New Tricks

Maybe, as they say, you can't teach an old dog new tricks. Well, then I'm glad I'm not a dog. I need to believe that I'm still capable of learning a trick or two. If not hope, then what have we?

This morning, sipping coffee and planning my day, I thought:

Hey, I have a laptop now (thanks to my darling friend, Lynne, who sent me hers since she was no longer using it)! And I have a memory card for my phone, which, if not quite a smart phone, is still marginally brighter than my old one in that it takes pretty good pictures. Maybe I can figure out how to use the memory card to transfer photos from my phone to my laptop...then I could write a blog showing off my new skills. I could call it "New Tricks!"

With the memory card in place, I snapped my first photo of the day -- my bedside lamp, its light reflected in the window behind it. There's something about that lamp that I love--maybe the fact that it belonged to my mom. I've taken pictures of it before. I've even attempted to draw it on my if-not-quite-smart,-then-somewhat-resourceful phone...

I removed the card from the phone, figured out how to insert it into the adapter, then slid the adapter into my card reader. So far, so good. It fit right into the little slot on the side of the laptop. Yes! I was even able to figure out how to access the information on the card. What?! All the files were "empty."

My in-house techie, Jordyn, is away for the weekend. That means that project is on hold--for now.

But wait! I do have a little something up my sleeve...

Having dropped my oxygen canister onto my beloved Little Red Digital Camera earlier this year, rendering it broken, I naturally assumed ownership of My Awesome Husband Greg's digital camera. He rarely uses it now, because his phone is so smart it should be in Mensa. It takes awesome photos.

And although my relationship with my "new" camera has yet to become intimate--there will never be another Little Red for me--I have figured out the basics of snapping photos. I can also use the card reader to transfer the photos to my computer. Hence, the photo below, which I have decided to call "Reflected Light."

So I can new learn new tricks. It just takes longer than it used to. I'll have to get back to you on that phone/photo/computer trick...

Anniversary

We were married! We'd dated, gotten engaged and survived planning our wedding. We'd enjoyed our reception so much that we were practically the last ones to leave. Now we were flying free...

This photo of the old biplane that pulled My Awesome Husband Greg and me up over the Pocono Mountains in a glider--professionally piloted, of course--then cut us free is from our DIY wedding album. It's the kind of album where the photos are permanently affixed by sticky strips of glue that turn yellow after a few years. The cellophane page covers that become brittle with time make the pages dangerous to touch, rendering the entire album unappealing, no matter how precious the memories.

It was 1973. We didn't do selfies back then, but we did take pictures of ourselves on road trips. I took this one as we started out for our "romantic" (that's what all the ads in Bride Magazine promised) Penn Hills honeymoon...

Possibly even more dangerous than texting while driving--taking photos of your spouse while driving...

Tucked among those brittle, sticky, yellowed old pages, I found a poem I had written for Awesome Greg on our 26th anniversary. Apparently I thought it was worth saving, which makes it worth repeating here, perhaps. Elizabeth Barrett Browning had nothing on me, as you can see...

How do I love thee...
How shall I explain?
I love thee like a new umbrella
Loves a gentle rain.

I love thee like a faithful dog
Loves the creaking door
That signals that his master
Has returned to him once more.

I love thee like the empty gut
Loves the morning meal,
And I love thee like a chilly morn
Craves the sunshine's feel.

I love thee like the poet,
With obsessive need to rhyme,
Loves the rare occasion
When there's ample "quiet time."

But mine will soon be over,
So this ballad must end here--
Just know somehow I love you
A little more each year.

Happy Anniversary to My Awesome Husband Greg!

Adaptation

I used to love being with my friends on the tennis court, feeling my energy surge as I charged after that yellow ball, the pleasure being more in running fast and hard than in actually connecting with anything. Except, of course, my friends--sometimes literally.
I thought I would really miss that,

But I've gotten used to it.

I remember getting up in the morning, tying on my shoes and heading out for a run, no matter what the weather.
There was a special joy in starting out on a frigid day, feeling my body create its own heat as I ran, breathing in rhythm with my feet hitting the pavement.
Now I rarely sweat and I barely breathe. My feet are quiet as I walk.
I thought I would hate that,

But I've gotten used to it.

