Boy, life is hard sometimes!
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
House of the Two Grandmothers
Back in the day, old folks lived with young folks. Aging parents lived with their children. Mother’s grandmother sat in a rocking chair by the fireplace, keeping warm in the days before central heat. Daddy’s mother lived for years with one of her daughters. Today, my friend Max is the rarity, living with his mother, to enable her to stay in her home.
And there’s the House of the Two Grandmothers, so named because my cousin Richard and his wife Anne moved in with Anne’s mother Barbara after her father died at 99, and a year or so later, moved Richard’s mother, my beloved Aunt Vivian in with them.
Pictured headed for a wedding in NJ, with my mother along for the ride, sporting hats from the attic...but not worn for the wedding. (Photo by Catherine.)
Transportation for the two grandmothers:
Anne is a nurse and works nights at the hospital. Richard stays home with the two grandmothers, making sure they eat the delicious food he cooks, getting them outside in the back yard for fresh air (amused by the illegal chickens), keeping track of their medication, ensuring they take it. Somewhere in this universe is a hidden supply of patience from which they draw, even-tempered and with good humor.
On Monday, we all piled into my van and headed for the favorite eatery: Cracker Barrel. Cane-wielding grandmothers, their children giving them careful instructions on getting into and out of the seats of the van so nothing broke in the transfer.
Last night, Anne’s birthday, daughter Catherine and son David with wife Zoa and three kidlets including toddler, arrived to celebrate. Total in house: Two grandmothers, my mother, Richard, Anne, Catherine, David, Zoa, 8 year old Gwendolyn, 6 year old Katelyn, year old Alex, moi, my two canines, Molly the resident Corgi
who is none too happy about my two little four-legged intruders. It wasn’t too long before I hid under the sofa.
Today, Anne’s day off, she and my mother are making peach preserves, with the two grandmothers supervising. I just heard Anne tell Aunt Vivian in a gentle voice, “You’re quality control.” On my day off, I don’t know what I’d be doing but it wouldn’t be making peach preserves.
Anne and Richard revel in the presence of their children and grandchildren. They move gently with the daily needs of the two grandmothers, as those needs become greater. Their willingness and ability to find themselves through their interactions with others is a gift not granted to all of us.
I’d go nuts, but it works for them. And two wonderful old women live richer, safer lives.
And there’s the House of the Two Grandmothers, so named because my cousin Richard and his wife Anne moved in with Anne’s mother Barbara after her father died at 99, and a year or so later, moved Richard’s mother, my beloved Aunt Vivian in with them.
Pictured headed for a wedding in NJ, with my mother along for the ride, sporting hats from the attic...but not worn for the wedding. (Photo by Catherine.)
Transportation for the two grandmothers:
Anne is a nurse and works nights at the hospital. Richard stays home with the two grandmothers, making sure they eat the delicious food he cooks, getting them outside in the back yard for fresh air (amused by the illegal chickens), keeping track of their medication, ensuring they take it. Somewhere in this universe is a hidden supply of patience from which they draw, even-tempered and with good humor.
On Monday, we all piled into my van and headed for the favorite eatery: Cracker Barrel. Cane-wielding grandmothers, their children giving them careful instructions on getting into and out of the seats of the van so nothing broke in the transfer.
Last night, Anne’s birthday, daughter Catherine and son David with wife Zoa and three kidlets including toddler, arrived to celebrate. Total in house: Two grandmothers, my mother, Richard, Anne, Catherine, David, Zoa, 8 year old Gwendolyn, 6 year old Katelyn, year old Alex, moi, my two canines, Molly the resident Corgi
who is none too happy about my two little four-legged intruders. It wasn’t too long before I hid under the sofa.
Today, Anne’s day off, she and my mother are making peach preserves, with the two grandmothers supervising. I just heard Anne tell Aunt Vivian in a gentle voice, “You’re quality control.” On my day off, I don’t know what I’d be doing but it wouldn’t be making peach preserves.
