At noon, December 25, 2009, a lone piper played "Amazing Grace" on the front porch of 7 Echo Point Circle in Wheeling. For Posy who grew up and played under the giant Sycamore trees near the house, for Judy, who reared five children in a house long gone, and for all those who lived in and loved Echo Point... Robert, Anne, Susan, Robert, James, Rose, James, Catharine, Edward and Jane... rest in peace on this glorious Christmas Day.  (thank you, thank you, Patrick)

On Posy's Christmas Card several years ago...(the card was hand made)

     "And at night we win to the ancient inn

      Where the child in the frost is furled,

      We follow the feet where all souls meet

      At the inn at the end of the world.

      The gods lie dead where the leaves lie red,

      For the flame of the sun is flown.

      The gods lie cold where the leaves lie gold

      And a Child comes forth alone."

     ...G.K. Chesterton~ " A Child of the Snows"

Displaced Worlds

It all started when I was painting the garage. When my paint brush went through the wall, I decided to stop and reconsider the project. I put the lid on the can, cleaned my brush, put the ladder away and made a call.

The contractor and I decided the rotten wood was due to the dampness from the hemlock trees nearby plus really clogged gutters. A six hour job at the most.

He had worked only ten minutes, taking off the bad wood that we both thought was the extent of the damage. The knock came at the back door, and when he said "You need to see this"...my stomach turned over. When I saw the carnage, my knees got weak. There under the wood that had looked perfectly normal until the paint brush incident, was a network of tunnels and brittle crumbling sawdust that was supposedly holding up the garage roof.

Numbly, I made my way into the house, deafened by the ca-ching, ca-ching sound in my head as the tab for this small job got bigger with each piece of wood pried away. Another call, this time to my exterminator. Some women my age "have" an accountant, a decorator, a manicurist. I "have" an exterminator. We go back a long way, my exterminator and I. He saved us from a false alarm at our previous home over termites that a big company who shall remain nameless said we had. He rescued us the week after we moved into this home when we discovered four legged critters had taken up residence under the subfloor months before. He has ben a periodic hero at other times over the last 30 years when the critters threaten to return. The year we had spiders EVERYWHERE- that was when he really reached godlike status. The hornet's nest dispatched under cover of darkness- that too. And the bats- those, too have been eliminated by this old friend.

Euphemistically labeled "Pest Control Specialists" in the yellow pages, they control by terminating. I don't really want to know how they work. I just want the job done. I have a deep respect for life- all life, and have been known to escort lightening bugs and moths out a window in order to save them. Never mind that falling two stories as I tossed them out the window might have been fatal for them, at least I did not squish them into eternity. I might add that spiders are given no quarter here. They are different.

The exterminator, the contractor and I surveyed the damage (by this time, all the bad wood was exposed- including support beams). When he said that by now, the colony of termites was in chaos and sending out alarms underground, I felt a momentary sadness. Then I looked back at the magnificent old house that could have been next- the "moment" was brief. The termites were soon to be history. Their time was measured. In a few days, they would be "eliminated" and the fresh wood going up would not be invaded.

The house, mercifully, miraculously, has been spared. It, too will be "treated" as a precaution. It's the newest thing, very green, this smiter of termites, I am assured. The same poison has been used at the Statue of Liberty and the Alamo. It must be good. This stately 100 year old house deserves the best. It's central hallway, ionic columns in the parlor and egg and dart molding (even on the second floor- a rarity I am told) enhance her dignity. Designed by one of the finest architects in the area a century ago, the house with it's colanaded porch and late Victorian trim, is a small mansion with touches not found in most of the neighborhood homes.

Tomorrow I will sign the contract that will save the homestead- with of course, a yearly return to inspect the bait in the stations inserted in the ground. They won't win, these termites. I looked out my window this morning and snapped the photo you see here. Not only are millions of termites displaced, but a whole village of sparrows who had set up housekeeping in the spaces that the termites had hollowed out will have to find a new place to stay over. A half bushel worth of nesting material and feathers was pulled out of the beam. Their consternation was audible as well. The sparrows flitted around, perched on the roof, chirped and dive bombed one another in what appeared to be an effort to understand their plight. A world turned upside in the tiny eco system called my back yard.

notes on a passing...

