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Pushing To Spring

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Coonamesset Farm in bloom

Coonamesset Farm in bloom

This past week has been filled with all sorts of reasons to celebrate. It’s May. There are graduations, Spring is in full force, and, of course, Mother’s Day. All good stuff.

I have had the pleasure of mentoring Gordon since he was a junior at Waltham High. Together we worked on writing critical essays, how to read challenging texts and how to remember to set your alarm to get to class on time. For the past five and a half years, he has put up with me, and I have put up with him…but joyfully so!

Gordon   Class of 2013 Bentley University

Gordon Class of 2013
Bentley University

This past week Gordon successfully completed his final semester at Bentley and will graduate next Saturday. He has invited me to the ceremony, and I’ll sit in the audience, yell and make noise when he receives his diploma, and then I’ll probably blubber into several tissues. He never gave up; he’s the first in his Haitian immigrant family to attend college, the first to graduate, and it’s a very proud moment that I know he’ll savor and appreciate. I can’t wait to see him in his cap and gown.

Mama and Molly

Mama and Molly

Mother’s Day Weekend has been absolutely delightful. Molly and Josh arrived and spoiled me rotten with her fabulous cooking and their wonderful company. Books, recipes, knitting ideas were shared and explored. We reconnected as if we were never apart. Kate and Matt will be visiting soon, but in the meantime, we did our first video Ichat. What a kick–I get to see her face and hear her voice! We gab over hot coffee as if she were next door. I really appreciate that I’ll always love my kids, but just as importantly, I really like them! I’m a lucky lady.

Coonamesset Lettuce

Coonamesset Lettuce

David and I had brunch at Coonamesset Farm today. The food was good, but the farm in springtime was something to behold. There are fallow fields, some lined with small seedlings and others more fully developed.  Everything is in the state of “becoming”. It’s filled with good intentions, hope and demands hard work. It’s also beautiful.

Alpaca deep in thought

Alpaca deep in thought

The farm animals are always a joy to visit. It’s their home and they let us drop in. The alpacas look like little kids with their big eyes and sense of wonder. Their “wool” is spun into the alpaca yarn I’ll be knitting warm hats and shawls with this winter.

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The ducks and chickens are now located together in a large fenced in area. The ducks are laid back, and the chickens seem manic. One unusual, very pretty breed of chicken  has a duo that pace back and forth as if they’re thinking about solving a quadratic equation.

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During the past month I’ve started to practice yoga. I know— I’m clumsy, don’t have an athletic muscle or bone in my body, and have trouble staying still for more than three seconds. This “yoga thing” is amazing. Both of my daughters do it and encouraged me to try. I found an excellent teacher who is succeeding in turning me into a yoga-mama. After four weeks, my chronic back pain is gone, I am more relaxed and centered, and I like doing it. I even speak softly for at least an hour after I’m done. Go figure! It is a most welcomed addition to my life, and I’m grateful.

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Last, but not least, Smitty’s Ice Cream opened for the season this past week. I confess David and I drove on an empty tank of gas to get there. Yes, he got coffee ice cream smothered in butterscotch, and I tried two new flavors: coconut and orange/pineapple. Yum, yum, yum. This cannot become a habit…well maybe one can substitute a cup of ice cream for a lunch???

All of these events (except possibly Smitty’s) share the theme of hope and rebirth that comes from inspiration as well as perspiration. It resonates with me…optimism based on hard work and realizing one’s potential by doing good stuff with focus and determination. Gordon learned how to be a student and reached his goal. The farm will be worked and produce good food and lots of beauty. My daughters have grown up into adults that I am so very proud of; parenting is work and it works. I am learning how to do yoga without falling over; I practice every day. Smitty’s Ice Cream is my exercise in moderation. That might take some time.

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Post Marathon Thoughts

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It has been an overwhelming, scary, intense six days here in Boston. I don’t have any overarching conclusions about terrorism hitting a community I love. I do have a few random thoughts.

1.                  I had forgotten that horrible sense of threat and fear that lived in my heart and belly during 9/11. It forcefully comes back as if it never went away, especially since one of our daughters lives in the neighborhood that was bombed. She just happened to change plans for a late lunch near the finish line Monday and headed to the South End instead. I’m still living with the “what if” scenario in my head.

2.                  We unplugged and removed the TV almost a year ago. All of our news now comes through the internet. That demands lots of reading from different sources and hearing multiple points of view about these horrid events. I do appreciate not having to hear mindless talking heads fill space on the airwaves. It is, however, difficult to knit or quilt while reading, clicking and scrolling down page after page.

3.                  It’s hard to sleep with this turbulence. Lack of sleep makes coherent thinking and any kind of peace difficult to attain. It is far too easy to slip into the general malaise of sadness and anger.

