Day is Done, Gone the Fun

She (our 4-year-old granddaughter) pushed her cousin (our almost-8-year-old grandson) off the drifting pontoon boat first, and then her uncle pretended to return the favor and almost-but-not-quite sent her flying off the edge as well.  She howled as if truly panicked by his shove.  There was more scuttle and mock threats coupled with laughter, and she eventually jumped into the lake on her own with great relish – ker-sploosh!

Meanwhile as the sun dipped below the western horizon, four of us watched the other six (3 adults, 3 kids) swim around the boat.  Eventually the adventurous swimmers crawled up the ladder and wrapped themselves in beach towels so we could continue our evening ride around the lake. 

Once home the revelry shifted to include skateboarding on the deck and hammock swinging.  The grandkids rummaged in the kitchen and discovered sustenance to carry on a bit longer (corn chips and ice cream bars).  At 11:00 I was saturated with so much fun and ready for bed, although the others seemed in high gear and were reluctant to leave.

It is now 11:06; the house is finally quiet.  Day is done, gone the sun…and the fun.  Until the next time.

The Recital

The lights dimmed.  The audience grew hushed. 

Groups of elegantly costumed dancers of various ages and proficiencies took turns emerging from the curtains to perform their practiced recital choreographies. When the more advanced ballerinas appeared on stage to spin and glide with grace, excellence, and poise, they called out my latent desire to dance.  A discarded passion leapt within me.

As they floated back and forth across the stage and tip-toed on pointe, my heart pounded and my mouth hung open.  What WAS that feeling?  Where did it come from? Embarrassed, I looked to either side to see if anyone noticed my overreaction.  Of course they didn’t. 

I’ve felt these kinds of stirrings for as long as I can remember – the desire to creatively express myself to music through movement – although I never had the first ballet class.  However, whenever I’ve watched others dance and let myself vicariously immerse myself in their performance, some lost part of me has seemed to come home.   

Let the Good Times Roll!

A couple of grandsons (brothers ages 11 and 8) visited for a few days this week while other family members also came and went.  I loved watching these guys demonstrate their simple equation: boys + turtles + fish + kayaks + tubes = Good Times!

(Another) Experiment in Raw Food

Six years ago today (June 6, 2006) I launched an experiment: a diet of unheated, unrefined (raw) fruits, veggies, nuts and seeds in their most natural form representing the original fare in the Garden of Eden. Within a few days I felt wonderful, ten years younger, clearer-headed, almost euphoric.  Nearly unstoppable. 

In the weeks that followed I found creative recipes online posted by “raw foodists” who ranged from gourmet raw chefs to lay cooks like myself.  I began occasionally enjoying desserts like raw chocolate mousse or date-nut torte as well as everyday fare like dehydrated crackers (dehydrating doesn’t destroy living enzymes so the food is still considered raw) spread with nut cheese – and of course lots of SALAD. The longer I ate this way the more convinced I was that it was not just a good idea but The Supreme Idea. I still enjoy looking at pictures of myself from that era.  The good health showed.

My experiment lasted the entire summer and beyond, but eventually circumstances and expectations wore down my resolve until I slowly caved in to more and more cooked, refined foods.  While still eating a large percentage of raw food 18 months later, I’d also shifted back to many “typical” foods on the sad, sad SAD (Standard American Diet). During the past year I’ve continued to eat raw salad every day but have sadly (Standard American Diet type sadly) also fallen prey to old food addictions that too often make me feel sick, tired, and frazzled.

Today I’m tired of feeling sick and tired, and this morning decided (for the millionth time, but with more resolve because of the 6-year-anniversary date) to give raw food a go again – or at least the 65-85% raw goal recommended by some in the raw community.  Yes, I will cook for the masses all summer when they show up here at the lake.  Burgers and barbecued chicken on the grill, oven fries and my own dips for the potato and corn chips, homemade cinnamon rolls and chocolate-mint crinkle cookies.  But I cooked for them once before and ate like a raw purist anyway.  Can I do it again?

The Pulse

Each day has a unique pulse that hammers out a drumbeat of ebb and flow.  Energy and activity, emotion and expression, loss and gain, discouragement and hope define the score.     

