Wounded Woodpecker

Last week one morning had a spectacular beginning. I was moving around in a semi-awake state as is usual for the beginning of my day.  I was in the kitchen fixing something for breakfast when I heard a loud thump.  I went to the studio to check it out.  Opened the sliding glass door and there on the deck floor was a woodpecker, lifeless.  I have a suet feeder right about where he fell.  Evidently he got confused, missed the suet and flew into the window knocking himself out. It was a miracle – there were no cats around.  I quickly picked him up, held him and went inside for warmth.

I sat there holding him, trying to think of a container to put him in, or a safe place to put him but could think of nothing that was better than me holding him. I was afraid that if I put him down somewhere outside one of my animals (2 dogs and 3 cats) would cause a problem.  If I put him down inside and he began to fly around then getting him out would be a big problem.  My thinking was that holding him would be short term since he looked healthy.  He was a Hairy Woodpecker I think.

So I held him for about 5 minutes and then he became alert.  He started looking around and making strong movements.  It was time to go outside and see if he was ready to rejoin nature.  I went outside, opened my hand and off he flew – swift and strong. 

He chirped “thank you” as he flew away.  Now I know what that sound is that I hear most mornings.  It’s a Hairy Woodpecker.

While I was holding him I really wanted to take a picture.  What a chance for a close up and I also wanted to document this occasion so my friends would believe me.  I had no idea how difficult it is to take a photo with one hand.  Friends, it is next to impossible.  Of course I didn’t let that stop me.  I tried and tried.  Finally I got two good ones.

I was so pleased when I saw them on the computer.  After rejoicing at my success another reality hit me.  Is that my hand?  Can’t be?  My hand is not blotchy and wrinkled like that hand.  It must be my hand.  Seems I had not really noticed or paid attention and there is an old hand indicating the passage of time. 

Sometimes things just creep up on me like the blotchy wrinkled hand.  But other things are the same since I can remember.  I always rescued animals, any kind of animals.  Maybe the first bird I ever held, took care of and made pets with were the chickens we raised on the farm. 

Funny, how an ordinary morning takes your mind so many places.  And I haven’t even had breakfast yet.

Raccoon

Friends - It was just a short time ago that I wrote Pain.  Well, time has passed and the Dr. gave me another shot of cortisone so I feel better.  I'm not in severe pain, just regular pain but I can live with that (temporarily).  I see knee replacement in the near future for me.  Anyway this is what happened last week. 

Raccoon

Just when I decided that I’m a helpless old lady something comes along to prove that there is spirit in the old girl yet. Last night at about 3AM when it was very dark, I found myself out on my back deck swinging a broom at an intruder. Let’s see, you need a little background on this.

For the past three nights my dog Rusty, who is my pet, protector and constant companion, has awakened me 3 to 4 times a night with furious excited barking. I slowly climb out of bed – I do everything slowly these days and go to the study. There he is standing by the sliding glass doors poised to shoot through them like a bullet the minute I open the door.

I’m also slow deliberately because I really want whatever is out there to get away before Rusty gets there. I don’t want a fight, hurt animals, blood and such. So far we’ve been successful. I knew our visitors were raccoons because the first night they got into the bird seed that I keep on the deck in a sealed container – one I thought was secure. I bought bungee cords, fastened it again to make it double safe. Didn’t work, they chewed through the cord or just pulled it aside and opened the container. Next step – I now bring the container inside every night. Problem solved – oh no. Now the garbage looks and smells interesting. I had anticipated this and had put a heavy crock pot on top of the garbage can to make sure it was safe. Ha, they said as they knocked it off and broke it to smeetherines. That was one I really liked too. Of course they scattered the garbage all over. I’m using bingee cords again and making sure I don’t put any food in the garbage. The food goes to the compost pile.

They seem to have just found me and just keep coming back. Each time I solve a problem and think that I am brilliant with my new and better solution, they out do me. They just find another interest. Last night it was the hanging bird feeders. I also am naïve enough to think that once they have had a narrow escape from Rusty, they will stay away. Not so, they keep coming back.

I think raccoons are cute and pretty. But, I tell you – their charm has worn off. Right now I’m just annoyed.

So for the third time last night I let Rusty out. He’s off like a bullet, barking like crazy (wonder what the neighbors think). This time he doesn’t just check out the deck and yard and come back inside wanting praise from me because he is such a wonderful dog. He just keeps barking. I go to the door to try to determine what’s the problem now. I notice that he’s barking over by a lamp post that has a bird feeder hanging from it. I look carefully and there sitting atop the post is a big fat happy raccoon. My timing was off when I let Rusty out – the raccoon didn’t make a get away. So now what? The raccoon can’t get down because Rusty is there and Rusty is not going anywhere while that raccoon is in sight and on his property.

It seems to me I’m going to have to do something. I manage to get Rusty off the deck and into the dog pen below. Now the raccoon can come down on the deck and get away. But the stupid, dumb, aggravating raccoon just sits there and looks at me. Doesn’t he know that I just threw him a lifeline? Evidently not!

Ok, a next step has to be taken. I know, I’ll get a broom and knock him off his perch. I’ll have to be careful, I don’t want to knock him into me and I make sure I have a straight and clear path to the sliding glass door. Alright, it seems safe enough until I visualize this sight and have an attack of the giggles.

Here it is at 3 AM or thereabouts, and this old lady is out on the dark deck in her nightgown swinging a broom at a raccoon. Why it’s enough to make you laugh. I guess there’s some spirit left in me yet!

I push him off his perch, he begrudgingly comes down and ambles off. Rusty has now figured out that he was tricked and is fiercely barking to get up on the deck and at this monster. I let him up, the raccoon makes his getaway and Rusty and I go back inside and to bed.