4.                  Keeping in touch with my loved ones via phone, texting, IMing and extended conversations with my hubby are crucial.

5.                  I realize that I can’t change what bad people are going to do to others, but I can take a refresher First Aid course, so I can be more useful if I’m in any one of the awful situations we’ve seen in the past week.

6.                  Giving blood is something else I can do regularly. It’s a gift that keeps on giving. It puts my focus on “life” not fear.

7.                  I have a renewed appreciation and respect for the first responders, law enforcement, and hospital staff. I need to find a way to do something to show that appreciation.

8.                  A woman in line at a store here in Falmouth said she was going to increase the number of Random Acts of Kindness she performs daily—just to try to even the scales a bit. Not a bad idea.

Now it’s time to try to learn something from all this chaos, but also time to move on and to make the most of this gorgeous Sunday. We’re going to take a walk through Spohr’s Gardens and see all of the daffodils in bloom and then hit the bike path along the water.  That’s what I need right now. Hope you and yours are safe, sound, and on the mend.

Spohr's Gardens

Spohr’s Gardens

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Better than PeptoBismol

Fiddleheads

Fiddleheads

Feeding It, Not Eating It

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My head was down, sewing like a madwoman, with threads all over and my eyes on the line my machine was supposed to follow. It was actually quite blissful. At the end of a stretch I saw a head bobbing up and down outside of my studio window. There was a beak, bead-like eyes and a skinny, feathered neck.

Curiosity

Curiosity

This bobbing creature fearlessly came to the window and looked in. We met, eye to eye, and she won the stare down. My sewing fell to the side, and I just had to check out this very confident animal.

It looked bigger than a chicken, nothing like a seagull, a different shape than a crow. I don’t know the names of birds, so I snapped a few photographs of this curious buddy and figured someone on Facebook would know. Maybe a pheasant? Maybe a rooster—no it didn’t have that wobbly gobble thing under its chin.

I wanted to yell upstairs to David to check out this cool sighting, but didn’t want to make noise and scare the poor bird. So I did what every person living in 2013 would do… I sent him an IM and a text message: “Check out the fucking huge bird outside my window”.

Never saw one of these before.

Never saw one of these before.

Big Bird moved from window to window all around the house, stopping to eat nibbles on the ground, and always looking our way to see what we were doing. Bella, our cat, followed inside from window to window; she was quite cautious. Her tail twitched, but no noises were made. This bird was at least three times her size. She knows her place in the universe, but she still had to watch. At times, she’d get overwhelmed and want to be held, with her face pushed in my arm pit (ugh!).

WatchCat

WatchCat

The bird spent most of her time under the bird feeder picking up the leftover goodies. She also ate all of the cranberries I tossed out after Christmas. Quite contented, she ate, and we gawked. David, who is far more quiet than I, slipped out the front door and got two feet away from our feathered friend. He was thinking Jurassic Park…they can’t see me if I don’t move. Snap, Snap,Snap… good pictures!!! Yes!!!!

Birdman

Birdman

Over the course of the next twenty minutes, this gorgeous bird, with all shades of rich brown feathers, explored our front yard. She walked on the stone path, across the dirt and checked out all of the transplanted bushes. Basically, she made her self at home. She even made a huge poop on the front walk…a housewarming gift?

After posting the pix on Facebook, there was feedback. My daughters both responded with awe and interest. Molly identified the guest as a wild female turkey. Both kids thought she was a beauty.

Someone else suggested that if I had a rifle, I could have a great meal, a trophy, and a really interesting blog post to write. I responded that I would be feeding this bird, not eating it. The thought of killing this animal and eating it never crossed my mind. Actually, I was quite grossed out by the comment. The suggestion seemed so wrong, so out of place for something so interesting and very much alive in my front yard. Others posted warnings that wild turkeys can be very aggressive, and I ought to be careful. Maybe they’re only aggressive to people who have rifles.

Wild Turkey Mama Meets Stone Mama

Wild Turkey Mama Meets Stone Mama

The best news was that my friend Katy suggested that this mama turkey might have babies nearby… a whole new generation of these beauties. I will look in earnest, but disturb nothing. Seeing the mama and the babies would be quite a gift. In the meantime, I’ll toss out birdseed and hope everyone else enjoys her as much as I do, poop and all.

Reboot

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Snowdrops, no snow.

One of the joys of living in New England is that we really have seasons—and there are discernible changes that I look forward to every three months. Spring is starting to happen here at the Cape. At first, it’s the small, quiet changes; sunlight enters our bedroom at a different angle and follows us on our daily walk to the beach.