Anne and Richard revel in the presence of their children and grandchildren. They move gently with the daily needs of the two grandmothers, as those needs become greater. Their willingness and ability to find themselves through their interactions with others is a gift not granted to all of us.
I’d go nuts, but it works for them. And two wonderful old women live richer, safer lives.
Yup, the Earth Moved
If it ain’t one thing
I was in a small grocery store in Richmond during the earthquake, and guess I was too dumb to be scared. Things started falling off the shelves and I just thought someone in the other aisle was pushing too hard. Then something fell off and broke. I looked up and the ceiling was shaking. More things slithered gently off the shelves. By this time the notion that perhaps this might be an earthquake flitted into my brain….and the motion stopped.
Frankly, it was no big deal…….or I’m just dumb…….or both.
Now, I head to South Carolina, just in time to meet Irene.
It's another......
(check out the blue links to the music)
I was in a small grocery store in Richmond during the earthquake, and guess I was too dumb to be scared. Things started falling off the shelves and I just thought someone in the other aisle was pushing too hard. Then something fell off and broke. I looked up and the ceiling was shaking. More things slithered gently off the shelves. By this time the notion that perhaps this might be an earthquake flitted into my brain….and the motion stopped.
Frankly, it was no big deal…….or I’m just dumb…….or both.
Now, I head to South Carolina, just in time to meet Irene.
It's another......
(check out the blue links to the music)
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Senior Year!
Not mine, silly, Chantal's.
The more senior senior pushing the younger senior into the dorm in "the chair."
Very different young woman than freshman year (she may kill me for this photo!!)
The more senior senior pushing the younger senior into the dorm in "the chair."
Very different young woman than freshman year (she may kill me for this photo!!)
Yes, Honey
Super with frames is on....
Bees humming in and out......
Honey in the making.....this time next year 'twill be harvested, but this new hive needs it to winter over.
Suzanne's brother Doug is the beekeeper here.
When I'm not in the Winery Kitchen
I drink "swamp water" a secret blend of lemondade and iced tea...
While singing off key with the band....
While singing off key with the band....
Who's Who in Pictures
Suzanne aka "She Who Keeps It All Going" and her son David the Winemaker
Cousin Clint who lives across the road
Susie, Clint's baby sister, who lives down the road
Chris and Jerry, whose place adjoins the winery, along with Chris' BIL who's the father of Killen Time lead Blake.
The Right to Poop
Although we’ll have public water, the public sewer does not yet extend out onto the mountain, so in order to build, I have to have a poop permit. Well, around here, it’s a permit for a septic system, and I wanted a conventional septic system. They’re less expensive and easier to maintain than alternative systems. Back in my misspent youth, I might have wanted to install an environmentally friendly alternative system, but alas…. And Mother, having grown up with an outhouse and slop jar has no interest in “back to nature.” Can’t say I blame her. Indoor plumbing and running water are gifts from whatever gods you happen to believe in.
So, back to the dreaded “perc test.” If the land doesn’t perc, no poop permit. I’ve had the perc test explained and I think it boils down to: Depth and breadth of good soil above water table.
Conventional septic permits are hard to come by in Wise County because we sit on rock sifted over with thin soil. I never understood geology, taking a geology course only because I needed another lab science and passing it only because Deb Sterling Cole lent me her notes, so I aced the final, leading my puzzled, sweet professor to delicately explore with me why I had gone from Ds to an A. He completely understood when I told him I’d used Deb’s notes; he knew her, and knew she aced everything and that her notes would be golden. Unfortunately, though I had her notes, I didn’t, and still don’t, have her brain.
We have about 20 acres but are limited in where we can build: access, power poles, and pooping had to be considered.
As you can see (I hope the image is clear), the land is shaped a bit like an ax.
And Grandaddy made a living here: apples were the cash crop and chickens, milk cow, pig, and vegetable garden allowed them to eat well during the depression, and to send two daughters to college. Grandmother made clothes from flour sacks. Mother said since nobody had anything anyway, she didn't know they were poor.