                                    RIP  1994-2009

"Bertha" was with us for 15 years.  Like anything that sticks around that long, a beloved dog, comfortable butt- sprung chair or the family car- it becomes part of you. Bertha lived up to her name, strong, stubborn, BIG.  "Belching"became a prefix in later years when age took it's toll on the steel princess.  Her gold color and faux wood trim were unique in this area- there are (were) other Roadmasters on the road locally, but she became my trade mark, sort of.  Everyone knew the car and knew it was mine.  It became a beacon when parked anywhere- it seemed to announce- Anne is here!!!  

     The Buick Roadmaster Estate Wagon was the largest station wagon ever produced by GM.   Predating the monster SUV's by a couple of years, the Roadmaster was dubbed by Consumer Report Magazine as the extravagant gas guzzler of its day.  The Corvette engine necessary to carry its bulk was standard for this model... a fact we tried to hide from the new drivers in the family for obvious reasons.  That power saved one son from a potential disaster on a run from Pittsburgh to Columbus.  Faced with a tight spot on Interstate 70, the engine got him out of it.  Thank you, Bertha.

     The car was huge, long and wide.  I was pretty good at parking it, and one day, while pulling into a parallel space in front of a building, I did a particularly good job- classic two movements - and it was snuggly in place.  I was going to a meeting, and several men who were also attending the board meeting witnessed this feat. While not complimenting me -a woman driver- on my good job.. one of them did manage a comment- he said "You dock that thing, you don't park it".

     Bertha hauled lots of things in her time.  Everything from bags of play sand to swing sets in boxes graced the back deck.  In later years, baskets of stuff destined for dorm rooms in Morgantown filled that space.  "Eau de Arnold Hall" was a scent that lingered long after it should have... as did Rosie's smell.   Our old Newfoundland dog, Rosie easily glided into the big car without really having to climb at all, it was so low slung.  Our vet dubbed it "Rosie's Car"- its windows were chronically blurred with  tell tale Newfie slobber.

       It was like a living room on wheels.  There was enough room in the front seat for me, my purse, a couple of shopping bags and a passenger.  I had to lean to put my arm on the arm rest.

I couldn't complain even when the shocks were completely gone, the ride was smooth.  The 1/2 mile drive from my house to Kroger gave the sensation of being in a canoe and riding the wake of a power boat...not unpleasant at all.

       We  kind of replaced Bertha (without trading her in) last spring with another gas guzzler,  a Toyota 4-runner- sport model, used...good deal, all of that.  It sat in the garage while the dependable Buick continued to carry things I didn't want to dirty up the new car with...mulch, plants, potting soil.  When the helper at the nursery asked if I wanted plastic to protect the car...I just smiled and said,  "not necessary".

     The trusty Buick even passed inspection in June!  Shortly after that, we knew the time had come.  Things started to go wrong, air conditioning quit, funny noises under the front of the car, then a flapping sound under the hood.  We even entertained the thought of having the faithful servant checked out just in case we could keep it going....a little longer...

Reality and the "cash for clunkers" offer- soon to run out- made us face cold hard facts and we made a decision...

     As I sat in the Honda dealership, after signing a paper swearing that I was indeed who I said I was, that the old car being turned in was indeed mine, documented by two trips to the DMV no less, I almost had a "moment".  The faithful Buick, which had carried so many of us safely throughout the last decade- and- a -half was  placed in the back lot with all the other rejects.  They will paint "clunker" across her windshield and pour a cement like substance into the engine...all required, the nice young man said.   I asked him to please not put paint on the old girl and he just smiled.  

     She doesn't deserve that humiliation.

