I am the ant: Part I

I was at Fred Meyer a few weeks ago, buying milk and oj on one of their frequent "$1.25 for a half-gallon" coupons.
Well, they used to be a dollar, but, you know, price of oil and all that.
When we had a houseful living at home, I always bought the limit of ten, because five gallons of anything didn't last long. Now that it is just The Two of Us (why do I want to burst into song?) I usually buy a couple of oj's and four milk.
So I get up to the checkout and the clerk says, Did you know there's a limit of four?
Why no, I said in surprise. How long has it been four?
Oh, a few months, she replied.
Well.
She went on, Yes, they had to lower the limit because people were hoarding. They were freezing the milk.
In my mind, I was sarcastic.
You see, I have frozen milk. Although, not for a couple of decades.
But, afraid that she would see the hoarder in my eyes, I smiled sweetly and said, Well, I guess it depends on your perspective. Some people would call it smart shopping. She conceded the point, albeit reluctantly.
And as I walked out of the store, I wondered what my fellow shoppers would think of me if they could see this

and the buckets of wheat that I plan to eat before I die.

Or foist off onto my children.

And do they know that gallon jars are my favourite size for lentils and chocolate chips?

And that I buy my flour in 50lb bags from Costco?

My spare room closets are havens of cans of hot cocoa mix and rice and dried potatoes

and vacuum-sealed bags of chocolate chips and Clif bars and boxes of candles and Emergen-C.

My freezer seldom has a cubic inch of spare space

and my pantry.

Well, let's not talk about my pantry. It is a disorganized mess and my oldest granddaughter needs to come help me organize it.

So yes, I am the ant.

Can I be a doting Nana for a few seconds?

I know most of you have already seen these gorgeous photos that Bethany's friend took of Madelyn, but channel Maurice Chevalier, if you please.

Thank Heaven for little girls

for little girls get bigger every day!

 Thanks Heaven for little girls

they grow up in the most delightful way!

Oops, how did he get in here?

Hi little Gabe!

Those little eyes so helpless and appealing

one day will flash and send you crashin' through the ceilin'.

Thank Heaven for little girls, thank Heaven for them all,

no matter where, no matter who, 

for without them, what would little boys do?

The Un-Anniversary

Our anniversary was on the day before I got back from Haiti. In anticipation of future guilt, I booked us into the Garibaldi House on the Oregon coast for New Year's weekend. I had a Living Social coupon that needed to be used anyway, so it was a winning deal all around.

So, our New Year's Eve was spent away from home for the first time in years. Luckily, little Madelyn co-operated by being born in the nick of time and we left town on Friday. I was ailing, but soldiered on.

Garibaldi is a small fishing town with not much happening in the middle of winter, but it is within a short drive of Tillamook and Cannon Beach, which are fun places to visit.

We walked into the foyer of the Garibaldi House and our nostrils were assailed with the smell of clam chowder. There was a tureen of soup, accompanied with biscuits, available in the foyer all evening. After we took our bags up to our room we came down the glass elevator...

...and sat by the fire, eating chowder.

It was cozy and peaceful, with light jazz playing on the stereo and the occasional guests checking in at the desk.

Another nice touch was the coffee urn and iced water available all day, although the water had sliced cucumber floating in it, which was not appreciated by moi.

A covered platter of Tillamook sausage, cheeses and crackers was also free for the nibbling in the foyer.

The hallways were still tastefully decorated for Christmas.

Next to the elevator was a table set up with a jigsaw puzzle. I confess I became fixated on making sense of it. We spent some time on it on Friday night and made some progress. It was a fun puzzle, with fantastical images and glitter all around.

The room wasn't the most glamourous  we have ever booked but there were many unique and comfortable features. 

The towels were all folded artistically and were fluffy and soft.

The sheets were a soft cotton of high thread count and the covers were European-style duvets, so you never have to sleep under an unwashed coverlet. One of my favourite things. 

I forgot my pillow, but these pillows were bearable.

I didn't realize that we had booked a "romance package", so we had some surprises on the table.

Two bottles of water. Gratis.

Some full-size toiletries to take home and a little package of European chocolates, which were quickly eaten.

              

On Saturday, after a full breakfast in the dining room that was included in the room price, we walked around Garibaldi.

It didn't take long.

Not much going on but grey skies,

grey sea,

grey boxes, 

and rusty old chains.

