rhythm of today

 "No matter how much we may love the melody of a bygone day, or imagine the song of a future one, we must dance with the music of today - or we will always be out of step." (Lisa Wingate from the book Before We Were Yours)

As I age, I am remembering bygone melodies a lot! But I think however old or young, the wisdom of the above statement is enduring. There is so much to be said for dancing in the moment. 

With the specter of Covid looming for the past year, I think it's tempting to just mark time - always looking forward to when we can travel, go to public meetings, eat out, visit family, etc.. But meanwhile we have precious time to do something with!

And dancing seems just right.

Move into the rhythms of confinement, stretch mind, body and soul and do get those toes tapping! Life is now!

oh, the moon shines tonight

 Where did my mother's songs come from?

That is the mystery.

From what I know of either Grandma or Grandpa Weaver I never remember one bit of singing - and maybe my older siblings have different recollections. But from somewhere, a wealth of unusual songs broke from my mother's voice and heart. The lyrics delight and puzzle me.

From "A Capital Ship" - "the cook was Dutch and behaved as such/ for the diet he served the crew/ was a number of tons of hot cross buns served up with sugar and glue"

From "Red Wing" - "Far, far beneath the sky her Brave is sleeping/ while Red Wing's weeping her heart away"

From a lullaby "Mammy's going to take the toys of all the little girls and boys away to Sleepy Land/ time for Sandman now to come, 'cause night is here and day is done."

On and on.

A Dutch cook, an Indian Brave, Mammy? The words transported me into worlds of speculation and wonder, billowing me through the childhood years.

Maybe she had an imaginative, lyrical grade school teacher.

Whatever the source, the music of my early years lines my recollections years later with the velvet softness of drifting off to faraway places, anchored by her voice and love.

In the mix

 This morning when I was reading the paper I either read something or an illustration caught my eye and I thought - blog material!

 Simultaneously, an uneasy question flitted across my mind, should I write it down? 

And I laughed.

I was going to be writing about it in just a short time.

But I got distracted and much later I sat down to the computer.

Nada.

So, the moment of truth has arrived.

For years I have secretly scoffed at list-makers, note-takers. I felt the brain exercise of memory was better than a crutch.

Alas.

Has it really come to this? I must make notes to myself? 

I have been resisting, thinking that in doing so, I am not going gentle into that good night. But now that my original internal  GPS is letting me down, I guess I'll have to resort to old school measures.

Now, where's a pencil? Paper?

back on the trail

 I had heard there may be side effects to the second Covid inoculation, but since the first went without a hitch I didn't think too much about it.

But then, ten hours after the prick, it all descended - like guests to a party! Miss Low-grade Fever, Auntie Aches, Cousin Chills, Mr. Headache, and Father Fog!

To those who had/have the real Covid, my sincerest condolences. My malaise lasted about 48 hours all told. A mere sneeze, in the scheme of things.

But, still, to a person of gratefully good health, it was a reminder of what a supreme gift it is to awake in the morning, step out into a day of maximum ability to do exactly what you need to because that body that carries you around is functioning normally. Extraordinary design, really.

So back to walking my four miles. Wonder how the squirrels survived without me.

That needed shot in the arm

 Some shuffled in with walkers, others strode in briskly - but we all were quietly joyous to be getting our second Covid inoculation.

The icy, snowy roads didn't deter the determined! We were all on a path to freedom.

And just how free will we be with this serum tucked away in our bodies.

I truly think no one really knows.

But for we the vaccinated, it feels like we are a bit less naked, less vulnerable.

We have no plans for partying, traveling, sky diving, dining out, joining the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

But if our steps can be just a teeny bit less measured, our breaths a little deeper, our doors and windows at least half-way open, life will be sunnier.

Little steps, but strong ones.

family

 The last cousin on my father's side passed away last week, leaving my sibs and I the sole survivors of that branch of the family tree. There are twigs above us, but our branches are getting bare. 

It's an eerie feeling.

It's like an entire cast of players has been eradicated. Because of time and distance we rarely saw each other, yet the warmth of those early years kept the hearth of family glowing all these years. 

And now we are the only ones left carrying the flame of that era forward.

Still, I cannot mourn those who have passed because I realize through my life travels, there are many people who never ever experienced that uniquely glorious extended family interaction - not the laughter, the delicious meals, the endless stories, the games, the trips, the sharing of joy and sorrow as an entity against the world.

So on this cold, sleety February day, I give thanks for family, in all degrees of closeness -in reality and memory.

 They are shoulders who have lifted and sheltered us.

Batter Up!

 February 17 - the day the major baseball leagues push through the winter's soil and emerge into the light!

Do we ever need baseball!

The thought of sounds of "Play Ball", the crack of the bat, the bursts of music, and the roar of fans is simply intoxicating!