     As I drove the mostly plastic little Civic off the lot, I felt a nagging sense of betrayal.  Silly me...it was only a car.

     

safe haven

Grizzly has had it.  He had adjusted to life just fine, thank you...

why this creature?  He has played second fiddle to a huge, cranky old Newfoundland, put up with a boat load of canine relatives who come and go at will  and eat his food and drink his water- and take his bed.  He has been terrorized by the resident terrier mix who decides when he can enter the family room, when he can eat, when he can sleep -and where...  (she plays dirty, too).

Tank, the four pound pug put him over the edge.  Grizzly never

sits between the chairs near the windows.  Never.  but it was safer there than out in the room where who knows what might pounce on an unsuspecting giant?

Peace

Whatever you may consider to be "perfect contentment"-

This has to be near the top of the list.

reflection

     How many deaths must we endure before our sins of commission and omission cease to haunt us?  We have lost two women in the last two weeks whose lives wrapped around so many hearts that it is impossible to comprehend the depth of the collective grieving.

     There are no guarantees in this fragile life.  We don't have assurance that tomorrow or even the next moment will be ours.  We all have reason to regret the unsaid kind word, the phone call not made or the hug not given.  I told my mother that I hated her when I was old enough to know better and my thoughtlessness has haunted me for decades.  She has been gone 42 years.  I can only hope the kindnesses I did have time to do for her cancelled out those angry, childish words.

For Judy...

For Judy...

     I lost a friend, sister and sort- of- mother this week.  I had known her for 45 years or so.

She taught me how  to hold, feed and bathe a baby.  She helped me let go of my first child when I needed to let him explore the world...she never complained, criticized or found fault with anyone.

     I felt better about myself and the world every time I was around her- a hallmark of a true friend.  When my brother died, she came and sat with me.

     We didn't see each other often in later years but when we did, we took up where the last conversation left off, without missing a beat.  

     The last time I saw her was when she came to my house a couple of weeks ago to have lunch with two ladies who knew Jeanette well- and one of them a nurse!  She made friends with them instantly and poured over old photos and talked and talked and talked.  We looked at her yearbooks from high school.  And for a few hours, she was young, beautiful and healthy. 

She was home again. 

     She never lost the beauty- it revealed itself in everything she did and said.

     Her spirit lives on in the wonderful family she had and nurtured and was so very, very proud of.

     Please... someone feeds her birds for awhile?

     

squatter's rights

This may be difficult to make out at first.  If you see a large black form plunked into the middle of a newly prepared garden bed- you are correct...it's Grizzly.

Sometimes a body needs to assert itself.  Claiming a tiny portion of one's  surroundings becomes all important.  Was it the smell of the freshly turned earth...the cool dirt on a hot tummy...or was it a statement?  Here, in the space of a few square feet of dirt, Grizzly reigns supreme.  He chews his feet in peace.   He has boundaries.  He is safe.

terrier terror

"OK...here's the plan"

bad fit

There are just some days that don't "fit"- 

you are out of sorts for some reason, maybe

you don't even know why.  Your jeans are too

tight, you are moodier than usual...you are

at loose ends.  and then, finally, at the end

of the day, when it's time to relax- the chair is 

too tight.

"am not"

She insists she is not a home wrecker...

just the mother in law.

...whatever

gone home

Whenever Corey's mom goes back home, there is a period 

of time in which Corey mourns her departure.  The body

language is evident here.  Nothing helps...not even the toy

beside her.  The only comfort is one of Anne's sox...which

she carries with her for a day or so.

Recently found under one of the big four poster beds

upstairs where Corey sleeps were four such sox

(so- I don't run the sweeper that often any more).  She

had probably collected them, one by one and lovingly 

placed them beside her as she slept.

question...

... "Do we really want to know what they are thinking?"

Home Wrecker

Mourning Doves mate for life.  

Note the body language.

Do the math.

new definition

Corey gives new meaning to the phrase

"Cheek by jowl"