From the main road, the land drops sharply, then rises up a hill….pretty, but cutting a gently sloping drive would be problematic…and setting power poles.
My preference was to build down toward the point, away from the main road, on what we’ve always called the bean field…for the obvious reason. However, I would have had to set two or three power poles, and either get an easement onto a very steep private road or cut a fairly long driveway.
So, the relatively level spot up by the road that Mother said had been the new orchard, back when she was a child. No apple trees remain, though I have a very good crop of poison ivy.
Not much of a market for it, as far as I can ascertain.
To perc: Chris from the Health Department came out,
with his bag of tools
drilled a hole
laid out the soil -- missing the target of 36 - 38 inches
compared soil color to the book and that went into plus column
fingered the soil for texture
repeated the process several times
AND THEN I FLUNKED THE POOP TEST!!!
Brought in the bulldozer, did some trenching. Chris found a spot for the drainfield and that rarity in Wise County, Virginia: a conventional poop permit!!!!!
So, back to the dreaded “perc test.” If the land doesn’t perc, no poop permit. I’ve had the perc test explained and I think it boils down to: Depth and breadth of good soil above water table.
Conventional septic permits are hard to come by in Wise County because we sit on rock sifted over with thin soil. I never understood geology, taking a geology course only because I needed another lab science and passing it only because Deb Sterling Cole lent me her notes, so I aced the final, leading my puzzled, sweet professor to delicately explore with me why I had gone from Ds to an A. He completely understood when I told him I’d used Deb’s notes; he knew her, and knew she aced everything and that her notes would be golden. Unfortunately, though I had her notes, I didn’t, and still don’t, have her brain.
We have about 20 acres but are limited in where we can build: access, power poles, and pooping had to be considered.
As you can see (I hope the image is clear), the land is shaped a bit like an ax.
And Grandaddy made a living here: apples were the cash crop and chickens, milk cow, pig, and vegetable garden allowed them to eat well during the depression, and to send two daughters to college. Grandmother made clothes from flour sacks. Mother said since nobody had anything anyway, she didn't know they were poor.
From the main road, the land drops sharply, then rises up a hill….pretty, but cutting a gently sloping drive would be problematic…and setting power poles.
My preference was to build down toward the point, away from the main road, on what we’ve always called the bean field…for the obvious reason. However, I would have had to set two or three power poles, and either get an easement onto a very steep private road or cut a fairly long driveway.
So, the relatively level spot up by the road that Mother said had been the new orchard, back when she was a child. No apple trees remain, though I have a very good crop of poison ivy.
Not much of a market for it, as far as I can ascertain.
To perc: Chris from the Health Department came out,
with his bag of tools
drilled a hole
laid out the soil -- missing the target of 36 - 38 inches
compared soil color to the book and that went into plus column
fingered the soil for texture
repeated the process several times
AND THEN I FLUNKED THE POOP TEST!!!
Brought in the bulldozer, did some trenching. Chris found a spot for the drainfield and that rarity in Wise County, Virginia: a conventional poop permit!!!!!
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Things I do at the Winery
Aside from sitting around on a Saturday afternoon listening to live music, I do actually make myself useful.
Rolling silver is my forte.
Ah, a task completed. Such satisfaction.
And there's always the scullery work. A confession. Ron and I staged these photos for my blog. However, as soon as he took them, he showed them to Suzanne who dashed into the kitchen, concerned about my well-being. He'd neglected to mention their lack of authenticity.
Most of our food is catered, so we don't cook much, though Suzanne bakes cakes and brownies, and we do cold lunches. Regardless, the kitchen is much too small!
Rolling silver is my forte.
Ah, a task completed. Such satisfaction.
And there's always the scullery work. A confession. Ron and I staged these photos for my blog. However, as soon as he took them, he showed them to Suzanne who dashed into the kitchen, concerned about my well-being. He'd neglected to mention their lack of authenticity.
Most of our food is catered, so we don't cook much, though Suzanne bakes cakes and brownies, and we do cold lunches. Regardless, the kitchen is much too small!
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