Category Archives: Family

I’m Baaaaaa – ck

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As I prepared for my recent trip to England for a wedding, I became unsure how much to disclose on the internet. Most of the people who consistently read my blog already knew that I was going, but I had some (perhaps) irrational fear of stranger danger while I was gone. I suppose it’s possible that someone could figure out where I live and break in, not that there’s much beyond electronics to steal. Anyway, I’m home again, my house was fine, and I’m full of new stories to tell. I appreciate that you hung in there with me while I was on hiatus from blogging.

When I came back through U.S. customs, I struggled with one of the questions on the customs declaration card — something about having been up close and personal with any livestock or a farm. Although I didn’t ride any horses and didn’t actually touch any sheep, they were everywhere. Lambies here, lambies there, everywhere a lambie. Even the wedding venue had sheep up close to the fence that separated Kingscote Barn from the actual working farm. From what I understand, the intent is to keep people from bringing in animal-borne disease, so I said I hadn’t been near any farm animals. It’s just another one of those nuances of the English language that people who write questionnaires don’t seem to understand. You have to be exact about what you are asking and why you are asking it, or you won’t get the response that you need. But my rant about precise language can be saved for another day. You’re here to find out about the lambs.

That’s another thing. Silence of the lambs. I didn’t notice any silence. The lambs baaa — ed all day and much of the night. I’ve never lived near where there are actual sheep and cows in close proximity and within hearing distance. For a time while growing up, we did have goats that bleated and a rooster that crowed, but they didn’t seem so omnipresent as these sheep were. Perhaps I’ve been away from the countryside too long and just don’t remember the sounds of rural Ohio.

The setting for the wedding in a restored 17th Century Cotswold barn was extraordinarily beautiful, despite the sounds of the sheep, and both the bride and groom looked stunning.

Even though this was one big pain in my patootie to go to this wedding in the Cotswolds while school was in session (think volcano erupting and union contracts limiting the amount of days I can be gone from school), it was worth every minute and every dollar. If you ever get a chance to attend a country wedding in England, JUST GO. You won’t regret it.

Losing It: Week 9

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Every time Friday rolls around, I just hang my head in shame. How could another week have gone by without losing any weight?

I always have an excuse; this week’s excuse was the death and funeral of my husband’s stepmother. We lost his mother eleven years ago, my father in June 2009, his father in September 2009, and now his stepmother. My mother remains, but she isn’t in very good health and could also go at any time. It’s been a really hard year for our family.

The thing is, we human beings use food to bring us together. Families in crisis gather around tables groaning under the weight of our comfort food. Normally, our lives are so busy that we pick up junk to fill our stomachs, but that junk food doesn’t fill our spirits. When something like a death in the family occurs, we stop cold. And out comes the food and drink along with the family memories and traditions.

This week I celebrated the life of a smart, witty, and generous woman who will be missed by her family and friends. With that celebration came a lot of food and abnormal patterns in my life.

I’m hoping that next week is “normal,” whatever that is. I need to create a new normal in my life that includes smaller portion sizes, fewer carbohydrates, and more meal planning. Keep sending good thoughts my way; I need them.

Living Green: Reduce and Reuse

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We’ve been trying to make some lifestyle changes around our house, starting with giving things away that we don’t use effectively. This photo is not our house, but I was embarrassed to take a photo of my garage.

One of our plans is to pass down family heirlooms to the next generation, which is what we did with Gram’s Hoosier. My next objective in that goal is to take digital photos of all of the heirloom china and knickknacks that I’m ready to pass on and send an email out to the families for them to choose from the antiques and photos. I hope people actually want the stuff.

I heard a story this weekend about a grandmother who was told that “nobody wanted her old junk” so she put it out on the curb. When my friend drove past grandma’s house, there were family heirlooms awaiting the garbage man or the pickers. Needless to say, that “junk” now has an honored home in my friend’s house.

The house next door to me has been vacant for two years since my dear neighbor passed away unexpectedly, and even after several estate and garage sales, there are still family photos and her treasured Ukrainian knickknacks in what is essentially an abandoned house. She must be turning over in her grave.

I don’t want to be the person whose heart is broken watching her stuff get thrown out, so I’m taking care of it myself now. I’m going through items piece by piece and deciding what can be passed on to family, what can be donated, and what can be sold. If nobody in the family wants your stuff, here are some green options instead of putting more of our cast-offs in landfills.