After this long siege of illness, masks, cancellations, isolation, snow, ice - we long for those sunny sideline seats, basking in community.

It's just a sport.

But it's so much more. A signal that life as we once treated like negligible currency, is so utterly precious in its ordinary pleasures.

Fair's Store

 I had the word "fair" in my morning crossword puzzle.

The clue was "dry forecast". Other clues could have been "Feeling so-so"," light-complexioned", "equal division", "festival" etc., as is the case with so many clues depending on their usage.

But what sprang to my mind was Fair, as in Fair's Store.

 It was the neighborhood store of my childhood. Because it served many "horse and buggy" farm families in the outlying area around town, it carried a wide array of merchandise from straw hats to bulk foods. In the center of the narrow building was a pot-bellied stove that glowed hot through all the winter months with rounded stools nearby to pull up for a quick warm-up Oiled wooden floors kept down the dust. Fluorescent lights with pull strings buzzed overhead to light the shelves that climbed from floor to ceiling.

But best of all was the penny candy case - all the tantalizing goodies lay behind slanted glass and had to be retrieved by the slow, bent fingers of George Fair himself as we stood with pressed noses agonizing what our pennies would best buy. In truth I remember only a  few of the choices - Mary Jane's, licorice, Bazooka gum, candy cigarettes, Klein's Lunch Bar (which was always tempting as it wasn't as expensive as the Hershey Bar for a nickel but wasn't as good either!) Luden's cough drops as well as the more harsh Smith Brothers, And then there was always the tempting nickel bag of Good's potato chips that hung on clips nearby! The weekly allotment of a nickel and a penny just didn't stretch far enough! The irony was that we had tons of candy at home and a huge tin of potato chips that always residing in the back stairway to the upstairs! But nothing is more exciting than one's own currency and resultant choices!

Fair - also a beacon of childhood pleasure.

what shall we eat today

 This February cascade of snow, ice and freezing weather surely calls for soup! Why is it, when the skies darken and the precipitation begins to fall you never think of whipping up a nice salad! Where is the comfort?

I have a Honey-Baked hambone sitting in my frig with a lots of lovely juicy ham still attached that is just crying out for some accompanying navy beans, onions, carrots and a few hours to simmer and get acquainted.

Think about how much weather and the calendar determine our eating patterns. I would guess there are few months on the calendar that don't dictate at least one specific food item.

Off the top of my head -

January- pork and sauerkraut

February - some kind of Valentine dessert, Fastnacht day if you live in Lancaster County

March - corned beef and cabbage

April - Easter ham

May-  first strawberry shortcake, new asparagus, 

June - party foods of all kinds (weddings, graduations,)

July - Barbeques, fresh corn on the cob

August - the whole gamut of summer vegetables

September/October -baked squash, cider, Halloween goodies

November/December avalanche of holiday dishes.

But in between all the specifics, doesn't soup just fill a need on a cold wintery day?

icicles -good for the soul

 I loved icicles as a kid.

I loved to break them off - off anywhere and promptly suck on them. I can still feel the delicious cold melting and that feeling I was getting away with something,  that somehow this was equivalent OT freebee mana!

Now that was a couple centuries ago! And the amount of pollutants in the environment hopefully wasn't as high, but proportionally probably was!

But this morning when I saw a neighborhood kid, break an icicle off the fender of my car and immediately bring it to his mouth my entire being cringed in horror! Where was his mother??!

But, as my husband observed laconically, "it builds the immune system"!

all in the family

Amidst all this talk about birds, a friend asked me if it was a family or a community interest when I was growing up. While it was some of both, it was largely due to the influence of my older brother initially. I came fourth in the line children in our family and I soaked up all the news and experiences of my older brothers and sisters. From my earliest days I remember being aware of the bird population because of their interest. People talk of hand-me-down clothing in families. I think it's far more interesting to talk about the culture that is passed along.

In my case I realize I set my feet to very carefully fit into their tracks as I grew up. Their reputations preceded me in grade school, high school and college and I gratefully accepted every advantage given me. Taste in music, sense of humor, book selections, board games, sports teams, church groups, neighborhood gatherings. foods, friends - it was all laid out for me.

Now I am really pitying that first child!

On the other hand, pioneer I am not. 

But grateful, I most surely am.

birds of a feather

 My childhood home was located along a busy two-lane highway in a small country village. We had identity as a village with a few stores, school, church, blacksmith, gas station, etc. But behind the houses that lined that highway lay quiet fields. And three large fields away from our house, the Conestoga Creek wound it's way through Lancaster County.

 The creek was our playground. Not only was it a place to swim in summer, and, in a good winter, skate along its bends, but it also provided us with bird and plant life  the whole year round. All of my older siblings were birders. And while I never got anywhere as good as they were in identification of species, I was always aware that there was a whole world flying above and resting among us that most of the population knows zero about.

