Home again, home again, jiggety-jig

Monday I was going to have breakfast with Alice, make a quick trip to the Shop-Rite or Stop and Shop to pick up some things that seem to be completely unavailable in Vermont, and be on my way home. But I happened to check the weather and discovered that the threat of “accumulating snow” had moved from the early evening (after I planned to be home) to the early afternoon. That would put me in Bennington with two hours driving to go.

So I packed frantically, bailed on Alice (I’m SORRY, Alice) and was on the road not at 10 am but at 7:45 am. The trip was fine until Bennington, where the snow was coming down heavily and just starting to stick. The drive from Bennington to Danby (20 miles, if that) was just miserable. Driving in freezing fog, folks, is like driving through a curtain of iciness. The wiper blades were instantly coated with ice. Not heavily but enough to make a person nervous. The visibility was poor. I was lucky enough to get behind a panel truck who stayed in the driving lane and wasn’t trying to make time. It was a long 20 miles at 30 mph and I had visions of taking 4 hours to get to Randolph.

But at Danby the nasty weather stopped and I had clear sailing the rest of the way, and even hints of blue sky. Thelma fortified me with coffee and Ernie and I were home by 3:30. No sooner had I unpacked the car than the wind picked up and the snow started again.

And now it’s Arctic season. Winds are gusting, the temps are near zero, the wind chill is somewhere near -15, and under the snow is thick glare ice. I started the car this morning, so it wouldn't go on strike, and when this evening rolls around, I will muster my courage and drive somewhere just to warm the car up completely, because temps are expected to be below zero and that will drive the wind chill down to perhaps -25, although the wind chill doesn’t seem to bother the car. For the first time since I moved here in 2004 it is so windy and cold that I had to wear my good coat (microfiber, quilted inside, huge fur hood) to get the stovewood in.

It’s too cold to take the camera outside. Besides, how do you get a picture of cold weather? Well, I left the dead flower stalks standing in the garden next to the bedroom (many shapes, about 4’ tall) as a “winter landscape”. The wind has knocked them over to a 45-degree angle. Maybe that’s it.

The forecast is for a humdinger of a snowstorm New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. The temps will go up into the high 20’s (above zero), and the winds will die down. However, “Predictions of 12 inches may be understated”, said the weather guys today. Ah well. Winter in Vermont.

My New Year’s resolution is to see my dear ones more than once a year.

Christmas in NJ, 2

What a lovely visit those five days were. I spent a splendid, bright Christmas Eve afternoon with the Devincenzos, Tim and Danielle, and Jen and John Bucci. Then Christmas Eve at church, and I was invited afterward to a celebration at the Ortmans, where I saw many old friends and many now-grown-up Coming of Age kids. Christmas Day (rain, rain, go away) was at home with Jeri and Sabine, watching The (original) Santa Clause and that movie about the Elf and not getting out of pjs until about 2 pm.

On the 26th (rain, rain, go away) I dashed to the Rabinowitzes to give Richmond a small gift and to catch up on the honeymooners. Mike apparently overcame his doubts and went diving on the Great Barrier Reef. I can hardly wait for all the trip tales.

That was followed by lunch with Alice at a really good and authentic Greek restaurant (the name is Stamna, folks, in the same block as Holsten’s, next to Tartuffo) and then we saw “Up In the Air”, which I thought was very good and very bittersweet, and which left Alice totally bereft. What you expect to happen does not, and the ending is very ambiguous. Patrick was rhapsodic over the Long Trail shirt. It’s nice to see Patrick more outgoing and dare I say cheerful. I hope he can find a way to make that last.

Sunday, a gorgeous day, Jeri, Sabine and I spent out near Phillipsburg and Belvedere, as close as you can get to the Water Gap and still be in NJ. The occasion was a holiday gathering of all Sabine’s family – siblings, step-siblings, and all the children. Some came from Maine and even from Denver, with the Georgia contingent coming on Monday, so I didn’t even meet them all. The gathering was just wonderful. I was welcomed as warmly as though I’d joined them for years.