  1. There is an international organization called the Freecycle Network where you can donate and request items for free. What a great way to share your treasures with someone who actually wants them!
  2. You can sell items on ebay.com. We have a local ebay seller who does all the work for you and you get back about 50% of any sales he makes. You could do it yourself if you have time, but for me, this is the best way. My local ebay guy says that items with trademarks, patent numbers, or recognizable brands sell better than random unmarked items. Obviously, people are wary of counterfeits, so having the best photos possible is the key to success. Remember, one grandma’s trash is another person’s treasure.
  3. Musical instruments that are still playable can be donated to local music organizations. They use them as starter instruments for kids who can’t afford their own instruments. I’m donating my old violins to the Music Institute of Chicago. They need some repair, but could easily be reconditioned by qualified musical instrument repairers.
  4. The obvious and easiest solution is to load it all up in the car and tote it down to Goodwill or call up any of those local donation places and they’ll even come and pick it up.

Here’s another set of thoughts on STUFF, courtesy of Complete Organizing Solutions. Enjoy reading more viewpoints and eliminate the stuff that’s dragging you down. Share your story if you want to… we’re listening and looking for advice.

It’s Revolutionary

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Having just watched Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution for the first time, I am reminded of my upbringing in the “wilds” of central Ohio. We ate food from the garden all year — we planted it, watered it, picked it, and then preserved it in a variety of ways. We raised and butchered chickens and goats. We did it to stretch my father’s meager teacher’s salary and we hated almost every minute of it. We were jealous of the kids who got to eat processed food at school in the lunchline. As it turns out, we were healthier than we knew.

Here’s an interesting article from the New York Times that spoke to my heart. It combines a book review, food, and humor all in one gulp. Thanks to Martha for sharing it. Cooking with Dexter

I’m going online to find me a foodie book club.

The Mask

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Last night I slept at a hospital sleep clinic wearing a plastic cone over my nose, elastic headgear bands on my head,  and electrodes all over my body. Yet, the lovely tech Iva said that I slept soundly, perhaps more soundly than I have slept in years.

I was really frightened of wearing a mask over my face.  When I was at 4-H camp somewhere in the 1960s, I got in too deep in the swimming pool, panicked, and couldn’t swim my way back. I had to be pulled out of the pool. Then, when our kids were little, we took them to a water park. Once again, I got out too deep, but this time got below the crowded mass of inner tubes in the wave pool. I could not get purchase on the pool floor and could not get myself up through the inner tubes. A very aware lifeguard saw me trying to bob up, and once again, I was saved. Is it any wonder that I don’t like to have things covering my nose and mouth?

I’ve always wanted to be able to snorkel and scuba dive. The thought of seeing the underwater world holds such a pull for me, but believe me, I’ve tried. I just can’t do it. And my fears have manifested in how I raised my children. My son has never forgiven me for making him wear a life belt when he was diving off the boat in Jamaica.

When I was younger, I loved the challenge of jumping off a diving board. We’re not talking about the diving board on the pool edge, we’re talking about the high dives. I would go plummeting into the water, and then immediately would frantically claw my way to the top. The rush was worth it.

Now, not so much. My darling husband knew I was scared about this and he went with me to help me get comfortable with the mask so that I could fall asleep. We discussed taking a photo of me for the blog covered in electrodes and mask, but vetoed it. You will just have to imagine how lovely I looked. When it became clear I could handle it, he went home. What a treasure he is!

I am surprised that I did handle it as well as I did. Perhaps the alternative of continuing sleep apnea and eventual heart problems is even more scary than wearing the mask. I just know that I was determined.

I have been supported in this by many friends; thanks to all of you who offered advice and stories of positive outcomes.

Photo courtesy of kendallkirkham

To paraphrase Tim Gunn, I’m gonna “make it work, people.”

The Irony of the Lady at the Piano

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Readers, beware! This post is one of those where I can’t help but teach some art and architecture history. If you really hate that stuff, just look at the pictures. I’ll understand and won’t fault you for it.

My conversation with my mother and my niece about the Impressionist copies that I grew up with prompted me to find out if the original of Lady at the Piano (1875) by Pierre Auguste Renoir was  in the Musée d’Orsay where I could visit it this summer.

I have been wanting to visit the Musée d’Orsay for at least twelve years, ever since my daughter came back from her Grandtravel trip to Paris and couldn’t stop talking about the museum’s glories.