Today’s revved staccato pulse kept me hopping vicariously as well as actually.  Tonight I’m ready for some lazy legato and….zzzzzzz….sleep.

Fixated

Sure he’s a golden retriever, but HONESTLY.  Does that explain standing for hours on end like a hypnotized canine statue in the lake?  Staring into the water like a doggone zombie?

We assume he’s watching minnows or reflected patches of sunlight, but I’ve never seen such intense long-term concentration in either man or beast.  Surely he thinks he’s an aquatic animal, just waiting to grow fins. 

When tied on dry land by a rope to the screw-in post in the yard, he paces the waterfront nervously with edgy addiction.   When unleashed, he returns immediately to his aquatic job.

I watch, partially confused and partially envious.  How curious, to be so fixated.  How wonderful, to be able to tune out the rest of the world and focus so completely. 

Broken Stuff

While most things around here are fine, and in working order, we also have a fair share of broken stuff.  Plans to repair/replace/remodel lurk just around the corner, which is why we’ve adopted a let-it-all-pile-up-and-then-we’ll-overhaul-everything-all-at-once mindset. So we’re not really being negligent, just smart.  We don’t want to end up doing something twice or in the wrong order.

A few examples of our broken stuff:

The door handle.  Actually there is no handle.  To be accurate, the supporting parts are still there, but without the vertical bar to grab and pull.  But let’s be honest. THE WHOLE SLIDING DOOR sticks.  You have to be Tarzan (or in my case, Jane) to open/shut the thing.  We plan to get a new door when we remodel, so why replace the old handle?

The other door handle - the one on the storm door on the other side of the house - is gone. I repeat, there’s NO HANDLE, just a hole.  That door hangs crooked and doesn’t shut tight, which invites the darling Chip-n’-Dales (chipmunks) to waltz right on into the house.  Unhindered.  This entire door will also be replaced, so it makes no sense to spend money on a handle for the old one.

The window screen on a dining room window.  The screen is pulled out at the bottom allowing easy entry to skeeters and whatever other nocturnal creepy-crawly and/or winged insects are drawn to the light.   At the same window, the glass is cracked.  IF we get new windows (a hopeful option), issues like these in the old ones will no longer matter.

The oven.  Fortunately we have small stack ovens (2 units on top of each other dated 1961), and the bottom one (big enough to accommodate one cookie sheet) still works.  The top one (big enough to accommodate two cookie sheets) is shot.  The element has been clamoring for retirement for a long time, and it finally decided to quit.  Since I still have limited oven function, we’ll wait to order a new one.  So far the model I like that fits the opening has consumer reviews that say the control panel conks out after about 4 years.  So I’m still researching.

The refrigerator. The extra one in the storage room. It chugs along reliably (I’m envisioning those scrappy-looking old gray-haired Shriners in the Christmas parade who keep up a steady pace on their scooters) as long as you don’t open the door multiple times on a hot-hot day.  Then it just can’t keep up.  And the food gets warm.  And I start coaching everyone in my sweetest voice, “Now the frig isn’t doing very well today, so don’t get in there unless you absolutely HAVE to.”  But then those darling grandkids or their darling parents HAVE to get SOMETHING about every 30 minutes.  Yes, we need to replace it, but in the new house configuration I’m not sure WHERE the extra frig will be located?  Somehow I just want to wait until I know its final resting place.

The bathroom sink stopper.  It got tired and crashed in the down position. Water couldn’t drain. So we took it out.  Hopefully the entire bathroom will be torn out and redone, which brings me to…

The curling bathroom linoleum.  It just keeps pulling up around the edges.  Recently we patched another kind and color of flooring (leftover from another room) behind the toilet – functional, but a nasty mis-matched look.  However, who wants to fix the floor when the walls need to be torn out first? We might as well wait for the overhaul.

There are more examples, but you get the picture.  I think I’ll stop here.

The point? Our broken stuff will soon be fixed, probably within the next few months.  It’s always good to upgrade, and yet there’s something bittersweet about letting go of things that have mattered, served us well, and/or marked a certain era of our lives.  New is good and needful, while old is....nostalgic.  Reminiscent of what has been.