Although it never came naturally to me, I used love to dance. If there was music, I was moving.
Dancing--and wine--made me not care what other people think.
How freeing it was to move in (perceived) sync with whatever was playing, untethered by cares and supplemental oxygen devices.
I was sure I would mourn the loss of dancing,

But I've gotten used to it.

I've always believed that when God closes one door, he opens another, but I never imagined that I would be a person who could find happiness in a recliner, a pile of books, a basket yarn and a remote control.
Sometimes I still move--just not with as much gusto as I used to,

But I've gotten used to it.

Besides, I still have friends and family and wine and cheese and crackers, and life is still greatly pleasurable. I could definitely get used to this...

Jordyn Reads, Revisited

Note: I wrote this post eight years ago, when Jordyn was five years old and just beginning to read. The other night, I had the pleasure of having Jordyn read to me again for the first time in several years. This morning, my daughter, Meagan, told me how pleased she was that Charlie has discovered the joy of reading on her own. Reading is a gift to be treasured, whether it's given or received. I'm so glad I saved this memory of a special time...

Oh look.

Jordyn can read.

Jordyn can read to Kate.

Kate is messy.

Kate spilled coffee on her shirt.

Funny, Funny Kate.

See Jordyn multi-task.

Jordyn can read and play.

Jordyn can read and write.

Jordyn can read and color.

See Jordyn watch TV and read.

Jordyn can read and watch TV and talk.

Jordyn likes to sing and read.

See Jordyn lead an imaginary choir and read.

Oh look. Jordyn can read a book.

Jordyn says,

"See Baby Sally...Hey! I like the way they all have yellow hair!"

Jordyn is smart.

Jordyn is funny.

Kate loves Jordyn.

"Putin Thinks I'm a Genius."

I'm not writing about politics. I would never do that to my blog. It's just that my mind is about to explode, and I have nowhere else to put all the flammable objects floating around in there.

Putin thinks I'm a genius.

What a lovely compliment. I'm also a sucker for a compliment, and I can see how something like that would turn one's head. If Putin said I was pretty, I'd probably want him to be my best friend, too.

I know more than the generals.

Said with complete confidence. Why would anyone question the veracity of that?

I'm going to build a great wall, and Mexico will pay for it. Believe me. Mexico is going to pay for that wall."

And the crowd cheered.

I must be missing something. The people who are under his spell must have something that I don't--some little chip or gem--something that sets them apart from me. I watch and I listen and I, who have always prided myself on being a fast learner (until computers, that is), cannot comprehend.

I alone can fix it.

There's that unadulterated confidence again. Where does it come from? My God, is it possible that he actually believes the things he's saying? Does he listen to himself and think, "I'm a genius?"

Of course he does. I was just hoping that he was the only one, a rare deviant, placed here for our entertainment. But he's not. He has followers--an adoring crowd of rabid believers. They follow his example, trying to make him look like a viable choice for President by pointing out the missteps of his opponents. It's as if they've never met their own candidate.

I have a plan, but I'm not going to tell you what it is, because I like to be unpredictable.

Maybe if it's last call at the bar, and I have a death wish--maybe then that would sound appealing. But unpredictability is not on my list of presidential qualifications.

Like I said, I must be missing something. I hope I never find it.

A List of Memories

It comes around again tomorrow, just like it has every year since I've known him, and probably even before that--My Awesome Husband Greg's birthday.

Thinking that I'd like to honor him with a blog and thinking about how to approach writing it, I decided to borrow an idea from my friend, Cindy, who has been posting daily since the first of the year. Once a week, she shares a list. So the following is a (somewhat) chronological list of memories for you, Awesome Greg...

1. The summer when I was 11, my mom came into the kitchen one day with the mail and handed me an envelope. I'll never forget how impressive my name looked, boldly printed in black ink across the envelope. I can't remember if there was a return address, but I recall my face getting warm as Mom stood there watching me read...

"Dear Kathy, I've been watching and wondering how a pretty girl like you could be the girlfriend of an It like ______." (The name has been omitted to protect the innocent.) It was signed "Greg Fischer."

I only knew you then as the kid who lived next door to the Bommaritos. One day as we were pulling out of their driveway, there you were, up in the tree, singing "If I knew you were coming, I'd have baked a cake."

