Susiej

Life rarely falls nicely into place for me. The dinner I meticulously cook is shunned by at least two boys; my morning tea is cold by the time I have time to drink it; and the toilet seat is usually wet. This is why it is so difficult for me to express the great pleasure I feel when I arrive at the lake, and see that the Bean Fort it is miraculously thriving; despite our absences, the deer, the rabbits, the slugs and are inability to water the fort like we should. Still, this fort, which has taken me 10 years of failed attempts, is thriving.

Those little Jack-in-the-Beanstalk tendrils that reach out and grab the junkyard poles captivate my heart. The black plastic has efficiently eliminated the need to weed, although I did tear out some baby weeds last week that were growing along the edges. The sandy soil has stayed moist; thanks to the plastic.

The plants, that started from this big fat seed, are now stretching to 6 feet, expertly winding themselves around the bamboo poles. Many plants were running out of places to twine, and had already started the journey back down the pole.

I spent an hour or so in my fort admiring their delicate tendrils, while I worked to add string from the current poles to give them more places to reach, stretch and grow. One vigorous bean ran out of “pole” and was climbing back down again. I tied string to the top of the pole, and connected it to the one directly opposite; to create a “roof”.

A storm knock down a pine tree (yet, remarkably, my fort was unscathed!), giving me a new source of “poles.” I dug three more holes along the perimeter of the fort for these new “poles,” which added a bit more of that “enclosure” feeling within the inside of the fort. They kind of give the fort that “petrified forest” look, a neighbor commented.

And, some extra height. A bonus. Insects, so far, have only attacked on plant. The offender left holes all along the leaf, turning it into a shadow of green lace.

I know from my 10 years of failure, that these holes could be the kiss of death for the entire fort. I briefly entertained the idea of using some kind of insecticide, but wisely decided against it. I scratched my head and thought, “what would Mr. Green Jeans do?”

Mr. Green Jeans was the beloved farmer from my favorite childhood show, Lucy’s Toy Shop. Then, relying on my solutions from Hot Pepper, Toilet Paper Tubes and Irish Spring, I remembered the chive plants planted by the back road. Using a shovel, I dug both up, and planted them strategically around the fort. (Hot Pepper Wax has been difficult to track down this year.) We’ll just have to wait and see if it works.

I know it’s a wild chance, putting all my dreams in one place; in a few simple seeds that could easily be destroyed by the force of nature. With parenting, it’s hard to know if what you’re doing today is helping. We won’t know for decades the impact of our parenting choices. But with plants; you see results in a week. Instant gratification is something that’s seldom seen in the important parts of life.

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Filed under: Life, gardening, the lake house, try this by SusieJ - 11 Comments →

Now, I will agree with you, that nobody likes to jump out of bed at midnight, after you just got to sleep, because the wind is howling like a bunch of dervishes, and the tornado sirens are blaring. Worse yet, you have to go into the rooms of those jumping monkeys of yours, who are finally still in their beds, and rouse them out of sandman land, terminating peace and quiet.

Although there are many things about having my family room in the basement that I do not like; there is much to be said for having two nice full-length sofas to curl up on while you watch the storm pass on the TV’s radar. I know you’re not supposed to be watching TV during a storm; but my husband can’t resist such a temptation. While the radar storm graphics, with bright orange and red hot spots are very exciting, nothing can compare to watching a TV meteorologist chatting away in breathless tones with his other meteorology friends, as they discuss, what could be the storm of the century.

Why is it, I wonder, at 12:14 a.m., do the meteorologist have to run from their homes, wearing suits and ties, to cover the storm? The person who is “on-duty” has got it all under control anyway. It’s not like a baby’s coming, and we need to doctor here so we can push. Alas, I realize, this is what they’ve been trained for. This is their big moment; and the drama of the night is nothing short of that Hollywood movie, about the Tornado Chasers. Even though there is really nothing the weathermen can do to stop the storm.

Then it occurs to me that the TV weathermen, who are issuing out cautions about going to the northeast corner of the basement, interior closet or bathroom if you don’t have a basement; never once mention the safety precaution about not turning your TV on. They did mention the phone once. That’s bad; you can die if lighting strikes the phone, they said.

Still, they use the phone anyway, because they’ve got men and women out on the scene to describe what they’re seeing. “Rain coming down in sheets,” or “Lightning light up the entire sky like it was daylight,” and “Flooding.”

