This, That and What??
This was a bizarre week that tried so hard to be normal. I started the week on Sunday making a schedule of all the stuff that was going on and when I could work in the little odd jobs that needed doing. It was me at my most optimistic.
By Friday, I was going to finish the upstairs room ( Remember that room that was going to be done by April 1st no sweat??) , finish the moldings for the entertainment center at Ron and Val’s cottage, complete the cutting and fitting for Nickie’s storage shelves, build a patio by the waterfall and assemble the plastic part of the new cellar door. Plus make Mass three times, Sister Bridgets on Wednesday, the Franciscans on Wednesday night , visit with Gloria, Michelle and Beth and all the kids at State Park, have breakfast with my old Principal at JC, attend the rotary lunch, go to the Toys for Tots dinner and most importantly use my spare time to go riding. Oh yes, on Thursday, Sue Fox was going on vacation so I would take care of Tootsie the dog, (Who is helping me type this at the moment) and her cats and sometime during the week I needed to get to the zoo to plan a project I was asked to do there. And don’t forget the guitar lesson on Monday and the subsequent practice.
So, I worked out a schedule that tied everything together. Cut moldings and stain, cut shelving pieces while stain dried, use the dirt from the cellar project to build the patio etc. It was like a well planed military campaign.
Then the phone rang. A lady with a water leak she had ignored for five weeks, had been warned several times and who had been mailed a very formal letter explaining that if the leak was not repaired, we would terminate her service, was shocked that we had actually turned off her water. OK minor setback, until we arrived with the intent of quickly turning the water back on, demonstrating the leak and shutting it off again. We did do this, but only after three hours of playing with a touchy valve that didn’t want to cooperate. Back home. Still confident I could beat the week into submission, I tacked the first molding board up so I could scribe the ceiling line on it.
Just a quick note of explanation for all those people who think you buy a piece of molding, measure how long it needs to be, cut it, finish it and permanently put it up. That might work in a room where directions are spoken in terms of “left of the door” , “right of the window” etc. In the room we are redoing the directions are uphill or downhill. The outside wall is three inches higher than the inside wall. That means a regular piece of molding will look really stupid unless it is scribed so that the bottom is level and the top conforms to the ceiling. Repeat on four additional walls and you see how it goes. My plan allowed two hours because of course everything would go smoothly. Four hours later, perfection.
Except a new construction sound was introduced. Now I am familiar with the whoosh and tinkle sound as my hammer slips out of my hand and does a perfect somersault through the window, or the ever popular “thud” as the hammer smacks the wall instead of the nail head, but “Crack”?? It took a while to discover the “crack” had come from the most complicated piece of molding when it – wait for it--- cracked-- as I took it down. Four hours became the next day, which of course threw off the staining and finishing schedule.
By the end of the week, I had finished the patio, done most of the wood work and made the majority of appointments, meetings and events. But the planner in me still thinks I could have gotten it all done if that phone had not rung.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Midsummer Night’s Dream
While studying the Middle Ages, one of the strangest ideas for me to comprehend was that the “starving time” was not in the cold of February or March, but in late June. During a normal year, enough wheat would be milled and stored away in big wooden barrels that modest husbandry skills would get the family through the darkest part of winter.
Late April would usher in spring crops like peas or leaf vegetables. These would last until early June. Then things would get tough. The term “scraping the bottom of the barrel” comes from this period. Cooks would literally be scraping the barrels to get enough to make a meal.( Of course the simplest thing would have been to hunt the forests or fish the streams, but that would result in military target practice with you being the target. )
Then sometime in “Mid Summer” the village Reeve would declare harvesting of wheat could begin the following Monday. This would set off the Mid Summer Night Festival. Everyone would use up all the leftover food and create a gigantic party. The alcohol consumption was probably lower than during most festivals, yet the woods would be filled with bizarre behavior, visions, reported spirit sightings, and more than one very “good” young lady would wake up with more than a hangover. The best description would be a 1967 Hippie party with unlimited free LSD.
AND
There was a good reason it resembled those parties. It WAS one of those parties. It seems that if wheat is stored in a wooden barrel it produces a chemical reaction in which a compound nearly identical to LSD is produced. The longer in the barrel and the more pressure the purer the product. In addition it tends to migrate to the bottom of the barrel. SO --- when mama scraped the last of the wheat for the party bread, she was mixing high quality mind altering drugs right in. The more consumed, the wackier the sights.