Tonight is going to be more of the same thing. I’ve got to come up with a plan. These visits are just too much excitement.

Pain

Since I became an old lady, by my reckoning it was age 72, I’ve had many health issues.  Some are; colon cancer, a heart attack, atrial-fibrillation, asthma, chronic bronchitis, operations, and gout.  Hospital stays, doctor visits, prescriptions and a different diet for each ailment have become a usual part of my life.  All these troubles were and are inconvenient and distressing certainly, but for the most part I was able to keep my sense of humor and optimistic view of life. 

But now I am in pain, severe pain.  You know the kind of pain that makes you break out in a sweat, the kind of pain causes you to feel nauseous, the kind that makes you sick all over and that makes you use all your concentration to just get through the day.  That kind of pain takes me to a whole new stage of life. 

My left knee has had a torn meniscus for some years.  From time to time it flares up. I go get a cortisone shot and then its fine for months to years.  That is until this time. After this flare up I went to my orthopedic doctors and they took x-ray since it had been some time since x-rays were done.   They showed why my pain was so severe – there was no meniscus.  Now it was bone on bone.  I was given a shot and a big heavy brace.  All that gives me some relief but not enough to bring a smile to my face, it still hurts.  And so this journey continues as I try to find resolution and relief.  I had a flashback and remembered a horse throwing me when I was in college and I landed on my left knee.  Hummmmm, I wonder.

But I don’t want to just give you a report on medical issues.  I want to point out that today I realized that I have entered another stage of life.  You know the stages:  toddler, teen ager, middle age, and old age.  I thought old age was the end of the line.  Well, it isn’t – not for me. 

I am now feeling helpless, vulnerable and useless. I need help in everyday living.  The need for a walking cane, a walker, a wheel chair and/or other medical equipment seems likely.  I’ll have to learn which ones are helpful for me, where to go to get them and how to use them.  I know there are many styles and colors from which to choose and many are light weight and mobile. 

I had a Dr appointment scheduled for today.  Luckily a friend stopped by and said that she could take me.  That makes the coming and going so much easier.  I could take myself but it is quite an ordeal.  First I hobble to the car, then I have to push the car seat back as far as it will go.  Carefully and slowly get in, then bring the car seat forward again so that my feet will touch the pedals. Of course when we get there, I have to do the same thing in reverse order.  The Dr. has an office that is far from the entrance to the Hospital, so slowly and carefully I hobble along.  With Sally’s assistance, it is so much easier.  She helps me in the car and we set off to  the Dr.’s office.  When we get to the entrance, Sally gets out and goes inside.  Shortly she returns with a man and a wheelchair.  What a relief – I won’t have to do all that walking.  Sally parks the car and joins the Dr. and me. We have an informative session regarding the medicines, the disease and what I should do in my particular case. This Dr. really listens – it is no wonder she is one of my favorite Drs. 

After the visit, Sally pushes the wheelchair down to the outside door.  This is new for her too.  She has trouble making it turn and deciding how much room it needs to maneuver.  I visualize us as we are learning this new skill – we could be part of a comedy routine.  Sally gets me home and leaves to rejoin her busy and interesting life. 

 

Now, I need two prescriptions that the Doctor ordered and I need a few groceries.  I can get them if I have to but it will be very painful and exhausting.  I decide to ask a fried who lives nearby.  She was not at home.  About 5 minutes later Pat, another friend calls and said “I’m in the area is there anything I can pick up for you?”  “Yes, Yes,” I said.  I gave her the list of groceries and the info regarding the prescriptions.  Shortly she drove up my driveway, got out with the groceries and prescriptions and brought them in.  She put things in the refrigerator or on the shelves and we sat and talked for awhile.  How nice to have company and some errands done at the same time.

 

Today my life was made easier by the thoughtfulness of friends.  The errands were done and I just supervised.  I realize that I will have to ask for things that I need.  I am fortunate that I have many friends that will be glad to help.  But – asking for help, I find that hard.  That’s not what I usually do.  I like to be the one helping others.  I must learn to be helpless graciously.

Okay, I think the point is that I will have to learn how to live in this stage of life with some style and grace.  But for now it has knocked the wind out of me.  I’ll have to reconnoiter (I love that word) back up, think it through and come roaring out to join the world again in an optimistic frame of mind. 

Dr. Suzanne

No she is not a MD, no she is not a PhD but she is a doctor of plants.  She has a green thumb and can wave a wand and make plants come alive again.

I’m not sure how she earned this degree.  My guess is years of practice and patience, years of reading and studying and then years of being out in the field – her own yard & garden and that of friends and of professional groups.

A short time ago a dear friend died who had a collection of African Violets.  They were carefully given to friends who were interested and loved plants.  I was one of those friends.  I come by my interest and love of flowers naturally.  I grew up on a farm with a mother who loved flowers and also vegetables.  She grew flowers, cut them, brought them inside and made arrangements for almost every room in the big farm house.  She considered it one of her routine jobs and one that she did with pleasure.  That pleasure was passed on down to her daughters, my sister and me.  My sister is an expert and can rightly be called Dr. Jean.  I’m still in the liking/loving stage, one that always has flowers but not the expert knowledge to go with it.

I took the two African Violets reminding the owners that I didn’t know how to raise and care for them but was willing to try.  That was sufficient (they were desperate).  I brought the two plants home, put them in an east window and began to read and study about African Violets.  After several days I noticed that one of the plants was overgrown and doubled over on itself.  This didn’t look good to me.  I thought it needed to be cut into two or more plants but I really didn’t want to do it.  It’s a touchy job.  I called my friend, Dr. Suzanne.   I explained the problem and ended by saying a definite “HELP”. 

