To feeling helpless.
But on days like this, when the sun shines, and I can walk outside in just a fleece jacket...no parka, no snow boots, no hat, no scarf, no gloves....and the sun feels warm upon my cheek, and the chickadees chirp....things CAN look a bit different.
I can't let go of hope. I must just ... wait.
And wait.
As my elderly distant cousin wrote in a letter..."It'll happen. Chin up, girl."
Perhaps now, there will be a bit of peace in the waiting.
I can hope for that, and anticipate it, as the ice melts, and the green shoots unfurl....eventually.
It's one of those "midwinter thaw" days, where, around here, one gets a sense of what's to come in the cycle of seasons. If one pays attention.
I went to the woods today, and tried to visit the place where D and I were married. I couldn't actually GET to the exact spot where the wedding took place, because I don't have good hiking boots, but I was there.
In the woods.
I had intended to take my camera, because I knew there would be many opportunities for wonderful photographs. But, when I got out of my car for my hike on the mostly-clear roadways, I remembered the camera.
Oh well.
So, I had to take pictures with my mind, and hope to bring those images alive with words.
I used to be pretty good at that sort of thing.
As I walked along the roads, which were soggy, icy, and covered with a winter's-worth of sand (but clear, compared to the trails), I felt my leg muscles burning, and my lungs expanding.
I have not been out for a REAL WALK since November. Chicagoland's first snow came on December 1, and it's been real winter ever since. No chance to get outside until today.
It's 55 degrees in the sun today.
I could feel the sun warm upon my cheek, as I sat at the stop light outside of the park. That warmth on my skin filled me with a very deep sense of comfort.
Anyway, walking along the roads inside the park boundaries, I noticed that sense within me that the land, here, is waiting.
In other areas of the country, it's already full-blown spring, if they have seasons at all.
But here, February is still the middle of winter. We typically get our most brutal weather in February and March. But there's always, at some point, a few days of thaw.
Usually, by now, the really bitter cold is over with, but the heavier snows have yet to fall, and the ice storms have yet to come.
Usually. With climate change, anything is possible, of course.
As I walked, and filled my lungs, and felt my heart beat, I could almost feel the land blinking Her bleary, rest-clouded eyes. She was stirring a bit, turning in Her sleep.
There were patches of bare earth visible, where the deep snow has melted away, and charming rivulets of melt water were forming new brooks in old beds.
Deeper into the woods, all was still very frozen and white, and the air felt much colder there.
There were criss crossing trails in the still-deep snow; deer, coyote, fox, wild turkey.
Few birds greeted me today, but the ones who were present were VERY happy, flitting about in the bright sun, and chirping loudly.
Mostly, they were black capped chickadees. The tiny birds that will always remind me of my late mother.
As I walk in the woods, typically, I come into a Spiritual way of thinking. The woods are my church, and always have been. I go to the woods when I feel in turmoil, or when the stress in my life becomes overwhelming, and, in the woods, I find peace.
Walking in the woods is, for me, a sort of mini-retreat.
Today, looking at the land, I started thinking about waiting. Anticipating. Hoping.
I have been in a state of waiting, anticipating, and hoping for many months now.
My hopes have been dashed a couple of times, and the waiting is becoming wearisome. VERY wearisome.
But SOMETHING has got to give. SOME miracle has to happen. Some stirring.
I can't have been brought to a stage in my life where I FINALLY have the chance to be with someone who actually loves me, only to have to continue to ENDLESSLY wait.
And wait.
And wait... for it to really happen.
I often drive myself crazy with thinking: We found each other. We fell in love. We got married. Why did it then have to just....stop? It was just supposed to keep going, and we were supposed to be happy. We were supposed to have started a life together....
Today, walking in the waiting woods, I came to a different understanding of it.
It has not STOPPED.
It's just....resting. Waiting.
We are still here, we still love each other, and we KNOW that we WILL be together. Some day.
For whatever reason, in Whoever's plan, we are obviously not supposed to actually BE together yet.
But, as with all waiting, SOMETHING has to give. We can't sleep for ever. SOME miracle will happen. In much the same way that spring always happens. Eventually.
In the darkness of winter, it's easy to give in to hopelessness. To despair. To feeling helpless.
But on days like this, when the sun shines, and I can walk outside in just a fleece jacket...no parka, no snow boots, no hat, no scarf, no gloves....and the sun feels warm upon my cheek, and the chickadees chirp....things CAN look a bit different.
I can't let go of hope. I must just ... wait.
And wait.
As my elderly distant cousin wrote in a letter..."It'll happen. Chin up, girl."
Perhaps now, there will be a bit of peace in the waiting.
I can hope for that, and anticipate it, as the ice melts, and the green shoots unfurl....eventually.
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