Sabine’s stepmother is a delight. She’ll be 80 this year, a tiny German woman who is a whirlwind. She’s a top-selling (multi-millions in sales) realtor, still selling full time, and she takes on good causes. She’s run a holiday food drive, including grocery store donations, for years, and a toy donation campaign that this year included electronic stuff for teens, because “we get so many plush toys and Legos, and there is nothing for the teenagers who feel most left out”. But more than that, she treats every one of her stepchildren (I think that between first and second marriages there are 6 children) as though they are her own, and the grandchildren, nieces and nephews are all “hers” as well. Nothing seems to get her down. I wanted to take her picture but she would have absolutely none of it.

She is not a Grandma Texas clone but they could certainly be cousins. The life in those women was/is something to behold.

Christmas in NJ, 1

It looks like a tradition is being established: I travel to NJ for Christmas. Except for when Christmas falls on Wednesday, this seems to be an emerging pattern. I stay with my friends Jeri and Sabine in Bloomfield, who always open their doors and the spare BR to me, and then spend a few days visiting with the boys as they gather with their in-law families, and with some of my old friends here.

This year was much the same. I drove down on the 23d, made endless phone calls and lined up all the visits. The differences between NJ and VT are small, large, and endless. For instance, phone numbers. Not every phone number is stashed in my cell phone. But most NJ people don't bother to buy white pages anymore, and Directory Assistance costs money. So I had to resort to whitepages.com to get local phone numbers. What if I’d had no computer connection?? Just strange.

On the other hand, in NJ Christmas lights abound, which can't be said for the far reaches of the Vermont countryside. For many years the house and yard in Nutley was a showstopper. Then that display stopped. Was it too expensive? Did the property change hands? I have no idea. But all is not lost. Now there's a property in Clifton, on Grove St right by Route 3, that has stepped up, in living color. If it hadn’t rained all day Christmas Day and the day after, I would’ve had time to go out in the evening and take pictures of NJ Christmas lights.

Randolph, VT can compete with NJ thanks to the Armstrong home, whose yard lights are almost exclusively candy canes. A forest of electric candy canes. And there's a house on School Street whose uphill driveway is crammed with figures and lights of all sorts. I love those houses. A whole block is too much. But the one lit-up-beyond-belief house is a testament to the delight we feel seeing so many lights at this dark time of year.

I might still get Christmas light pictures from Vermont. But right now we have to be delighted with the memory of Nutley.

“I’m fine, thank you, just stupid.”

The snow that I thought was melting away was reinforced by an evening of whipping icy winds and then a day of not heavy but quite steady snow. So there are quite a few inches on the ground and Ray Churchill has plowed twice. “Where are your driveway markers?” he asked. I use them to mark the garden's railroad ties. “Under the snow,” I replied. In October I took them outdoors to set out but got
distracted by weeding. As the snow was falling I realized that they are still lying in the rose garden somewhere. Sigh.

This afternoon I decided to see if I could improve on some previously-taken winter pictures. So I hopped in the car and headed for various places in the neighborhood.

Many promising shots turned out not to be so wonderful, but Delete is the glory of the digital camera. I was parked across from the house with this apple tree and the homeowner came out to see what was up.

 When I told her I was waiting for the sun to come back out and shine up the apples for the photo she just looked at me and said “Okay” in that are-you-crazy tone of voice and went back in her house.

It was around 1pm, and the sky was full of clouds, so the light came and went. As I was coming home, up a steep hill, I saw an old farm implement in a yard, and before I knew it I drove past it. So I started backing up. This in itself, on a snowy road, is not so smart. Someone came up behind me, I moved a tad to the right and stopped, and they passed me.

When I started backing again I was too close to the edge of the road. The back wheels slipped off and the back end buried itself and the passenger side of the car in snow. Getting out without a pull was hopeless.

The cell phone worked so I tried to call Ray Churchill and got no answer. I waited a bit to try a second and third time, and then realized that my other neighbors’ phones are not in my cell phone. However, a rescuer arrived in the presence of Dakota Engberg, age 17, who was visiting his mom and was heading somewhere with his cousin. They put their errand on hold and went for help.