We arranged for her to come over a couple of days later.  She arrived, went to the trunk of her car to get her materials. It reminded me of the medical doctor getting his/her little black bag.  She came up on the porch, put her tools on the patio table and came inside to get the patient. 

The first observation was that both plants had been overwatered and were about to drown.  Plant #1, the overgrown one was immediately taken out of the dirt and a diagnosis was made that it was in bad shape.  The root had rotted away in the too wet soil.  After careful consideration, Dr. Suzanne decided to take several good leaves to her house and try to start new plants from them.  The old plant looked like there were some live roots about ½ way up the stem.  So Dr. Suzanne decided to try to save this plant by replanting it in African Violet soil and in a terra cotta pot (the kind it likes).  After careful arranging the roots, leaves and packing down the soil, Dr. Suzanne declared it done and said that she was not sure it would come back to life but she had done her best.  The directions for me were to leave it alone for several days and carefully observe.  Hopefully that would give it time to adjust to its new conditions and it would begin to renew itself. 

Plant #2 looked healthy even though it was in way too wet soil.  Dr. Suzanne just replanted it in African Violet soil and put it in a terra cotta pot.  “Done” she declared.

Then I was given instructions.  They should never be in direct sun only indirect light, always water from the bottom and fertilize them regularly.  She even left me some fertilizer to make sure I started off right. 

So the two plants and I have been given a new lease on our lives together.  Let’s hope we survive and bloom.  Dr. Suzanne has done her part.

MBS:10/7/11

Ageing Gracefully

Can it be done, I wonder.  With my ageing, I find that being graceful about it, is one of the most difficult things.  First comes my acknowledging some loss – breathing is difficult, walking is difficult, and on and on.  Then accepting the loss myself and then acknowledging it to others and asking others to help me or make allowances for me  I hate asking for help to do simple things like  take something to the office which is only a short distance away.  It makes me feel inadequate, dumb and stupid.  And that makes it hard for me to ask nicely &/or say thank you nicely.

 

But I know that if I do take it to the office, it will take me ten minutes to get over it – sit down to relieve my back and hips, breathe in gulps to get enough air - and then I’ll be fine again.  So I try to remember to ask nicely.

I think my mother aged gracefully, at least most of the time.  I do remember a time or two when she laid a guilt trip on me.  Something like, “oh go on to the lake with the others, I’ll just stay here by myself while you all have fun.”  But by and large, she asked politely and thanked graciously. And all with a smile on her face.

  

I remember once back in the early eighties when my Aunt Lois and her friend Rubye came for a visit.  It was in the fall and one beautiful day we went riding to enjoy the countryside.  We came to a big field that was planted with pumpkins at one end and corn further down.  We stopped by the side of the road to admire the beauty of it.  Aunt Lois said, “I feel like I could just get out of the car and run across that field.”  I thought to myself why is she saying that, she knows she can’t and hasn’t been able to run in a long time.  Aunt Lois was in her seventies.  I am now in my seventies and now I understand Aunt Lois. 

I know I can’t run across that field but I feel like I can.  I think the young person that I was is still the person that is inside me.  But the body is a stranger to me.  It no longer functions as it always did.  Perhaps that’s one reason I’m having difficulty – I was used to being able to physically do whatever whenever I wanted.  That’s not so any more and I’m having to deal with it.  That’s what I think aging is - having losses and  accepting them gracefully.     

You know what it is, it’s CHANGE!  Yes, it’s reared its ugly head again.  It always gave me fits.  Just as soon as I think I’ve got everything under control and a pattern worked out, something happens and I have to change!  Change my way of thinking, being, look at a new point of view, and/or review other possibilities..  So I go kicking and screaming and fighting – I don’t want to change.  But I have to, I do, and I’m glad – But it wasn’t or isn’t easy.  I do believe that every change brings more wisdom and a greater understanding of self and others, so I’m always glad when it’s done.  I just don’t want to do it again.  AND here it is, I have to do it again. 

So, I’ll keep practicing (there’s no way to wiggle out of it) and maybe even feel better in this role of being the old lady, letting others help and gracefully enjoying it all. 

The Walker

The Walker

You now use a walker,

I want to say:

“Remember!

Remember who last used a walker

in this house.”

I remember you saying

you could not stand the

clang, clang

of her walker.

You would go through other rooms

so you would not have to

confront Mama

and her disability.

I hope you did not mean to be that mean.

But there is something in me that wants to shout:

“See, see what it feels like!”

And don’t you hope the younger ones

view you

with more compassion

than you gave Mama?

MBS: 9/7/11

Gulio

I was in my second year of teaching and was beginning to have some confidence in multi-tasking (a requirement of any teacher, especially elementary). My student, Guilo showed me that I was still had much to learn.  My first graders and I were sitting in a circle in the little first grade chairs and I was reading them a story.  Guilo was sitting right next to me – as always.  This was not for love but for survival of both of us.  Half the time Guilo innocently caused trouble the other half he intentionally caused trouble and thoroughly enjoyed it.  He was the one in the class that I knew I had to know where he was and what he was doing all the time.  Now you might think that is a simple job.  Not so easy.

As I was reading the story, I began to realize the room was hot and stuffy.  I got up from my little chair, walked to the window, raised it and all the while kept reading.  Oh my, I thought, I’m getting good at this multitasking.  I walked back over to my chair and sat down ---oops, oops.  I landed on the floor flat on my back!  While I was congratulating myself for my coolness, Guilo had simply used his foot and slowly but surely moved the chair back out of the circle.  Since I expected it to be there, I did not look, I had not noticed any clue that anything was amiss.