We drove up to Cannon Beach later in the day. We walked around the shops for a while but the day was drawing down so we walked all the way across town to get a bowl of Dooger's famous clam chowder. I was feeling wobbly from the cold meds I had taken and the long walk proved to be my undoing, so after dinner we drove back to Garibaldi. We passed the rest of the evening quietly, working on the jigsaw puzzle, eating hamburger sliders in the foyer and watching TV.

I loved the Garibaldi House. You can get a room for under $100 a night and the little niceties make it feel like it is worth much more. If you want a quiet, comfortable get-away, this is the place for you.

On the way home on Sunday we stopped to take photos of mossy trees.

I am unreasonably fond of mossy trees.

How about you?

Thirty-two years wiser

I read some great advice in Amy Dickenson's column in the newspaper today. A six-year study at Cornell university gathered advice on life from more than 1,200 Americans who were mostly over age 70. These specific tidbits are about marriage.

1. Marry someone who is a lot like you: Similarity in core values in particular is the key to a happy marriage. And forget about changing someone after marriage: the elders say it just doesn't work.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

2. Friendship is as important as romantic love: Heart-thumping passion has to undergo a metamorphosis in lifelong relationships. Marry someone for whom you feel deep friendship as well as love.  

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

3. Don't keep score: Don't take the attitude that marriage must always be a 50-50 proposition; you can't get out of it exactly what you put into it. The key to success is having both partners try to give more than they get out of the relationship.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

4. Talk to each other: Marriage to the strong, silent type can be deadly to a relationship. Long-term married partners are talkers (at least to each other, and about things that count).

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

5. Don't just commit to your partner, commit to marriage itself: Make a commitment to the institution of marriage and take it seriously. Seeing that marriage is bigger than the immediate needs of each partner helps people work together to overcome the inevitable rough patches.

When I was a highly impressionable teenager and madly in love in the all-consuming passion of the young and the hormonally-driven, I had a vision of marriage. I dreamed of cozy evenings, lying on the couch in front of the fire, waiting for my hard-working man to come home. I suppose I though that we would cuddle all evening, basking in our love. Kinda makes me want to fall on the floor, laughing, now that I think about it.

When Jeff and I got married, we were virtually strangers. I hate to admit it, because it goes against the grain of everything that I believe to be sensible, but it's true. My kids have thrown the fact back at me on more than one occasion. Our first year of marriage was a journey of discovery. It was full of the woes of pregnancy, the trials of poverty, and the joy of having each other. We learned some things about each other that weren't so great. But every evening, my heart was glad for him to walk through the door of our little apartment in Orange County.

Since then, we have had three decades of more discoveries, many changes, more trials, and more joys. To be honest, there were times when one or the other of us felt like packing it in. As in: leaving. But we didn't. We were committed to more than each other. We were committed to the idea of marriage and to the community that we have created with our marriage. And that kept us going when we sometimes didn't like each other very much.

Does that admission shock you?
Probably not if you've known me at all!   


I think it is important to be honest about this, because most people have similar struggles. I want to stand up and be a witness that marriage is work and that it can be successful and worth the fight if two people are committed to it.
Sometimes, when I look at my children and the way they struggle to create a partnership with their spouses, I worry for them. Then I remember our own struggles and I know that they must pave their own way to wedded bliss. And I try to be patient for them and hope that they will continue to strive for their own version of peace.

And then I think what a strange word struggle is. Don't you agree?

This Valentine's Day was pretty awesome at our house. You could have knocked me down with a feather, but Jeff actually read my last post. We ate in, stuffed pasta shells with a bottle of sparkling apple cider. Then, because he wanted to get out of the house (even though I was feeling sluggish and wanted to stay home), we went to the mall. We shared a piece of Wild Blueberry White Chocolate cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory (it was way too sweet and we regretted it) and scored a free Donald Trump shirt for Jeff from Macy's. Story to follow later, because it was a classic. And we talked about how, after all this time, we are happy to be together.

And maybe, one of these days, we'll be answering those questions about life and marriage and feeling wiser than Solomon. 

The Un-Valentine

Saturday was a balmy day for February. 

I felt the need to be productive in the garden.

I'll just go out and prune the roses, I said.

Then I grasshoppered around for a couple of hours, spreading lime and alfalfa pellets because that's what my master-gardener friend said needed to be done.

I weeded.

And spread slug bait.

And admired the snowdrops and yellow crocuses that are bravely blooming.

And I thought that next time I move the birdbaths while the spring bulbs are dormant, I should be a little more careful. 

These daffodils actually knocked over the cement birdbath as they grew up underneath it.

And these yellow beauties grew up inside the hollow base of the glazed blue birdbath.