It was surreal to watch that red dot of the storm move right on top of the map where we live. I pointed this out to my 12-year-old, who responds with, “But I don’t hear anything.” That’s what you need to be worried about, as I explain the meaning of the phrase; the calm before the storm.

I’m tired, and with two little boys wrapped tight around me like a pretzel, pillows propped under us and blankets, I decide to stop answering my 12-year-old’s questions about the storm and get some sleep. However, this is difficult to do. The weathermen are just too excited about this storm to ignore. I try, and I end up hearing snippets:
“You looked scared when you came into the studio.”
“I was; I’ve never seen a wall cloud that big before…”
“Just kicked up out of nowhere, with incredible force.”
“Seeing some flooding.”
“You looked so frightened.”

We cannot go back upstairs to sleep. There are more storms coming behind this one; and this one is unpredictable. It has “hooks” the meteorologists say; those can swirl into dangerous tornadoes. I try to drift off to sleep, safe in the basement, but then I think about people I know living in each suburb they mention; are they OK? Are they watching this same blabbering I’m watching? What about the elderly people next door; I know they can’t make it down stairs. What about any elderly woman living by herself who can’t make it down the stairs by herself; and what if water is running into her basement? I think about the people who don’t have finished basements, with babies and toddlers, trying to stay comfortable. I think of relatives in towns and counties farther out; where the storm has already passed through, or where the storm is headed. Are they all OK? Are they worried about us?

The kicker of the whole night is when the TV weathermen start reading viewer emails. “George here says he couldn’t even see anything in his back yard.” “Melissa wrote in and said the lightning lit up the whole sky.” They encourage us to hurry up and send our photos of the storm so they can show them on the airwaves; the storm coverage is not complete without the vision of the readers. I’m flattered they’ve asked for my contribution; but at a time like this, I’d much rather rely on the experts to tell me if that hook that’s forming at the bottom of the storm cloud is something I need to be concerned about. Still, I know this is just another ploy to keep the ratings up. If my Aunt Betty calls me to tell me she sent a picture to the TV station; I’ll stay and wait for them to show Aunt Betty’s picture.

Who is on their laptops at a time like this? More accurately, they’re on the laptop AND the TV. And who has their Nikon out, uploading photos, and emailing them?

They’re missing the whole beauty of the storm. The gathering together of the people that are closest to you to provide comfort, security, and the necessary task of erasing fears. Are they quietly sending a prayer to their friends and family for their safety? Have they paid attention to that yearning to let family and friends know that they’re OK? In the morning, my Mom used to always call, what time did the storm hit, how much I did or didn’t sleep, and how many limbs were down. This silent caring and pondering about our love for others is that elusive experience we all want at Christmas; the part that always comes up missing, because we get too caught up in the festivities; the presents and the food. And here it is; the magic of Christmas comes sneaking in like a thief in the night, in the middle of summer; and we hardly notice it’s here.

There is a quietness in the center of every storm; a calm that envelops you to remind you of the very things that matter most in your heart. This is the silver lining in the midnight rain clouds.

I barely got back to sleep the rest of the night. The lightning was too intense, and the accompanying “raining in sheets” tormented my mind with images of flooding, the sump pump running all night. I’ve seen more darkness in the middle of a firework show. Still, it was a night I won’t soon forget. Neither will the weathermen, I’m sure.

We’re back from the lake to take care of some necessary doctor’s appointments.

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Filed under: Life, memories, sunday scribblings by SusieJ - 15 Comments →

This summer, our hill at the lake will be used in yet another ingenious way: to make ice cream for our root beer floats. I was tempted to buy the traditional ice cream maker, but there are so many choices; I quickly became overwhelmed looking at all the bells and whistles. And besides, I have all that boy power just dying to get put to use. Plus, the process of making ice cream by hand… literally…. in the can… is is a great way to introduce some lessons in science. There is the ice cream in a bag method; my boys would surely break the bag in the mixing process. So, I’ve decided to go with the ice cream in a can method.

