What the mouse does

Jeff is gone.
Early this morning, to Wisconsin or some other cold, forsaken place.
Until so late on Thursday that it might as well be Friday.
I am sitting contemplating...
no cooking,
no early morning alarm,
no health-care updates,
no work woe updates,
no lunches to pack,
no snoring on the other side of the bed,
no ever-growing pile of black socks on the bedroom floor.

Just me and the leftovers in the fridge.
Book club on Tuesday night.
Dinner with the girls and Alice in Wonderland at the Cameo on Wednesday night.
Little grandsons over to play tonight.

Ahhhh.

Solitude is a precious thing when it's a choice.
Not so much when it is imposed.
Variety, once again, is the spice of my life.

Then, on Friday, back to...
comforting shoulder rubs,
goodbye kisses on my sleepy face in the mornings,
a hand on my back as I fall asleep,
friendly pats on my bottom as we pass in the hallway.

Was that too much info for my kids?

DC revisited

This post is mostly for me, because my blog is the closest thing I will ever get to a journal. It occurred to me the other day that I never really finished telling the Washington DC story. I found some photos that I wanted to show you. This first one was taken in a tunnel, I think it was between a couple of the buildings in the National Art Gallery. We spent about half a day there, although I could have spent longer, of course. I think we all managed to get in trouble with the guards at one time or another. Edwin, as I recall, was standing too close to a painting. I think he was maybe breathing on it.

"Sir, step away from the painting," was the stern injunction.

I, on the other hand, got chastised several times for having the audacity to actually WEAR my little purse/backpack on my back. In my defense, it was giving me a crick in my back wearing it over one shoulder. Apparently, backpacks are more dangerous when worn on one's back. Who knew? All I can say is, beware the art gallery guards, they are not nice people.

Come to think of it, I don't think Jeff and Annie got in trouble at all, disgustingly law-abiding little citizens that they are.

After that, we walked to the national mall, the Lincoln Memorial, the Korean War Memorial, and a few other attractions. I'll spare you the standard tourist photos. What I found most fascinating that afternoon was this....

We spied this group of young nuns. They were walking around the mall in small groups and then suddenly we saw that they were playing frisbee on the grass with a group of decidedly un-monkish looking young men. It was perhaps the most bizarre sight we saw on the whole trip. I wish that I had gone up to them and asked for their story, because I am still intrigued by the circumstance.

Annie and Edwin drove home that evening and left Jeff and me to our own devices. We were tired, but decided not to waste our last night so we walked down to the Capitol. The sun set while we were walking around it and I took lots of photos. I've been having fun playing around on Picasa with them.

We saw an anti-abortion vigil on the front lawn of the hill, complete with rock band. We scoped out the United States Botanic Garden and decided to squeeze in a visit the next morning. We were captivated by fireflies dancing on the lawns. As we stood on the steps of the Capitol a small herd of people, on that strange mode of transportation called the Segway, rode (drove?) up. They were on the sunset tour of DC. That's what I'm talkin' about! If we had had one more day, it would have been us the next night. It was a little spendy, but looked to be radical fun. Finally, the mosquitos proved to be more tenacious than we, so we meandered back to the hotel.

As planned, we got an early start the next morning, left our bags at the hotel and hoofed it the mile-and-a-half to the Botanic Garden. We arrived about 30 minutes before it opened so we walked around it, taking in the outside gardens.

I'm a big fan of garden art, tacky or not, and I loved these whimsical sculptures.

As we walked the perimeter of the building, we noticed an increasing law enforcement presence. Eventually, we neared the entrance again and were rudely told by a policeman to walk on the other side of the street. When Jeff asked him what was going on he was not forthcoming with an answer. We came around the side of the building to the entrance and it was guarded fiercely by policemen who told us the gardens would not be open to the public until later that morning. Some visiting dignitary was taking precedence over us, the tax-paying public.

Nice.

We reluctantly rethought our schedule, walked back to the hotel, picked up our bags, and walked the now-familiar route back to the gardens. Hauling our bags around the gardens wasn't really on our list of preferred activities for the day, but it was that or nothing. By the time we returned, rather disgruntled, they were open again. Hooray!

There was much botanic-inspired art in the building, which was divided into a maze-like arrangement of indoor and outdoor gardens. Once again, too much fun with the camera.

The botanicals were spectacular, even when toting around our luggage.

Moan, grizzle, whine.

And that, my friends, is the end of our adventure. We wheeled our luggage to the bus station, perfectly on time, and caught the bus to Dulles Airport.

Until next time.

Because the majority of the Smithsonian is as yet undiscovered by me.

So, apparently...

...comments are contagious.
If I'd've known that before I would've paid somebody to be my official commenter.
Or maybe it's just that I haven't posted as much lately and so my words are that much more precious.
Whatever.

Jeff and I worked in the garden and around the house today. Our habit is to work on different projects because typically, if we work together, I get bossy and then he gets grumpy and then we don't like each other very much. Today we planted asparagus (there's that darn word again) and potatoes together. We pruned some big branches off the mimosa and chopped them up for burning next winter. We hooked up our new hose and tidied up the river rock in the veggie garden. We planted the new blueberry bush and topped off the raised beds. Then Jeff claimed exhaustion so we came inside and hung new towel bars and a shelf in the bathrooms and a picture over the piano. And we are still talking to each other.