So, once again Shakespeare was telling the truth.
While studying the Middle Ages, one of the strangest ideas for me to comprehend was that the “starving time” was not in the cold of February or March, but in late June. During a normal year, enough wheat would be milled and stored away in big wooden barrels that modest husbandry skills would get the family through the darkest part of winter.
Late April would usher in spring crops like peas or leaf vegetables. These would last until early June. Then things would get tough. The term “scraping the bottom of the barrel” comes from this period. Cooks would literally be scraping the barrels to get enough to make a meal.( Of course the simplest thing would have been to hunt the forests or fish the streams, but that would result in military target practice with you being the target. )
Then sometime in “Mid Summer” the village Reeve would declare harvesting of wheat could begin the following Monday. This would set off the Mid Summer Night Festival. Everyone would use up all the leftover food and create a gigantic party. The alcohol consumption was probably lower than during most festivals, yet the woods would be filled with bizarre behavior, visions, reported spirit sightings, and more than one very “good” young lady would wake up with more than a hangover. The best description would be a 1967 Hippie party with unlimited free LSD.
AND
There was a good reason it resembled those parties. It WAS one of those parties. It seems that if wheat is stored in a wooden barrel it produces a chemical reaction in which a compound nearly identical to LSD is produced. The longer in the barrel and the more pressure the purer the product. In addition it tends to migrate to the bottom of the barrel. SO --- when mama scraped the last of the wheat for the party bread, she was mixing high quality mind altering drugs right in. The more consumed, the wackier the sights.
So, once again Shakespeare was telling the truth.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Memory Morning
The other morning was one of those April mornings where the chill in the air will soon give way to temperatures in the 70’s. There is an energy, a promise, scents that fills the head with random memories. (The fact that the “April” morning happened in July does not detract much from the day.)
Early that morning, I walked along the trail at Otsiningo. The combination of wet, decaying vegetation and the cool air produced a smell exactly like my favorite place on earth.
Many years ago, we packed the kids and mother in law in a car and drove to Disney World. Being summer in Florida, the end of the trip was hot, sticky and miserable. We bailed out of the car and hauled our luggage up to the front of the Polynesian Hotel. The outside was filled with spectacular flowers, lovely streams, wooden walkways, bridges and heat. It felt exactly like my imagined Tahiti. Then we entered the hotel.
Instantly we were in cool temperatures, engulfed with the scent from the central display of jungle vegetation. As strange as it seems to write this, the smell of decaying vegetation was lovely, refreshing and relaxing.
Each night, when we returned aboard monorail red, tired and miserable from so much fun, we were met at the door by the same experience. Today whenever I go to Disney World, I always make time to walk through that same door and breath deeply.
The next memory-scent that day was totally different, yet equally pleasant. I got home from my walk and sat down by our waterfall. The perfect combination of temperature and air currents produced a journey back to – I don’t really know when.
All of us have frozen moments of shared culture -- where was I when Kennedy was shot, when the first moon landing took place, when Elvis popped that one extra Vicoden. We have some memories that are personal but understandable – When I got my first bike, when a parent died, when I stuck my finger in the wringer washing machine. But we also have “flash” memories. Those times, when for no apparent reason, we can recreate a “perfect moment” in our heads.
One of mine was an early crystal clear morning in Johnson City. I was sitting in the back yard swing on Baldwin Street, looking north toward the old EJ smoke stack. What I sense is total joy and peace. I know it is early morning. The air is alive with an energy and promise that is gone by 8. I must have been about 8 years old or so it feels. I am guessing that it was at or near the last day of school. That might account for the joy, although at that age school was still a wonderful part of life. It may have been earlier, maybe the first nice day after a dull winter.
At any rate, one writer suggested that these flash moments remain with us because they are times when we were totally present in that moment. We had no other distractions, no deep worries , no plans. We just -- were. If we could consciously live our lives totally in every moment, then every moment would become perfectly filled with joy. Perhaps that is why so many flash moments are from childhood.
The other morning was one of those April mornings where the chill in the air will soon give way to temperatures in the 70’s. There is an energy, a promise, scents that fills the head with random memories. (The fact that the “April” morning happened in July does not detract much from the day.)