1. The first challenge is finding the can. Many recipes suggest using a coffee can, but who buys coffee in a can anymore? A better idea is to ask for an empty paint can from the paint store. You’ll need two: A quart, and a gallon.
2. Ask your kids to tell you the freezing point of water — or teach them — 32 degrees F, or 0 Celcius. Then, ask them what happens when we put salt on icy sidewalks. Ask them to start thinking about why we need salt to make ice cream.
3. In the small, clean can, add one cup of milk or half and half, one cup of sugar, and one teaspoon of vanilla.
4. Optional: add one tablespoon of chocolate syrup — or frozen strawberries.
5. Use a hammer to seal the lid tightly.
6. In the larger can, combine the ice and rock salt. Use a thermometer to record the temperature of the rock and salt mixture.
7. Use hammer again to seal the lid tightly.
8. Take turns rolling the can down the hill, for about five minutes. This will “solidify” the ice cream.
9. Explain what’s happening: the ice melts and combines with the salt. This “brine” has a lower freezing point — lower than 32 degrees.
10. After five minutes of rolling, open the large can, and take the temperature of the ice. It will be colder than it was the first time.
11. Open the smaller can. The colder brine was able to get the milk mixture cold enough to freeze to a solid, to create ice cream.
12. You know you’re going to have to whip up another batch right now; the fun was really rolling the can down the hill.
13. An instant way to eliminate the ice cream headache is to put your tongue on the roof of your mouth. Teaching a toddler how to do this is something you won’t soon forget.

Pictures to come…
Thursday Thirteen

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Filed under: Thursday 13, eat, the lake house, try this by SusieJ - 34 Comments →

Wordless Wednesday

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Filed under: the lake house, wordless wednesday by SusieJ - 7 Comments →

Sometimes, it’s easy to forget, while wiping peanut butter off their chins, reading Mike Mulligan one more time, watching them transform into yet another superhero, that what I am really doing is raising men.

Of course, I know this on a practical level; still, how rare it is that I see them carrying the great responsibilities of feeding a family on their shoulders, managing the pain of their own aging bodies, or caring for a wife in the throes of PMS. Discovering the dreams that lie dormant in their hearts will inevitable lead them to obstacles, unforeseeable setbacks, and grief.

It has been said that the true character of a person is defined not by his problems; but by how he handles a crisis after the tears are cried.

Sometimes, caught in the throes of cooking, cleaning and caring, I forget that their life ahead will be a circle of joy followed by sorrow; of struggle followed by achievement. Never again will their lives be as simple as carefree as they are today.

In this last picture here, I see this tiny realization entering his heart, just by the way his arms and shoulders are slightly dropped, and his feet have slowed down. He’s no longer flying through the air, like Peter Pan, the way he was before. The bunny he wants to have and hold so dearly is running away; out of his life. He’s puzzled, because he can’t understand why the bunny doesn’t realize how much he will be loved in his arms.

When Mothers talk about the sorrow of watching their children grow, it is this we are referring to; the pain of realizing that as their child’s heart opens, the chances of it breaking increase exponentially.

Best Shot Monday

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Filed under: Life, Tears, boy by SusieJ - 21 Comments →

Update: I could not sleep a wink last night, racked with worry, and anxiety. My Dad kept me at informed at the lake, while he watched the live coverage on the internet and gave me hour by hour updates. I went to town once to check, really to make sure he made it out of the water. Once I saw that, I was relieved, as I knew he can easily handle the bike and the run. So, we want back to the lake house. Relief poured over me as the race was almost over. We were out in the middle of the lake, in the canoe, and my Dad called again to say he was getting close, and he was watching the racers run under the finish line — live. This I had to see. So, we oared back in to shore, jumped out of the boat, and ran to the van, and drove to town. The kids listened… of course, I repeated exactly what would happen while in the boat, at least 100 times…. We’re going to pull the boat up on the shore, jump out of the boat, and run to the van. We’re not stopping to play with Jackson, the 6 year old who was waiting for his little friends to come back to play. So, we ran, hearing Jackson’s little voice say, “Where you going?” I drove, praying I would not see a deer… and didn’t. Once in town at my wifi spot, my browser suddenly would not support the live coverage. Dad’s was working fine. I checked his time, and knew it was just a matter of minutes before he would be through, and my screen was blank. Suddenly, I found a new button to click. I hit it, and it said loading, 25 percent, 40 percent… hurry… hurry… hurry. And there he was, and Dave was just running under the finish line ribbon. Caught it within a split second.

The Ironman is now well underway, he’s out of the water. Tracking of the entire race, as it happens, is here. You can track him here, bib number 1038. Even with the water at 56 degrees, his swim time was 1:21.
Here’s a video of his last Ironman’s pre-race jitters:

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Filed under: Life, races by SusieJ - 5 Comments →