And as an adult, I have discovered that a  bird feeder brings them right to your window. So while the world is currently brown and grey, our birdfeeder world flashes with scarlet from the  woodpeckers - pileated to downy, goldfinches whose feathers are changing from olive green to yellow, bluebirds, cardinals, the gray/black combos of nuthatches, juncos and chickadees - the colors and shades of all of them light up the February landscape. And they vie, cajole, boss, relinquish, retreat, attack, and chatter saucily most of the time!

Really, maybe as a species they aren't so removed!

the good old days?

 I was just reading in my mother's diaries about her memories of her mother's "summer kitchen" - a large room off the regular kitchen that they essentially moved to in the warm weather. It had no running water - dishes were washed in a dishpan of soapy water, then dunked in a dishpan of rinse water and then placed on a drainer on a nearby stand. All this was done in a dry sink - a beautifully carved wooden cabinet lined with zinc. Just stop and think of that in light of all the cooking that was done in those days - roasted beef, pork, turkey, sausage, chicken. Those roasting pots and pans had baked-on grease-  to say nothing of all the side dishes. However could one get things clean without a flowing stream of hot water?? And Grandma cooked for a family of seven! One year in Newfoundland I cooked on an oil stove and didn't have running hot water and I thought those days were spartan - paradise compared to my grandparents! It took an amazing amount of work  just to assemble and clean up a simple meal. Multiply by 3, by seven, by 365 and you've got yourself a full year just with the meals! Then add making your own clothes, canning, gardening, cleaning, baking, ironing, etc., and you've got yourself a worn-out body not too far along life's pathway!

The way life has softened in just a generation is startling. I think it's worth reflecting what on earth we are doing with all our leisure!

Constitutional

 With all the current discussion about what is Constitutional my mind wandered back to the forefathers. We are talking about a document ratified in 1787! Think of the world surrounding those men.

Candlelight and horseback.

And yet, what wisdom! They devised a plan that has somehow still  resonates in this world dazzling with technology.

The question is - do we still have men/women of their intellectual stature? Are they entirely outside of the world of politics?

In a day where you have to search far and wide, high and low for a standard of any kind, to me it is gratifying that we're even talking, however esoterically, about one that was set 233 years ago!

no milk today

 My childhood home had a wrap-around porch and right by the side door was a lidded tin box, lined with some kind of padded material, where, early each day, the milkman would deliver our milk. Simple. Milk in glass bottles delivered to your doorstep. In the earliest days, the bottles had a little bubble at the top for pure cream. I don't have any idea how often milk was delivered, but I do remember some Sunday mornings there would be a treat of chocolate milk -  rich, thick, dark brown goodness. The mere memory makes me salivate! I couldn't guess at the caloric content, but it was far beyond the amount of Hershey's syrup that we were allowed to spike our milk with afternoons after school. Ludicrously excessive - and  so delicious!

But beyond the concept of culinary convenience and delight, imagine a time when it was safe to have milk delivered regularly outside on your porch and not have it stolen!! Such a lovely little memory about how life worked once upon a time!

I love you on paper

 Red construction paper

and the nostalgic smell of white glue-

Valentine's day at school, of course.

The week of -

a cardboard box 

covered with white paper

and hearts

with a slit in the top

sat poised to gobble up our 

love offerings.

I guess from our youngest years

we were conditioned to

put it in writing.

Still, come recess,

it was everyman for himself

and everyone fought for

the front of the line.

icy patches

The sun is shining!

How momentous those words in this pandemic winter!

 Somehow that glowing orb overhead is salvation.

Right now, it's salvation from icy paths! Yesterday I crept along in the deepest snow I could manage because the tramped paths were sheets of hazard.

I thought back, as I was carefully mincing along, about childhood days when we actually sought out icy patches to slide on! It's truly hard to conjure up that kind of rosy cheeked freedom. And in the snow we jumped, we tumbled, we rolled. Oh the grace and durability of young bones - and spirits! I truly don't want to be a timid soul and I have walked every day to some degree or the other for the three years of my retirement, but it is all under such an umbrella of care! 

I guess the abandon of body now belongs to dreams.

two sticks rubbing together

 One COVID injection in my arm. Another in two weeks and two days - but who's counting!!

A spark!

Everyone is anxiously scrambling for a vaccination that will unlock our doors and enable our feet to wander beyond our leashes.

Nothing like putting a load of expectation on one small bit of serum.

Somehow, it feels like if I get those two little shots, the door to the world will open a crack! I will be able in time to visit my family, go to restaurants, travel, meet for friends for lunch or breakfast, do my own grocery shopping, visit nearby cities for weekend getaways ----breathe!

I will look back at this post in the months ahead and smile or shake my head.

I'm banking on that smile.