There I lay on the floor.  I looked up and 26 little faces were looking down at me.  There was a second that would decide whether we would have chaos or all would be well in the classroom.  I carefully got up and said, “I’m alright, I’m not hurt but that is a dangerous thing to do and I lectured a bit more on how it could really hurt somebody.”  Then I glared (you know, that teacher’s look) at Guilo and said, “go to the corner.”  Order was maintained and we continued with the story.  Guilo was lucky that I didn’t leave him in the corner forever.

OK, Guilo made a point – always always be aware of what’s happening in a first grade classroom!

He taught me another lesson too.  This was early spring and Guilo was still having trouble getting any of the class work done.  It took all day because – he fell out of his chair, couldn’t find a pencil, broke the pencil, somebody distracted him, and on and on.  On day I was exasperated.  I said, “Guilo, you are going to stay after school today until that paper is done.  I’ll stay and do schoolwork, I’m in no hurry.  We are not going home until it is done!”  We stayed after school and now it’s just Guilo and me.  I won’t talk to him or interact with him. But, he falls out of the chair, can’t find a pencil, the pencil has a broken point and on and on.  It was getting late and I had finished everything I could think of to do and was ready to go home.  Guilo was not finished.  I realized my mistake – never never make an absolute statement that leaves no wiggle room for either of you. 

My realization came too late.  He had outlasted me. I was going to have to make up some excuse to end this standoff.  I said that I just remembered some errands I needed to do and had to go home.  I thanked him for really trying (and I think he had) and said that he could finish the paper tomorrow.  There was an innocence and tenderness about him despite all the difficulties he caused.  Some 40 plus years later he is still in my heart.  He moved away from the district and I never heard from him again. I wonder how he is today.

We closed up the room, gathered up our belongings and started to leave.  I was taking him home. We were walking hand in hand as we went past the secretary’s office.  In my southern accent, I cheerily called out, “Good night, youall”.  Guilo tugged on my hand and asked,” Mrs. Summerlin, what’s a youall?”     

Ahh Gulio, you wear me out and then you steal my heart again.

Celebration

 

Today was a celebration of colors.  This morning a male cardinal came to feed at my bird feeder.  It seemed to me he was redder than usual.  A bright red red!  Then after he had been here a short time a flock of yellow goldfinches stopped by.  And they were not just yellow but yellow yellow with touches of black on them. Spring is barely beginning here in upstate NY but these bold vivid colors brightened my spirit with thoughts of all the colors and textures to come.

Then right above them was a squirrel eating the new beginnings of blossoms on the maple tree.  Now I been observing and warring with the squirrels for at least 25 years and I’ve never seen this before.  I told you today was a celebration.

I decided some years ago that I have the right to declare my own celebrations.  I don’t have to wait til July 4^th, Christmas, or Mother’s Day or any of the rest.  The first celebration that I declared was when some friends and I went on a boat ride to see manatee in the Florida waters.  On the way home, dolphins joined us.  They followed us and jumped through the waves caused by the boat.  It was an awesome sight.  I just had to declare April 4^th, 2008 a Celebration.  And that’s not all, as we neared home a rainbow come out.  That was the icing on the cake.  When outstanding things happen that leave you with your mouth open – it’s a celebration.  At least it is in my world.

And the celebration this day did not end with that lovely morning.  Later that day about sundown I drove to a playhouse to see Robin Hood.  I left early so that I could stop and take pictures if anything presented itself.  Just beyond the playhouse is one of my favorite trees.  I have trees that I call mine even though they are on somebody else’s land.  I feel we have a special affinity.  I went to see my tree in the evening light. It is dead or dying so there were some branches very bare and there were vines growing up it.  It looked like a ghostly sculpture, especially in that ending of the day light.  In the background was a bank of trees, some evergreen and other just beginning to bud and bloom.  A gorgeous array of colors.  My visit with my tree added to my celebration. 

While at my tree site, I noticed red winged black birds.  The first flock I’ve seen this year.  I took picture after picture even though they were far away and the evening light was dim.  The results were not good  but it was an event to add to my day of celebration of color.

I drove back to the parking lot of the playhouse and as I got of the car I saw another beautiful sight.  There were three weeping willows and the leaves were that beautiful chartreuse spring color.  I took several pictures and I liked the results.  Another color to add to my day.

I finished my day with the entertainment of Robin Hood.  It was done by a local theater group and a  friend had a part in the play.  I met his wife (a friend of mine for about 40 years) and we comfortably sat together as only old friends can and thoroughly enjoyed the evening. The colors of Robin Hood and his Merry Men, all the other characters and Sherwood Forest were all the colors of the spectrum. 

Now that was a day to celebrate.  I declare April 22, 2011 My Celebration of Spring Colors.

 

I can't wait to see what my next celebration will be.

Tough Old Broads

I hang out with a group of tough old broads. Me, 75 years, Ann, 70 years, Chris, 70 years and Geri, 68 years. Yeah I know, that’s old according to what we thought when we were 20, 30 or even 40 years old. But now that we are there at that grand old age – it’s just a number. We still think we can do whatever we want whenever or however. We are spending a week together at Ann’s island home in Florida. We do this once a year to celebrate our birthdays and to renew the bonds of friendship. We spend every day doing our favorite things. But tonight was especially impressive. I’ll tell you about it but first I’ll lead up to it by telling you the events of the day.

We celebrated Chris’s birthday today. We followed the schedule she set. She still works so she wanted a relaxed day. We started at 10 AM with the Legacy Workshop which I led. For two hours, we discussed our lives in intimate detail. Today the topic was “You”. The assignment was to write about any of the topics that were on the worksheet and that we had shared, dissected and listed the pros and cons about at class. Tomorrow we’ll share our written work.