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Bikepath/Surf Drive

The wind blows hard all winter and now it’s lessening, giving the birds a chance to hang on to the limbs and sing a bit. There is a morning chorus starting, and we’re hearing familiar voices. I’ve put out a stash of short scraps of leftover yarn for their nest building. It’s a kick to look up in the trees and see yarn from the sweater I just finished knitting.  Bella, the cat, has renewed interest in standing guard on the window ledge with eyes glued to the bird feeder. “They’re back”, she hollers. Lucky for the birds, she’s an indoor only cat.

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Little Bobo and Butterball

Kittens are starting to arrive at the shelter, just a few; the season is only beginning. They’re so tiny, with little meows and awkward, wobbly movements… and soft, baby fur. There are unbelievably fun to watch and even better to hold and cuddle.

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White Birch- wish there were more.

Trees are still quite grey, but the green bushes are full of plump buds just waiting to show some color. I’m always tempted to clip a few branches and “force” them to bloom inside, but never do because I don’t want to rob the outdoors.

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Rhodos had a hard winter.

The best part for me is seeing some action from the bulbs planted the previous fall. At first, it’s just green nubs barely pushing their way through the dirt. A few days later, it’s more rubbery green leaves, and I hold my breath that we don’t have snow or frost.  Just today the first daffodil bud is standing strong and waiting to open.

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This seasonal stuff gives me the incentive to reboot myself. I get motivation that is often reserved for New Years or back to school. I love the smell of the air, the new night sky, and the excitement that Spring brings. It doesn’t last long, but just enough to savor it and enjoy all the optimism. For me, it will also mean taking my first yoga class, planting lettuce and morning glories in peat pots, rediscovering an old favorite cookbook and starting to knit a new, lighter weight sweater. All good stuff.

Just a hint of color

Just a hint of color.

Nose In A Book

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The past few weeks have been prime reading time for me. I think it might be due to a combination of cold weather, great coffee, and a rich stash of books. I’m also finding that requesting titles from the Falmouth Library means that they do show up unexpectedly and have due dates—so they get bumped to the top of the list.

Good Prose, The Art of Non Fiction by Tracy Kidder and Richard Todd is one of those titles that came recommended somewhere on the internet.This is a rewarding book that keeps delivering treasures in every chapter. The two authors have written stories and advice from a lifetime of writing and editing. It reveals “wordsmithing” as a way of life—and a very enjoyable one. It’s writing well about good writing.

Each author peppers his paragraphs with references to pieces of literature I actually am familiar with, and I am able to make the connections to their arguments. Their text is fully amplified, engaging and rich. My usually complaint about non-fiction is that a typical 300 page book could/should be reduced to a three page magazine article and be done with it. That is not the case with this book. Each chapter explores a topic of interest about writing, and I kept wanting more. Many nights, lights went out on David’s side of the bed and I found myself saying, “just one more chapter and I’ll hit the sack”.  Potato chip reading… ahhhh!

So what makes this book so engaging and delicious? It’s an honest, authentic look at non-fiction writing, and it is full of useful advice. Both Kidder and Todd reveal the truth in the adage, “Writing is Rewriting.” I love the F. Scott Fitzgerald quotation and wish I had it on hand when I was teaching writing: “Rewrite from principle. Don’t just push the same old stuff around. Throw it away and start over.”

It’s also clear that writing is hard work and requires self-editing as well as an editor’s sharp, critical eye. The literary relationship that evolves between Tracy and Todd is a good story in itself…they’re exploring better ways to tell a story. So there are levels and layers of wordy goodness between these covers. If you like to read or like to write, you’ll love this book.

Good Prose also offers a voyeur’s peek into the business of publishing. How shocking to learn that 80% of the books published lose money. Kidder shares that it usually requires ten or more completed drafts and more than a year before one of his publishable books is born.

The reader witnesses the evolution of Kidder as a writer and the role that errors, gross and small play in his work. He pulls back the curtain and let’s us see the story behind the story and how does writing “happen”. Over the years, I have enjoyed Kidder’s other books, and this one helps me figure out why. It also gives me fodder to think about my own writing… and that’s always worthwhile.

There are a few more books that I devoured lately. The first is The Dirty Life by Kristin Kimball. It’s a memoir of her experience farming in Essex, NY, the town next to where I spent my summers on Lake Champlain as a kid. This well educated, NYC girl falls in love with her soul mate who happens to be a devoted, persistent, tenacious farmer who lives his beliefs as he works the soil from daybreak to dark. He’s not all talk; he’s all action. The love story here is really about the love of the land and the community that supports this noble effort.

This memoir certainly takes away the shiny façade of “Isn’t farming fun”. The hard work and constant barrage of uncontrollable events often seems like the life of Job. Days are never ending. “To do” lists have to do with survival, not frivolities. The most significant lesson I learned from their experience is that the hardships of rigorous labor, loss, and self-doubt encountered are seen as the counterbalance to the joy, satisfaction, and appreciation of what is simple and good. It’s all part of a cycle.