I told him, with his brawn and my brains (actually, I said "logic" so as not to offend) we make a pretty good team.

Marital home improvement harmony.

Only thirty years in the making.

Oh, a funny thing this morning. We've been installing anti-virus software on our computers but the desktop was still running painfully slowly. I tried a few different things and finally looked at the recycling bin. It had over 600,000 items in it. Wow. I cleared it out and it's running like a charm now. Who'd a thunk?

Thursday Threads

It's a fact of life for a blogger that if you don't post anything, no one comes to read. So, in spite of not having had any deep thoughts this week, here I am.
Appeasing the adoring masses.
Ha!
Today is a beautiful day, so while I was walking around the yard spreading toxic slug bait, I carried my camera.
The star magnolia from last Thursday is in its full glory. Not much rain to speak of in the last week, so the blooms are still snowy white.

I put a couple of primrose pots together. I always vow to not do it "this year", but I can't resist their cheerful countenances. I added some crocuses and a little daffodil out of the garden and I really like this one.

The kiwi vines are sprouting leaves. I'm hoping for a small crop this year.

Grecian wildflowers, or anemones, are a reliable patch of colour in the early spring and sometimes even in the winter.

Variegated leaves of the hardy cyclamen. If you look closely, you'll see why I was applying slug bait.

Okay, see if you can guess what these are.
I'll tell you at the end.
If I remember.

My family room is a mess. I'm cutting out some baby quilts from fabric samples that I have had for close to thirty years. About time, did I hear you say? Jeff has been hot to toss my fabric stash for a long time, but I have resisted mightily. This is the year I justify my hoarding habits. My first attempt will use the shoo fly pattern, which should turn out to be some variation of this.


Lori came over this morning to validate my quilting urge and gave me good advice on mixing colours. I feel a little inept at colour schemes. We sat and discussed quilting, aging bodies, unmentionable ailments, and our next adventure: the PGE Green Living and Sustainability Fair at the end of the month. Then we went into the yard and talked about flowers and trees and cutting down mimosas.
Lori is a good friend.

This week, I finally took care of the paperwork to be a volunteer at our nearby elementary school. I start next week.
The Math Helper.
That's me!

Now I must start dinner. The missionaries called last night to remind me that I had signed up to feed them tonight and I forgot until just now. See how I am? So here I go. Chicken fajitas and ......something yummy.....for dessert.

Here it is:
Asparagus crowns.
For Jeff, who adores asparagus.
I don't particularly like it, but I hear that freshly picked asparagus is to die for.
And now, I don't want to have to type asparagus any more today.
It does not flow from the fingers.
You try it.

What Nana Did Today

Walked the hills with Brenda.
Came home and admired the star magnolia.
In a few days it will be rain-bedraggled but still smelling sweetly.

Sat tiredly waiting for the Yamaha Clavinova 409 to be delivered.

Plunked out a few chords and admired its shiny newness for a few moments before heading off to the church for a humanitarian project.
Quilts to be tied for Haiti...

...and cute little girl dresses made out of t-shirts and a gathered skirt.

Drove to McMinnville to spend time with grandchildren.
Chris is out of town and Bethany had a hard day yesterday.
Sat with the boys while Bethany took Kenzie to dance and Natalie napped.
Josh and I watched Daniel play Wii.
I love this boy, can you tell?

Brought Kenzie and Daniel home for a sleepover.

Watched a Preparedness Pro Webinar with Karen and Hope.
We yakked more than we watched, but we learned a few things.

Papa had half a root canal this morning and wasn't feeling too good, so he went to bed and the rest of us played, I swear, the World's Longest Game of Skip-Bo. Seriously. It lasted for TWO HOURS!
Memo to self: next time, don't deal the suggested 30 cards per person.

Daniel doing Lip-face.

Time for bed.
The Osborne tradition of hot chocolate and Keebler graham crackers.
We dunk them.
Kenzie told me tonight that she remembers the first time I taught them how to dunk graham crackers in hot chocolate. I told them it would be yummy and they believed me.
Sweet!

Hedgehogs

I love hedgehogs. Not those scrawny African things you see in the pet stores, but the round fat brown ones that live in the hedgerows of England. Hence the name, you see. Plus, the little piggy snout.