After workshop time, Chef Geri made a delicious, colorful and healthful lunch. This was followed by an hour or two of free time.

I chose to use the golf cart for a tour around the island. Of course I had my camera and was especially looking for birds and flowers. This was the first time I was to use the golf cart this visit. Well, I put my foot on the accelerator and the golf cart took off like a race horse. Now I’m prepared for a slow stop-and- go speed so that I can inspect all the sights and possibilities for a photograph. Instead I had my foot on the brake very hard just to keep from flying. I stopped – checked all the things on the dashboard that could be pushed or pulled or turned. Nothing made any difference. I turned around and went back home. I told Ann, the owner of this runaway, and she said, “I’ll check it out”. She went out and soon after, I went to the porch to see what was happening. There was Ann riding around the driveway, and the golf cart was behaving properly. I thought it was the old “car won’t run right, take it to the garage and it runs perfectly” but Ann assured me it wasn’t. She said that the accelerator was stuck in high gear, she just pulled it up from the floor and all was fine now. But to make sure, she came inside, found WD 40, went out and liberally applied it to the accelerator. I let out a big sigh of relief and said to myself, “ok, that’s taken care of”. I took the golf cart and started off. I had not gone far before I saw a red bougainvillea leaning against white steps. It was so graceful and beautiful – a perfect picture. Further down this sandy road I saw an osprey nest with mother osprey caring for eggs or babies – I didn’t know which. She was perfect for a picture – very blue sky behind her, her big woody nest and her green eyes in a steely gaze. Wonderful! I’m having a great time carefully looking everywhere and seeing things many people walk right past. Ohhh there goes a little green butterfly. I try and try to get a photograph of him but he moves too fast. Oh well, there will be other days. On my way back home I have the good fortune to see a big white heron swallowing a frog. It was a marshy area so the colors were beautiful. It took the heron several tries. I took many photographs, in fact I took many photos of all the above and other things that interested me because of the color, lines, light and/or unusual activity. The island is a paradise for a photographer. The colors are so vivid and the light is so interesting.

Our next activity was to take our new rafts out into the ocean, right in front of Ann’s house and float around for awhile. Geri had found an electric air pump and pumped up all the rafts. After enjoying the warm water and conversation for awhile, it was decided that we needed some liquid libation. We sent Geri, our expert bar tender, inside to make and bring out martinis. Clever Geri put the drink in water bottles so they would fit in the cup holder of the raft. So we swayed, rocked in the waves and laughed and joked.

Chris remarked that it was her best birthday ever! We all agreed.

But the day was not over. We came in, showered, dressed and lounged around for a couple hours, and then went to a fancy restaurant. Delicious food, service and company --- nothing could be better. But I skipped an important development. Geri and Chris walked over to the restaurant and Ann and I came in the golf cart. We got to the restaurant, parked on a slight hill. The emergency brake would not hold – it kept rolling back. Finally we rolled to a flat place (in somebody’s driveway), took one of the rocks lining the driveway and put it in front of the front wheel to keep it from rolling. I worried that we would get in trouble with the owners. Ann, who is a resident of the island, assured me that it would be just fine. We left it, with me still worrying but assuming that Ann knew the habits of the island. We went in and spent a wonderful hour or so having dinner and swapping stories.

Then we had to face facts. Ann and I explained our problem with the golf cart and asked Chris and Geri to come and help us push the golf cart out of the driveway. They did and we discovered another problem. It wouldn’t start! The battery was dead.

We had to get it home. It was late, about 10PM and nobody or nowhere to ask for help. There was nothing to do except push it home. Physically, the walking and pushing was more than I could do so I got the lucky job of guiding the golf cart home. Chris, Geri and Ann pushed up hill, down hill, and through sandy places all the while shouting encouraging words to each other to keep pushing. I hope you remember we had just been to a fancy restaurant and were all dressed up – including dressy shoes. Once going up a hill, it was too much, I had to get off, push and then jump back on as we coasted down the hill. We finally got home.

BUT we were not finished. The golf cart had to be recharged so that we can use it tomorrow. Ann took charge, pulls back a seat on the cart, pulls out the big battery, finds where to plug it in on the cart and then realizes that she needs an extension cord to reach the house plug. She finds one and plugs it in.

Next she persuades her reluctant cat to come inside. We are all tucked in for the night. Praises be!

We did not eat dessert at the restaurant because at home we had a delicious carrot cake all decorated for birthdays. The night before, when we celebrated Ann’s birthday, we carefully sliced off four pieces. Tonight we were really hungry for our special cake. We put candles on it as usual, sang Happy Birthday to Chris, sliced the cake and ate – enjoying each bite. Chris’ eyes gleamed with pleasure as her special day was ending.

Celebrating our birthdays together during this week is such a wondrous occasion. We are family and these celebrations help keep that bond firmly in place.

We will eat birthday cake again tomorrow to celebrate my birthday and again the next day to celebrate Geri’s birthday. The cake is going to last just that long.

This is just one day out of seven, so you can just imagine the goings-on the other days. Next Wednesday, we’ll leave going home with more stories to tell about this unusual group of friends.

Yes, this group of “Tough Old Broads” still believe that we can do whatever we want. So we just do!!

Just Call Me Margaret

Growing up, I was taught these rules. Anybody older than you should always be addressed with a title - Mr. So and So or Mrs. So and So.  Relatives were always Aunt or Uncle So and So or Cuden So and So.  Close friends were sometimes also called Aunt or Uncle too.  And then neighbors or kinda close friends were Mr. or Miss and their first name.  Our neighbors the Drakes were Miss Eugenia and Mr. Jim instead of Mr Drake and Mrs. Drake.  I can think of only one exception - Frances and Barney, adult friends let us, in fact told us to call them by their first names. Oh, was I impressed.  Otherwise, the rules held.