My sweetheart was feeling particularly benevolent and dogged my footsteps for an hour or so. He cut up all my rose prunings for the recycling bin and emptied my buckets of weeds. He even went down to the flowerbeds by the road and trimmed the perennials. 

I'm not a big fan of Valentine's Day.

All those over-priced cards and bouquets leave me cold. 

And goodness knows I don't need any more chocolate. 

You should see my stash lately! 

I have all I need. I feel thoroughly loved.

Happy Valentine's Day to Jeff, who had me from Hello.

Now, if he ever reads this, he would know!

Feeling a little too grown-up

I'm not a fan of Edna St. Vincent Millay as a person, but I just ran across this poem, entitled Grown-up, and I like it a lot.

Was it for this that I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past-eight?

I had to laugh.
I've been back from Haiti for a little over a week. We arrived home at about midnight last Friday. The next morning, I had to be at a music therapy conference from 8:30 till 5pm. Same thing on Sunday. It was a great conference, full of thought-provoking stuff, but I barely made it through the Sunday session. All that sitting, three days in a row, nearly did me in, in spite of the therapeutic knitting that engaged my fingers all the day long.

I worked a lot this week, but every evening I have been just sitting. It took until Wednesday for the jet-lag haze to visibly clear. Every morning, I woke up at four. Every night, I was falling asleep by eight.
Sad.
Now, I think I'm coming down with another cold. 
I may have to find another line of work. All those adorable, snotty-nosed preschoolers will be the death of me!

Well, maybe not!

But seriously, it doesn't seem that long ago that Jeff and I would frequently go out dancing at night, or hiking and bike-riding on Saturdays. What has happened to us?

I'm feeling stodgy, old, and unmotivated.
I think I need a party.
Anyone?

A cheery thought from Ogden Nash.

At another year
I would not boggle,
Except when I jog
I joggle.

Maybe tomorrow I will get my mojo back.
After I joggle.

Just for fun

One has to be careful when taking photographs in Haiti. It's best to do it surreptitiously when out in the open, because if there are people nearby they are likely to yell at you and ask for money. 

Children, on the other hand, beg to have their photo taken.

They boss each other around and try to sneak in on each other's moments of glory.

And then the whole gang will cluster around the camera to see the end result.

Notice how many times this girl was in front of the lens. 

There she is again, different day, lower left.

And walking with Dolly on one of our village walks.

Grandmas admiring the new baby.

Random photos.

This young Romeo thought he was hot stuff and insisted on my taking his photo when we were on our walk.

Little Romanov, whose mom is a cook at the clinic. Romanov hangs around after school. He is a little darling. 

He is eating spicy Haitian peanut butter on cassava bread, a favourite after-school snack.

This young woman spends her days mopping and cleaning the clinic. It's astounding how much dirt is generated by all of the residents and visitors to the clinic.

I'm pretty sure that her fashionable shirt is one of the t-shirt dresses that we made at church. I must have sent some to MBH. Can any of my lovely readers verify the fabric?

/

Zeenia, my favourite roaming naturopath, and Howard, the WWOOF'er  who arrived at the clinic just a couple of days before we left. He is from Portland and is a very likeable and adventurous fellow. They had been out visiting an organic garden that morning and I thought the whole American Gothic thing was too good to pass up!

Now for some street pictures.
This was on the way back down the mountain.

Motorbikes are the most prolific vehicle on the streets of Cap. These young men were happy to have their photos taken out of the back window of our car. And yes, we asked their permission. Traffic proceeds slowly  in the city! One of the best things I ever saw was a man driving a motorbike with a twin-size box-springs and mattress set balanced across the back of it. I have no idea how it stayed on.

Now for the surreptitious picture-taking!

You often see men pushing or pulling enormous loads of goods. 

                               

And women (and sometimes girls) carrying large loads on their heads.

                    

Haitian women have the most incredible posture and an unconscious "come hither" walk. Or maybe not unconscious, I don't know. It seems to be in their DNA. 

                    

Concrete is everywhere.

                               

                               

And that, my lovely readers, is the end of the Haiti posts. There are more stories untold, like the day we spent at the orphanage, but you will have to see Dolly or me face-to-face for those, if you care. I hope I have given you a small inkling of life on the island. But more than that, I would hope to have stirred you into starting to contemplate what you can do in the wide, wide world to make a difference. It's okay to contemplate the idea for a while. Sometimes I contemplate for years before I actually bring an idea to fruition. But when you decide to do something, I would love to hear about it.

Until then, prayers are good.