When I was nine or ten and we were living in North Littleton, my Dad brought home a hedgehog which he had found on the side of the road. It had probably been hit by a car but was not visibly injured. We were pet-deprived at our house (some day I will tell you the "kitten-in-the-tree-house" incident) so Anne and I were immediately in love. We nursed it for a day or two, but sadly, hedgehog died. We had a little burial service for him/her underneath the big trees at the back of the garden. We mourned him/her quietly for some time.
Ever since then, I have had a soft spot in my heart for the hedgehog. We had an encyclopedia set with a volume of stories and one of them was about a hedgehog. He had many adventures, including running into some gypsies who tried to eat him. Apparently, hedgehogs are a delicacy in some cultures. It created a vivid impression on my mind and I was theoretically scared of gypsies for some time after that, although I'm not sure I ever actually saw any.
There are no hedgehogs native to North America. In fact, those in New Zealand were introduced by Europeans. Hedgehogs will roll up in a spiny ball when threatened, although their spines are not poisonous at all. They are nocturnal, omnivorous, lactose intolerant, and prone to fatty liver disease and heart disease because of their tendency to scavenge from human fast-food containers.
I found this video last night and it occurred to me that I have, over the years and quite unwittingly, surrounded myself with many incarnations of the hedgehog. This little animation was created in Russia in 1975 and has been beloved of Russian children ever since. It was recently given an award for being the best animated film ever. I'm not sure I would go that far, but it is very sweet.

Here are a few of my friendly hedgehogs. I also have some hedgehog Christmas tree ornaments, but I'm not about to go digging them out of the window seat today. The big one in this photo is a post-Valentine's-Day-75%-off that I could not resist. The grandkids love to snuggle and use him as a pillow. The tiny one was a souvenir from the trip to England that Bethany and I took almost twenty years ago. The third is a puppet, which I saw at Mum's house and claimed for my own.

These are tiny, one crystal and one made in New Zealand, again from my Mum.

This is a hedgehog baby, Anne Geddes style. Did you know Geddes is a Kiwi? Is it sleeping or is it dead? Hard to tell.

I think this mug was also from England, a present for Jeff.

Be careful of pregnant hedgehogs. We babysat a couple of hedgehogs once, for Jonnie's friend Ben. Mama was pregnant. She delivered and ate her babies before we knew what was happening.
Which might be why I always refer to hedgehogs as "he".

What Nana thinks in the middle of the night

Life without death and happiness without misery are contradiction and neither can be found alone, because each of them is a different manifestation of the same thing. Swami Vivekananda.

I think about dying a lot. It's not something you want to bring up in social situations, but my best friends and family all know that I have some very strong ideas about my death and burial. A few years ago I read Death: The Final Stage of Growth, by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, and it got me started. I don't think I had ever thought about my death before, except in vague, ethereal terms.
I have been thinking about my Dad's death and some of the traditions that were observed as we mourned him. He died suddenly when I was in Australia on holiday. By the time I got home, he was ensconced in our neighbour/friend/Bishop's living room in an open casket. I wasn't too happy about this, because I had never seen a dead body before and I definitely did not like seeing my Dad dead. And I couldn't avoid it. We had a sweet memorial service in that living room, which was packed with friends who told stories about Dad. Right next to his dead body. I believe the "body in the living room" thing is a Maori custom, and while it was kind of our friends to honour him thus, it felt kind of creepy to me.
After reading about death and burial customs in America, I saw how the status quo is not necessarily logical, functional, or helpful. So, I have developed a picture in my mind of how I want to be remembered and mourned.
Here is how the scenario goes:
No embalming.
Put me in a plain pine box.
Or, if my views get more radical as I age, a shroud.
No viewing, for the family or the public.
No makeup. Just dress me and close the box.
Lots of singing and funny stories at the service. Tell of my good deeds and how much I loved life and dessert and my family and friends. Tell of my adventures. Tell how I was annoying and scary and bossy. Tell it all. But don't be boring and long-winded.
At the graveside, NO FAKE GRASS. Just an big old open hole and the coffin.
Lower the coffin while everyone's still there. Sing something moving while it's going down.
Everybody gets to throw dirt and flowers on the grave.

There.
The old girl's dead.
Now let's get on with life.

Remember, we already have our burial plots up on the mountain. My wishes are now part of the public record and I expect them to be followed.

My point in all this is twofold. First, to eliminate all the unnecessary expense that traditionally goes into the process of being put in the ground. Second, I want the people who love me to really know that I'm gone and to experience every part of the process. It's a requisite part of grieving and is often bypassed by the somewhat sterile traditions to which we have become accustomed. You can disguise the hole in the ground, but it's still there, and perhaps it is better to acknowledge it.

So, there is a happiness component of this post.
I've been reading an intriguing book called "The Geography of Bliss", by Eric Weiner.


Eric describes himself as a grumpy man. While researching material for his book, he visited several countries that rank particularly high or low in the World Database of Happiness. Believe it or not, there is such a place, it's in Rotterdam. One of these countries was Bhutan, a tiny monarchy with one major road in the Himalayas. Bhutan actually has, instead of the Gross National Product, Gross National Happiness. Yes, happiness is a national policy.
Eric is told by a Bhutanese intellectual that he needed to think about death for five minutes every day in order to cure his melancholia. This idea resonates with me. In our Western culture we are removed from death until it touches us personally, and then we have no immunity to its ravages. Death is the human condition, none will escape it, and we need to be ready for the moment we cease to exist in this sphere. While my thinking through my own death may be an attempt to exert control even after I'm gone (and my children will tell you that this is probably the reason) it is also my way of strengthening myself for the eventual outcome.
This I do know. Thinking about death doesn't make me unhappy, so maybe there's something to it.