Early that morning, I walked along the trail at Otsiningo. The combination of wet, decaying vegetation and the cool air produced a smell exactly like my favorite place on earth.
Many years ago, we packed the kids and mother in law in a car and drove to Disney World. Being summer in Florida, the end of the trip was hot, sticky and miserable. We bailed out of the car and hauled our luggage up to the front of the Polynesian Hotel. The outside was filled with spectacular flowers, lovely streams, wooden walkways, bridges and heat. It felt exactly like my imagined Tahiti. Then we entered the hotel.
Instantly we were in cool temperatures, engulfed with the scent from the central display of jungle vegetation. As strange as it seems to write this, the smell of decaying vegetation was lovely, refreshing and relaxing.
Each night, when we returned aboard monorail red, tired and miserable from so much fun, we were met at the door by the same experience. Today whenever I go to Disney World, I always make time to walk through that same door and breath deeply.
The next memory-scent that day was totally different, yet equally pleasant. I got home from my walk and sat down by our waterfall. The perfect combination of temperature and air currents produced a journey back to – I don’t really know when.
All of us have frozen moments of shared culture -- where was I when Kennedy was shot, when the first moon landing took place, when Elvis popped that one extra Vicoden. We have some memories that are personal but understandable – When I got my first bike, when a parent died, when I stuck my finger in the wringer washing machine. But we also have “flash” memories. Those times, when for no apparent reason, we can recreate a “perfect moment” in our heads.
One of mine was an early crystal clear morning in Johnson City. I was sitting in the back yard swing on Baldwin Street, looking north toward the old EJ smoke stack. What I sense is total joy and peace. I know it is early morning. The air is alive with an energy and promise that is gone by 8. I must have been about 8 years old or so it feels. I am guessing that it was at or near the last day of school. That might account for the joy, although at that age school was still a wonderful part of life. It may have been earlier, maybe the first nice day after a dull winter.
At any rate, one writer suggested that these flash moments remain with us because they are times when we were totally present in that moment. We had no other distractions, no deep worries , no plans. We just -- were. If we could consciously live our lives totally in every moment, then every moment would become perfectly filled with joy. Perhaps that is why so many flash moments are from childhood.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Aging Gracefully
“ True peace comes with the discovery that we can respect the seasons of life with a spacious and undefended heart. In it we learn to trust, to rest in the truth of the way things are, to willingly accept the measure of joy and sorrow we are given.”
What a lovely thought. What a lovely sentiment. The above had to be written by a very old saint or a twenty year old with big muscles.
Because --- getting old just
sucks.
For example, when I was a young college student, during the winter, calisthenics were something Jack La Lane was doing on TV and the closest I came to weights was rolling a keg into the correct location. Yet at the end of school, I would arrive home, drop my luggage off and head over to the Grand Union where a large freight truck was waiting for me to unload. I was a little tired the first day, but by the end of the week I was in peak condition.
Now, I spend the winter stretching my rigid extremities into places they were never intended to go and lifting really stupid things just to prove I can overcome gravity. By April, I am doing 30 pushups every morning, bounding up from that to do 10 chin ups, racing upstairs to bench press 130 pounds 45 times, then lacing up my walking shoes for a brisk 5 mile walk. God do I feel good!
Spring arrives and I abandon the calisthenics and weights for garden tools. I am in the garden all day almost every day. Clearly, I am maintaining my great conditioning. Then by July 4th the outside work is done, it is time to tighten up the little bit of conditioning I might have lost.
On the third push up, my arms give out and I hit my nose so hard the cats panic and run into the wall. Somehow, getting up from the floor strained my back, so I am now limping badly. I jump up to grab the chinning bar and miss it completely. On the second attempt I grab it with both hands, but can only hang there like a fresh caught tuna strung up for sale. OK, now limping, gasping for breath and using the “ Wall bars we will need when we get old” I drag myself up to the weight machine.
Clearly, I may have lost a little conditioning, so I’ll start at 100 pounds and move up quickly. As it turns out, it is very difficult to breath with a hundred pound bar pressed directly across your neck because when you pushed it up, it went straight down. Dumping the weights to one side, I rebuild my oxygen levels above black out and crawl down to the recliner in the living room. I reach over and pick up the book on Spiritual Peace I am reading and it falls open to the previous quote.