When I was 31 years of age, I had finally finished college and gotten a job teaching 1st grade.  The first day of school began with just the teachers there so they could prepare for the students who would be coming the next day.  I was excited and more than a little anxious about getting my room ready and being prepared for a roomful of 6 year olds.  Across the hall from me was Miss Margaret Spingler.  She was a second grade teacher and had been at this school many years.  In fact, she was just a year away from retirement. 

During the course of the day I went across the hall to ask a question and began with, "Miss Spingler".  She interrupted and said, "Just call me Margaret".  I stuttered and stammered and said, "Oh no, I couldn't do that".  And Miss Spingler said in her most no-nonsense teacher voice that that was her name and that's what she wished to be called.  Well, I said, "Yes" and after a few false tries it was Margaret.

Margaret is a spinster lady and at that time she hurried home each day after school to take care of her 92 year old mother who lived with her.  Having Margaret across the hall certainly was my good fortune.  She proved to be a guide, and role model.  Margaret retired but continued to stay in touch with all her school friends.  

Margaret's heritage is Irish and she wished all the world to know it and enjoy it with her.  Each St. Patrick's Day she had an Open House and everybody was invited - school friends, family, church friends, and other friends she had collected over the years.  So our friend and fellow teacher, Pam  and I would go over the day before and help make everything green - hang green curtains, add food coloring to the punch, make green sandwiches, get out all the Irish memorabilia from upstairs and make sure the way was cleared for everybody and food that would be coming the next day.

Once, I told my first grade class about the St. Patrick's Day party that I had attended.  I told them that everything that we ate and drank was green.  When we began to put on our coats and get ready for dismissal.  Joey quietly came up to me tugged on my sweater. 

Oh, do you know how to tell a 1st grade teacher?  They have callouses on their hips where little hands pat all day saying Miss Summerlin, Miss Summerlin. 

So Joey then asked, "You know that party - Yes, Joey - Well, when you went to the bathroom was it green"?  Luckily for me the dismissal announcement was made. 

As time went by, the Open House was just too big an undertaking.  But Margaret could not let March 17th pass by without her doing something to acknowledge it.  So every St. Patrick's day I get an Irish verse or prayer in the mail and it is addressed to Mary O'Summerlin from Margaret O'Spingler.  And I feel touched by a bit of the Irish and I cherish it dearly.

This chain of events has made Margaret a part of my life and it will always be so since she taught me a skill I still enjoy.  Many years ago Margaret taught Pam and me how to crochet afghans.  Neither Pam or myself had any knowledge of how to crochet.  Margaret did not know what she was getting into!  With infinite patience, she taught us the pattern she had used for many years.  Pam and I listened, watched and practiced and were sure we knew what we were doing.  Then we would go home and try to work and we would create a big mess.  So, we'd call Margaret, go over and she would straighten us out.  This happened many times. 

Finally, I mastered the pattern and since that time I have made at least 20 afghans.  I always have one in progress by my easy chair and anytime I sit down I work for awhile.  I tell people that for a year the afghan is my therapy and then it is a present for a loved one.  You can't beat that arrangement.

Thank you, Margaret, my friend and I can't think of ever calling you anything else!

A Curiosity

Isn’t it a curiosity that I am I and you are you?

As I sit here tonight at a Folk Music Concert at Fiddler’s in Hyde Park listening to the incredible Sally Rogers, I wonder.  Sitting on my right is my friend Lyn a well known and loved folk singer who joins in the singing anytime Sally Rogers invites participation. And on my left is my friend Eileen who loves music and performs often and she also joins in singing along.  I’m hearing incredible music from all sides. There is not a better seat in the house.

Isn’t it strange since I’m not a musician at all.

I’ve always been involved with musical people.  In High School my best friend was Debbie.  She had a most beautiful singing voice and sang in all the special events in our medium sized town. She was our singing sensation.  I always marveled at Debbie’s talent  and was jealous of her.  There was no doubt what she was going to do in life.  It would be something with music.  What would I do in life?   I didn’t know except there were about a hundred things that really interested me but not one that demanded I do it.

I married a jazz musician. He was not someone who did music on the side. It was his life and his life’s work.  I had never seen or felt anybody with such a passion for an activity.  He really had no concept how utterly ignorant I was about music. Early in our relationship, we were riding in the car listening to a jazz band on the radio.  He casually asked me who was playing.  What a strange question??  I thought, “a bunch of people”.  No, he meant who was playing trumpet.  “Was he crazy! People could tell who was playing just by listening.”  I was dumbfounded.  He told me it was Miles Davis, a famous and talented jazz musician and that one day I would be able to tell when he was playing.  Ha! That shows how little he understood my music disability. It was inconceivable to me that you could tell who was playing an instrument.  Didn’t they all sound alike?  I did get so that I could tell (most of the time) which instrument was playing and I thought that was wonderful. 

The musical gene was passed on down to our son.  He hears the sounds of each instrument and has perfect pitch.  He learned to play the saxophone and drums in elementary school and even formed his own band.  The competition with his father and his father’s critical comments proved too much and he dropped being an active part of the music world.  Since that time he became a listener who has a keen appreciation for music.   Our granddaughters both sang in the school choirs, played in the bands, acted and sang in the high school plays, and have taken dance lessons and performed since 4 or 5 years old.  They are now in college and are part of the Dance Company at their respective schools. Any time they perform, I ask them if they told the teacher or director that they got their talent from Nana.  Of course that always brings BIG DENIALS and comments like, “Nana, you know better”. I’m the odd ball out but over the years. I have learned to enjoy and appreciate music.