2. Riding the trolley car downtown during Lapeer Days, looking over my shoulder, and seeing you staring at me. You looked away, but I knew you'd been watching me. That was just a few days before I got your letter.

3. Seeing you in the halls at school, passing a few notes, but never having a conversation because I was so shy.

4. When I was 17 and had just broken up with _______ (again, name omitted to protect the innocent). The rich, smooth voice on the phone said, "Kathy, this is Greg Fischer." We went out that weekend, and I don't think there have been more than a dozen weekends in the last 43 years that we haven't spent together.

5. That time shortly after we started dating, when Mom and Dad went away for the weekend and left me in charge (details omitted to protect the innocent), and we got in trouble because Mom bribed Missy with candy.

6. When we got married at Immaculate Conception Church, and Pam and I giggled through the entire ceremony, kneeling beside each other up there on the altar. Maybe that's how I managed to get through it...I wasn't really paying attention.

7. When Meagan was born, and you weren't allowed to be in the delivery room. We didn't know whether we were having a boy or a girl, and the nurses thought it would be funny not to tell you. They brought her out to you and had you look in her diaper. You had been so hoping for a boy that you wore a blue shirt, but of course that all flew out the window as soon as you saw her. We drove her home from the hospital a week later in your "company car." Remember that big black Buick with the red velvet interior? We didn't even have a car seat!

Of course I have enough memories--45 years' worth--for at least a dozen blogs, but this is where this one ends. The list goes on, of course, and will hopefully continue to do so for a long time, but you know what I mean.

Happy Birthday, Honey. I love you forever!

Remembering and Otherwise Occupying My Mind

The day before Labor Day, two days after Tropical Storm Hermine blew through, and about as perfect a September day as you could ask for. Low humidity, good air quality...I'm going for a walk!

I like this neighborhood. The houses aren't fancy, but the trees are large and plentiful. I'd be happy to live in a shanty, as long as I could have one perfect tree in my front yard and a window to look out all day long. And maybe someone like My Awesome Husband Greg to keep the window clean for me.

***

That family in their driveway with kayaks strapped to the top of their car--the little boy is so excited, he can't keep from jumping on his invisible pogo stick. They must be headed to the lake to enjoy summer's last official weekend. The sound of their car door slamming just took me back...

I remember when Mom and Dad bought the place on Elk Lake. Now that was a shanty. Really, just a shell of a house. No interior walls or insulation; nothing that would make it appealing in the winter (unless you wanted to sneak in through a window and snuggle with your boyfriend for a while), but perfect for a Michigan summer. Not only was there a gigantic weeping willow, but there was a lake! Closing my eyes, I can hear the sound of screen doors snapping shut across the water, and voices calling to each other--especially kids' voices. Outboard motors being cranked...I can smell the gasoline and hear the water being churned in their wake.

I was in high school. We called it "going to the cottage," and the stress of getting everything together for all (then) five of us kids resulted in plenty of stress for Mom and Dad, and lots recreational arguing for the rest of us. But it was always with a great sense of adventure that we finally piled into the car and moved there for the summer. (In a related story--one which is not mine to tell--my baby brother Jason was conceived out there, according to family lore; but perhaps that's too much information for now.)

The sounds, the scents, the sights of summer. They take me back better than any photograph ever could. I think I could bear losing a few of my short-term memories, as long as I could keep all those old ones where I love to dwell.

***

Those signs for congressmen in that yard...are those guys Republicans or Democrats? I can't tell, and normally, I wouldn't care. But this is not a normal election, and it's making me say and do crazy things. I've become absolutely vituperative! I nearly stroked out the other day when we got that questionnaire from the Donald himself, asking for credit card information so we could contribute to his campaign. Who did he think he was sending that to?!! I had the entire thing filled out, using every version of the f-word that I could think of (and some I'd made up) before Awesome Greg got a chance to look at it. Today I noticed that he had "mailed" it into the trash basket. Probably better that way.

***

I love holidays. I love my family. Holidays make me sorely miss the ones who are gone. Dad especially loved holidays. He loved getting the family together, and he loved going to the cottage. Getting old is not easy, nor is it always fun (although it can be funny). Remembering makes me feel young again, and memories are fun to play with.

I'm not posting this until the day after Labor Day, so I'll wish you all a wonderful holiday--the kind from which happy memories grow--belatedly.