It’s such a romantic old-world story. The museum sits in the center of Paris on the banks of the Seine, opposite the Tuileries Gardens, and was the site of royal promenades, a boat dock, cavalry barracks and the Palais d’Orsay, a government building that was burned down during the Paris Commune in 1871, along with the entire neighborhood. For thirty years, the ruins of the Palais d’Orsay served as reminders of the horrors of civil war.

The French government gave the land to the railroad company, and the Gare d’Orsay train station and a hotel were built on the site for the Universal Exposition of 1900. Designed in the Art Nouveau style, the Exposition celebrated the achievements of the past century and encouraged new development for the future. The Second Olympic Games were part of the Exposition, and both the Exposition and the Olympics were revolutionary in their inclusion of African American (Exposé nègre) contributions as well as being the first time female athletes participated in the Olympics.

Following the Exposition, the train station became unusable because its platforms were too short and it served a number of other functions. By 1975, the building was threatened with demolition, but it was given landmark designation and a new museum was to be installed in the train station, in which all of the arts from the second half of the 19th century would be represented. As a prime example of Art Nouveau architecture, the building itself could be seen as the first “work of art” in the Musee d’Orsay, which now displays collections of art from the period 1848 to 1914, including an impressive group of Impressionists. Ironically, it took many years for the now iconic Impressionists and Realists to be exhibited in state-sponsored museums. When the museum opened to the public in 1986, a carefully organized acquisitional plan had allowed the museum to gather art from other museums where it had been housed and to also buy and display art from private collectors. In its short history, the museum has been visited by well over 65 million art lovers.

And it doesn’t house the painting I was looking for.

So where is my lady at the piano? She’s right here in Chicago, at the Art Institute, and I don’t have to fly across the Atlantic Ocean to visit her. Isn’t it ironic?

This one’s for you, Mom

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I grew up with a copy of this Renoir painting in our living room over the organ. It was a cheap copy but we loved it. I was in a friend’s house this week and saw their print of this painting and decided that I need one in my own house. It’s called Two Sisters (1881) and it is owned by the Art Institute of Chicago. I talked to my mother today, and although she is rarely lucid now, she clearly remembered the print and that my brother has it in his home. I think I will go visit it at the Art Institute this weekend in honor of my parents. Maybe I’ll buy a red hat, too.

There is no sense in crying over spilt milk — Sophocles

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This post was previously published on November 15, 2009. I’m migrating my old posts over to WordPress. Here’s one for you in case you missed it.

What do you do when a book is comes highly recommended and you read it and wish you had not invested the fifteen dollars in it? Do you question the taste of the recommender? Or do you search for something in yourself that missed the central core of the story? I’ve been struggling with French Milk by Lucy Knisley for weeks.

Okay — so the source of the recommendation was a twenty-something associate at Borders Books and I’m not twenty-something. Perhaps that is the problem, but I usually enjoy the books that my daughter and her friends read. French Milk is the memoir of an Art Institute of Chicago student who spends five weeks in Paris with her mother. They rent a flat, enjoy the culture and food of France, and have a good time getting to know each other as adults. The title refers to the author’s love affair with the full-fat milk that is served in France. Knisley is a cartoon artist, so the story is presented as a graphic diary. She’s creative and witty, and her drawings are beautifully detailed, but I just wished there were more words!

According to a Publishers Weekly reviewer on Amazon.com, French Milk was originally self published and became a word-of-mouth hit that led to mainstream publication with Simon and Schuster. Given the popularity of graphic novels, Knisley hit the big time at the right time. Despite its cartoon format, it is primarily a travel diary. Lucy’s schedule encourages the reader to invest leisurely time in Paris rather than trying to see it all in four days, as I plan to do. I know it’s wrong, and I’m pretty sure I won’t be satisfied with the whirlwind tour of Paris that’s in my agenda this summer.

When I bought French Milk at Borders, I also bought The Hunger Games. The same associate told me that I HAD to buy the sequel as well since I was going to want to read it immediately after finishing Hunger Games. Now I’m worried that the sequel to Hunger Games won’t be worth reading either. I’ve already heard from my friends that it’s not as good as the first book, and I haven’t been clamoring to get it back from the friend I lent it to. I guess the moral to this story is to use my public library first.

Does anyone want to borrow French Milk? I own it.

Postscript to this entry: I lent French Milk to Vanderbilt Wife. You’ll have to ask her for it. I have not read the sequel to Hunger Games yet, but will soon.

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