But I do seem to have an attraction for the musical type person.

In my family, playing the piano was considered a social grace that any young lady should know.  It was the proper thing to do, so my sister and I were given piano lessons when we were in elementary school. That lasted about two years.  We went to lessons once a week and were supposed to practice an hour a day.  Well, that hardly ever happened for me. I was much too busy riding my bicycle, climbing trees, playing with my dog and horse and running anywhere.  One day my father was supposed to take my sister and me to our piano lesson and he happened to ask how much we had practiced since the last lesson.  Since we confessed that we had not touched the piano, Daddy said that it was time to end the lessons.  It was, he did and I never missed them.  I really had no talent or interest in that direction.

Evidently my singing voice also leaves something to be desired.  Until I was in the fifth grade I thought I sang just like everybody else.  But my teacher Mrs. Martin taught me differently.  I went to a three room school in the country and Mrs. Martin was the principal and taught fifth, sixth and seventh grades. These grades were planning a Christmas program.  We were all on stage singing and Mrs Martin said, “Something doesn’t sound quite right, it’s coming from this side.  Mary Elizabeth would you come sit down and the rest of you – let’s try it again.” They sang and then she said, “Ahh, that’s much better.”  That’s all I remember about the program. 

Many years later, my then husband and I used to travel with a band all over the United States doing one nighters.  We would play at a hotel and then travel about 500 miles to play at a different hotel the next night. Sometimes that traveling was hard.  We traveled in our car and Eddie developed a system for staying awake when he was tired.  He’d ask me to sing for him.  My singing was so bad that there was no way he could go to sleep listening to me.  By this time he did have some comprehension of my music disability and had informed me that I was tone deaf.  But see, it did serve a purpose.

In high school, I decided I wanted to be the life of the party at summer camp and I decided the way to do it was to play the ukulele.  I bought a cheap one and then had to tune it.  I couldn’t – I could not hear the different tones.  So I called my friend Debbie, I stood on tiptoe to talk into the phone that was hung on the wall in the back of the hall.  I plucked one string and she would say higher or lower and we kept doing that til it was tuned.  Obviously this was too cumbersome to continually do and besides I couldn’t tell when it was out of tune and I needed to call Debbie.  That was the end of my only real try in the music world. 

Isn’t it a curiosity that I am I and you are you?

Aren’t we collectively and individually a curiosity?

No Patience for Bored

I have no patience for being bored.  Being bored is boring!!  Therefore I figure out something to do.  A friend invited me to a buffet and concert.  She was going because the daughter of a friend of hers was in the concert.  My friend assured me it would be a good evening – good food, good music and good company.  Since we had not done anything together for some time, it seemed like a good idea.  It would be a time for us to visit and be entertained at the same time. 

So we went.  The food was good and we had a nice time catching up with the lives of each other.  Then we went to a big auditorium that had a proper stage and curtains.  The room would hold about 150 people and it was ¾ filled.  As I sat down I began to have a sinking feeling.  I am a retired elementary school teacher. Therefore I have been to more children’s concerts that you can count.  I taught for 25 years and went to school concerts, my son was in concerts, and the grandkids have been in concerts. In my retirement years a children’s concert is not high on my list of things to do (unless of course it involved family or friends). 

The concert started and I thought that it was wonderful for the parents and families, to me it was just boring.  I made excuses - it’ll get better, they’re just starting or maybe they’re just nervous.  It didn’t get better.  So it was grin and bear it for me.  I had my camera with me so I took pictures, without the flash – up stage, down stage, right stage, left stage, the performers and anything else I could think of.  Finally I ran out of ideas and sat for a few minutes trying to decide what I could do besides just sitting.  Then I saw the bald head of the man sitting in front of me.  He had some hair on the sides and top and the bit of hair was sticking out - this way and that way.  I spent the rest of the concert being thoroughly challenged by photographing his head.  I composed different pictures to get the hair going different ways.  That poor man had no idea he was my entertainment for the evening. 

When I was growing up, it was expected that I would entertain myself.  My parents did not think it was their job to make sure all my time was scheduled.  It was my job to keep myself occupied and if I should complain I was told I had one minute to find something to do or they would find something for me to do.  I knew their idea of something to do was work: like dust the living room, hoe the garden, wash the dishes or some other terrible chore.

I grew up with the idea that it was my job to keep myself busy and so it has been all my life.  People who say they have nothing to do or they are bored puzzle me.  I really can’t understand.  The world is full of things to do. 

Now the other point of view is that my house is a mess.  It is filled with projects in different stages of progress.  This doesn’t bother me but to others it says, “Mary is a bad housekeeper”.  That does bother me so I keep trying to keep some order.  It is in order according to me but not to anybody else.  When I go to visit friends and their houses are immaculate – - I’m amazed.  How can they live in a place like that.  There’s not a place to do things.  I also notice that they are quite happy and want it to look like that and spend much time making sure it looks like that.  Ahh, there’s the difference.  Instead of cleaning, I get involved in a project and am totally engrossed in whatever I’m doing.  Creating fills my soul, it is therapy for me.  I’m expecting a fairy godmother to come along and keep the house decent.  Notice, I’m still waiting.  I made a sign for my study.  It says:

If

You came to see me,

Come on in and sit a spell.

If

You came to see the house -

(how it's decorated, how clean it is)

Call and make an appointment.

I think that says it all. In the meantime I’m always busy doing projects that I love.   Cleaning is not one of those things! 