Now I like the concept, I want to be able to accept my limitations, to gracefully yield to the ravages of age, the natural decline that slows us down and weakens our bodies.
NO I DON’T!!!!
If the slide is greased, I am going to kick and crawl and claw every step of the way. Nothing will be graceful.
I’ll be in playing shape by September’s kickoff.
“ True peace comes with the discovery that we can respect the seasons of life with a spacious and undefended heart. In it we learn to trust, to rest in the truth of the way things are, to willingly accept the measure of joy and sorrow we are given.”
What a lovely thought. What a lovely sentiment. The above had to be written by a very old saint or a twenty year old with big muscles.
Because --- getting old just
sucks.
For example, when I was a young college student, during the winter, calisthenics were something Jack La Lane was doing on TV and the closest I came to weights was rolling a keg into the correct location. Yet at the end of school, I would arrive home, drop my luggage off and head over to the Grand Union where a large freight truck was waiting for me to unload. I was a little tired the first day, but by the end of the week I was in peak condition.
Now, I spend the winter stretching my rigid extremities into places they were never intended to go and lifting really stupid things just to prove I can overcome gravity. By April, I am doing 30 pushups every morning, bounding up from that to do 10 chin ups, racing upstairs to bench press 130 pounds 45 times, then lacing up my walking shoes for a brisk 5 mile walk. God do I feel good!
Spring arrives and I abandon the calisthenics and weights for garden tools. I am in the garden all day almost every day. Clearly, I am maintaining my great conditioning. Then by July 4th the outside work is done, it is time to tighten up the little bit of conditioning I might have lost.
On the third push up, my arms give out and I hit my nose so hard the cats panic and run into the wall. Somehow, getting up from the floor strained my back, so I am now limping badly. I jump up to grab the chinning bar and miss it completely. On the second attempt I grab it with both hands, but can only hang there like a fresh caught tuna strung up for sale. OK, now limping, gasping for breath and using the “ Wall bars we will need when we get old” I drag myself up to the weight machine.
Clearly, I may have lost a little conditioning, so I’ll start at 100 pounds and move up quickly. As it turns out, it is very difficult to breath with a hundred pound bar pressed directly across your neck because when you pushed it up, it went straight down. Dumping the weights to one side, I rebuild my oxygen levels above black out and crawl down to the recliner in the living room. I reach over and pick up the book on Spiritual Peace I am reading and it falls open to the previous quote.
Now I like the concept, I want to be able to accept my limitations, to gracefully yield to the ravages of age, the natural decline that slows us down and weakens our bodies.
NO I DON’T!!!!
If the slide is greased, I am going to kick and crawl and claw every step of the way. Nothing will be graceful.
I’ll be in playing shape by September’s kickoff.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
ADIRONDACKS -- 2009 June 27 – July 4
We arrived at the “tree house” just in time to see the most important person of the week – Rosie the Golden retriever. I think John and Linda were there also. After greeting everyone, John put me right to work figuring out how to mount a rotisserie in a way that would allow us to cook our pig. On the surface this seemed like a good idea, but it meant we would be left unsupervised for three days with access to tools. This could not end well!!
Within a few minutes Fox and Debbie arrived with Michelle, Rack and Karen in the back seat. That evening was the traditional Pasta, meatball and sausage dinner. As usual it was outstanding. Dessert was the best tasting chocolate cake I ever ate. This was concocted in the test kitchens of Linda Bucci.
Bright and early Sunday Rack, Rosie, John and I set off to conquer Bear Mountain. Normally this would be an easy trek with only one wet spot. The past week’s rain made this trip like the movie, “The African Queen”. Along the way I must have walked through an Adirondack Black Fly Convention.
After watching a beautiful view of the top side of a cloud, we (Rack) decided to take a short cut down the blue trail. Apparently blue means mountain goat, but we lived and rewarded ourselves with breakfast in Inlet and then picked up the party boat. I had to pose as John Bucci and pretend to understand and actually care about a bunch of safety info, then sign my name Ed Corcoran , which didn’t phase the guy giving the directions.
We spent a lovely day and cooked hamburgers and hotdogs outside that night. Sadly, John, Linda and Rosie left us for a three day work session at home.