Last, but not least is The Cat’s Table by Michael Ondaatje. This novel put me on an oceanic liner for a 21 day journey from Ceylon to England along with three young, unsupervised boys. It is Huck Finn with an international, contemporary twist, complete with coming of age revelations that are golden. Ondaatje recreates the perspective seen by children and allows the reader to make connections. I love this book; I thought about the characters after I put the book down each night and wondered what they were doing while I was asleep.

His writing is artful; I re-read many sentences just to hear them again. The author explores the consequences of adults behaving poorly, loneliness, the excitement of risk, love and camaraderie. We feel what it is like to be the outcast as well as in the “in crowd”. He captures it for us and puts it on a page.

I’m in the middle of two other books that could be game changers for me: More or Less by Jeff Shinabarger further pushes the boundaries of living with less and giving more away. It’s straightforward, not preachy and comes complete with “assignments” to put these words into action.

Eat to Live by Joel Fuhrman, MD is yet another healthy diet book. It came highly recommended by one of my favorite students, so I dove in. So far it looks like a diet of practically no meat, a ton of vegetables and fruits, a lot of beans and no processed foods.

The author recommends abiding by the rules or six weeks before giving up. Not sure about this one…

Let me know what you’re reading. I love having my nose in a book.

 

 

 

2/26/13 Morning Walk to the Beach

Stone Folk

Stone Folk

Today’s morning walk is distinctively different.  New birds are singing new tunes. Change is in the air. There’s still some leftover snow around the yard, but not much elsewhere.

Sippewissett Marsh

Sippewissett Marsh

The marsh is no longer frozen, and the tall grasses are cut down by the blizzard’s wind.

 

Blue Heaven

Blue Heaven

The creek is more blue than ever. Before long there will be beach chairs, towels, and little ones looking for hermit crabs.

Forsythia Buds

Forsythia Buds

And as my wonderful Dad would say, “The forsythias are forsythiating.” Spring is starting to unwind at the Cape.

 

The Burgess Boys- Elizabeth Strout’s New Novel

 

March, 2013 release, Random House

March, 2013 release, Random House

The Burgess Boys is Elizabeth Strout’s latest book and is to be released in March. I just finished reading an advanced copy and am telling you now—go order it.

Strout is masterful at creating characters that are very real. I read this book in a day because I couldn’t put it down. I needed to see what happened to these prople, and I wanted to keep reading her skillfully crafted sentences. Both the product and the process are successful.

You can tell that Strout likes words—and is particular about the words she uses and how she places them. It’s an art, and I’m drawn to her skill set. The Burgess Boys is one of those books that I re-read single sentences multiple times, just to hear them again in my head and marvel at the “wordsmithing”.

She captures the small details that create monumental tension and dysfunction, especially within families. Family members and loved ones are stung in the banter and deceptions of the day. We feel the thorns and, with time, enjoy the roses. The words convey the conflict as well as the family bonds that keep it all together for better or worse.

We see the admirably strong bonds that exist amongst siblings, even when deception, dysfunction and enabling are strong deterrents to the relationships. This tension throughout the novel is engaging and seductive. Stout revels the cost of errors and bad judgment between couples; infidelity is just one variety of estrangement. Do people enter relationships only to get what they need? And what are the consequences of that motivation?

Many times during the course of this novel, characters have to assess whether the pain caused by “loved ones” is worth tolerating. We get examples of likeable characters who put up with unacceptable toxic behavior for years… and others who cut the cord and seek refuge elsewhere. There’s a lot more tolerating than I’m capable of, but I like how Strout shows the options and the consequences. I do find it ironic that more tolerance and latitude is shown toward blood relatives than any other group, even when it is almost fatal. Outsiders are given no leeway before judgment is called.

The author focuses not only on family, but the family in the larger sense: community. What happens when newcomers are only seen as outsiders? She plays with this theme in a variety of ways. Who gains acceptance and who is un-welcomed in a family or in a town. The immigrants from Somalia provide a means to explore prejudice, discrimination, fear and the consequences of clicking one’s emotional “delete button” before knowing a person. Likewise class-ism rears its head; the affluent characters and less affluent ones are seldom on equal or welcomed footing. There is a lack of connection and understanding that is the root of many problems these players encounter. Stout isn’t preachy, she’s an astute observer of human behavior; the reader gets to draw conclusions. It’s all very real.

There is a rhythm, momentum and chemistry to this novel that is constant and captivating. As a reader, I care about the characters and connect to many while staying equally involved with the plot and totally celebrate the writer’s style. What more could I ask for?

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