It's Easy - You Can Do It

Growing up, roller skating was not part of my world. On the farm, there were not paved roads or parking lots and roller skating was not thought of or talked about. We ran, rode bikes or horses.

Time went by, I grew up, married & moved away from home and moved many times. My son learned to roller skate as natural as breathing and so did all his friends. I watched and thought, “ I can do that, it can’t be that hard, just some coordination and balance.” After all, I was physically agile, had played all the sports growing up and my body could do whatever I asked. But I never tried skating until one day my friend Dorothy said, “Come skating with me Saturday night at the rink near the High School. My kids are going and I’d like company”. I said, “I can’t skate.” She said, “I know, but it’s easy - I’m sure you can do it.” It didn’t take much persuasion – I was ready to try my ability. I was about 40 years old and knew that if I was ever going to do it – it better be now. I remembered when I was a kid and the field workers would come in for the night with the mules and wagons and I’d run to the front yard to get a ride on the wagon to the barn. I could ride in the wagon, standing up without holding on. If I could do that, surely I could skate.

Saturday night came and off we went. The two boys were on the rink and skating in no time. Dorothy patiently helped me choose the right skates and put them on. Then she guided me to the rink and showed me the rail that went around the rink. She left me holding on as she joined the kids skating like a breeze around the rink.

Ok, I said to my self – hold on, get the feel of this, don’t panic. And I started trying to walk to the end of the rink. I held on tight – my legs were not under my control, one would scoot out in the lane and trip somebody up, or they would wrap around each other like pretzels, or even cause me to do the split (which I didn’t know I could do).

Dorothy would skate by and say, “You’re doing fine”. I gritted my teeth. I didn’t understand this problem, it ought to be easy. Take a deep breath, calm down and let your body find its way. Good thoughts but no improvement. Then I decided that the problem was that I was holding on – I needed to let go of the rail and it ought to be fine. I took a big breath, gave myself a little push, let go, and glided until I needed to do something – I tried, I fell right there in the middle of the lane with a rush of skaters right behind me. They all fell over me. I looked up from the bottom of twisted and tangled legs, bodies and faces. At that moment, I knew that I was not the most popular person at the rink. They all untangled themselves and went on their way.

Dorothy gently helped me up – what a scene, arms, legs and torso all going different directions. When that was finally accomplished, she led me to the rail and then took off to join the boys. I’m sure she was thinking, she’ll keep trying and be fine.

I held onto the rail tight and inched my way to the gate to exit the rink. My whole body ached. I got to the gate, got off the rink, went to the nearest bench, put my face in my hands in frustration and embarrassment and thought, “That’s the last time I’ll ever try that. I just have to go through life not knowing how to skate. That’s ridiculous but that’s how it is!

The Doctor Visit

As I sit here in this chair in this cubicle in this antiseptic sterile environment waiting for the Dr. to appear, my mind starts to wander.

When I was a child and even through my teen age years, I remember going to see the doctor and it was a pleasant experience. You entered a friendly warm reception area where you were personally greeted and told that you would be next or Dr. was very busy today or it would be just a short wait.

The experience today is very different. I waited in a blah reception room until the assistant called my name. Then she led me down a maze of corridors and cubicles, most with closed doors. Then I was shown my cubicle and left to wait for the coming of the Dr.

Left alone to my own devices, I begin reminiscing and constructing stories.

My earliest memory of a doctor is our family Doctor, Dr. Olga. She was a short stocky woman who took care of all the family and our ills. Her office was a room in her home and her secretary/assistant was her sister. Once when I was 10 years old (approximately) I fell and badly cut my upper lip. Mama and I rushed to see Dr. Olga. She put me on a table in her office, stopped the bleeding and carefully examined the wound. She announced that it needed a couple of stitches. I vaguely remember Mama and Dr. Olga discussing if she should do it or should they take me to the hospital. After all it was my face and would affect the rest of my life. Dr. Olga felt confident she could do it, Mama had confidence in her and I certainly did. Dr. Olga carefully explained to me that she was going to use a needle and thread (she showed it to me), and go in and out of my lip like the stitches my Mama made in cloth when she was sewing. Then she gave me the choice of having pain medicine or not. She didn’t push for one way or the other. I felt strong and brave in those days and said to just do it. She did. I did not feel undue pain although I did hold tight to my mother’s hand. I think her careful explanation – not sugar coating it, helped me to understand it and deal with it. It has healed and nobody ever notices it. Psssss - I’ve just told you a big secret.

Dr. Olga also made house calls. It was not unusual for her to stop by our house to see one or several of us. I can see her now – confidently walking toward the house with her black satchel while her sister waited in the car.

Dr. Haddock had an office in town and Mama and I always enjoyed going to see him. We would sit in his office, talk about whatever the health issue was and also visit. How was the family – his and ours, the garden, and/or the vacation. His daughter was in my high school class and his family went to our church. This is back in the days when the town was fairly small and everybody knew most everybody.

My mind takes a different turn. It seems I have been left sitting alone in this room a long time. I wonder if anybody has ever been left here in a cubicle overnight or even left for a few hours, forgotten. It seems like it would be an easy thing to happen. When I sit here for awhile I read, think, and then just begin to zone out – maybe even nap. So I might let the time go by too. I think that has the makings of a good story.

As I continue to wait, I realize that I really miss those old days when I personally knew my doctor. I liked it better when I went in and sat in the Dr.’s office and we talked about my health issues and life. Now I go in a maze, sit in a cubicle and am examined by Dr. Robot and then excused. It makes me feel like a “thing” instead of a human being.

Finally, the doctor comes in. He attends to my health issue and then quickly leaves.

I’m left to try to remember how in the world I got where I am and how can I find my way out of this maze.