On Monday, Rack and I walked into Inlet. Along the way we noticed that many camps had really neat, descriptive signs identifying them, and poor John did not. As a group we spent all our spare time trying to fix this shortcoming.
Fox picked us up so Rack could get back to make a Frittata breakfast for us. Great job! We appointed Fox house President and gave him a gigantic amount of money to feed us. Later we drove into Old Forge and searched for material to construct a “nice” sign for John. God we are thoughtful!!
That evening we boarded the SS Minnow for a short cruise to Daker’s for dinner. The presence of Guinness on tap testified to the high culinary standing of this establishment. Ignore the 9 thousand steps leading up to the deck and the two beer drinking dogs in the corner. As the sun sunk in the Lake, we traveled home with Captain Michelle at the helm. We finished the evening torturing marshmallows and debating the ethics of pre-forming smores in aluminum foil or creating them on the fly.
Tuesday saw us all walk into Inlet for breakfast and clams. Then on to Eagle Bay to buy groceries with that gigantic wad of money. We also bought sure fired lottery winners. ( They turned out to be blanks!!) The rest of the day was spent creating signs. At night we had our first clam and speidie cook out.
Our finished signs! The Restaurant would not loan us a toilet seat, so we had to buy one!!
Wednesday was Rack’s Birthday. We started the festivities with an English Muffin, ham, egg and cheese combo that was great. Following was a coordinated attack on the Bald Mountain Fire Tower. Early on Debbie took a head wound and retreated to the staging area, where she became an official greeter. While most of us were concerned about not falling off the mountain, Kay had the added burden of not getting her good sneakers muddy.
The celebration continued when Rack and Michelle went swimming. Not a very noteworthy event except they were the only two humans in the four lake area who thought it was a good day for a dip. We spent the afternoon at the Red Dog, testing every appetizer on the menu. The vision of Kay sucking down a chicken wing will remain with me forever.
After three days of “work” john and Linda were happy to join in the party. We continued the evening with a spectacular boat ride down the lake and a sprint up the lake to beat—you guessed it- a rainstorm.
After receiving numerous very expensive gifts, Rack concluded his Day with homemade Peach Pie and ice cream.
We called Doug and Nancy and had a toast to Rack’s son John, who left us far too early eight years ago.
Thursday was our annual walk into Old Forge. Rack and I met everyone else at Walt’s for breakfast, then headed back to camp just in front of the rain. Doug and Nancy arrived around noon. Nancy had lost her Sister- in- law last week and we did not think they could join us. It was good to see them and I hope being there did a little to ease their loss.
The group split up with Fox, Doug, Rack and Shelly (note the name change) heading into someplace to buy $120 worth of lottery tickets.
(“ See, if we all put in twenty bucks apiece we are SURE to get a part of that $113,000,000- just common sense!”) They also got more clams.
John and I did the hard work and got a roaring fire going. Since it had rained for forty days, that was harder than it seemed. But we did it. By the time people returned we were ready to cook – The PIG. ( a whole pig ran into several minor problems – like where do you find a consenting pig and once you have him, where exactly do you store him until ready to cook.) We settled for a large pork something or other. Whatever it was it did not cooperate with the spit idea. We tinkered, fooled and played for about three hours. Rosie seemed very concerned and did her best to help out. In the end it was spectacular tasting as were the clams and everything else.
Some of the group headed into Inlet to introduce Linda to Panda Paws, something we came to regret. It is sad to see an addiction take hold. We all called Flake and Andy. Flake could not join us because of job conflicts. Andy sounded pretty ill with the flu, but it was nice to hear from them.
On Friday, Kay, Debbie, Karen, Linda and Shelly went to Wild Things Nature Museum. The rest of us enjoyed steady rain outside by playing cards inside. At noon, we drove to Racquet Lake for soup and sandwiches.
Once we all reunited, we made one last clam run, put some things away, dropped the boat off and settled in for “left over night” which meant in addition to the clams, any leftover food had to be consumed. This included dessert. It was a hard task, but we were up to the challenge .
Doug and Nancy left at 7, the rest of us visited until the wee hour of 11.
Saturday morning was packing, saying good bye, dodging the steady downpour and being on the road by 9:30. One final note. Like any good Government program, we managed to convert $120 into $6. But don’t worry- we reinvested it in the next Lottery drawing.
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