In the meantime, several drivers came and went. Every man in a pickup asked if I had help coming, and then if I was okay, to which I replied, “I’m fine, thank you, just stupid.” Finally Dakota found Nick Peck, also age 17, who came with his truck and chain. The boys had forgotten a shovel, but went up the road and borrowed one. Digging out the car would make the pulling easier. And in no time I was back on the road.

Well, that stupid lesson has been learned. I should have driven to the top of the hill and turned around in a driveway, but I didn’t want to lose the light on the picture. And that decision put me in a snowbank about 5 miles from home, wearing boots and mittens and a parka, but no hat, and the temperature was in the 20s. Walking would probably have kept me warm enough, and the wind wasn’t blowing, and the sun was out, but I am eternally grateful not to have had to make that walk. Next time I will let the light go. A bit like a choice Tim had to make once, about a cat.

As soon as I got home I turned on the oven and made “Mrs. Dempsey cookies” for my rescuers! And this was the picture.

First snowfall, 2009

About 2 inches, thick and heavy yesterday but now melting away.

For me, snow announces the season of Quiet. There was no wind yesterday – so we had a classic snowfall, and, like Tim said once, you could listen to the quiet. Snow creates quiet: there is very little sound of snow hitting the ground, the car, or the roof, but there also seems to be a deep, deep quietness that is unknown at any other time. My uninformed mind believes that falling snow breaks up the air’s ability to carry sound. Probably not the scientific reason at all.

But snow brings other kinds of quiet. While snow is falling I’ll hear car engines as cars drive by, but no road noise. Once there’s a lot of snow on the ground, the road noise is greatly diminshed all the time.

Snow quiets the landscape. No more does the lawn shout “Mow me!” No more does the garden shout “Come look at me!” or “Weed me! Clean me up!”. The cows move more slowly, as finding grass to graze is more difficult. Instead of trotting around sunlit summer pastures, the horses stand in the sun, absorbing the warmth, not throwing any of that warmth away by exercising. (Unlike the dogs, who seem to think that a light snowfall is the perfect excuse to tear around, barking.) Farming chores move into barns and garages. House projects that require outdoor effort get put away until the spring.

Last night (12/05), on A Prairie Home Companion, Garrison Keillor said “we may complain about winter, but we need snow. We love snow because it is a blanket, and that blanket is comforting somehow.” A blanket of snow makes the blanket on my bed expand as far as I can see. The snow in my yard is the same as the snow in my neighbor's pastures. It's the same snow that is in the woods that I can see miles away. My winter snow blanket is also my neighbor's, and theirs is shared with me. We are more part of the land in winter than in any other season.

In many ways, as Clement Moore wrote, it’s time for “a long winter’s nap”*. The quiet of snow reminds me that I should use the time under winter’s blanket to find quiet in my life. Not that I should do nothing, but that I should settle in by the woodstove, find a book, take out my knitting, and do the reading, thinking and reflecting that I say I never have time for. A nap is not a bad idea, either.

"A Visit From Saint Nicholas"

Snow ...

Not in the yard, thank you very much, but right out the front windows where I can see it. A nor’easter blew in yesterday afternoon and has blown hard since then. We had lots of rain but radio weather reported several inches of snow overnight in “the higher elevations”, which will probably make ski operators happy.

This morning power blips started here around 8 am (I walked in from taking this picture to find myself in a momentarily dark house). Then at about 9:15 power went out completely.

So I busied myself on the porch, cleaning the rattan furniture and hanging up the string of clear lights for the holiday season, and thinking how lovely the Christmas wreaths will look in the new windows. And I brought in some wood.


And the sun came out!! So I took another picture.

The lights came back on at about 10:15 am.

(If you click on pictures, they'll enlarge.)

Thanksgiving 2009

Since I moved to Vermont I’ve generally spent Thanksgiving with Thelma. My non-Vermont friends and family aren’t inclined to drive up here, not that I blame them. They have family/ friends close by to visit. Thelma and I have been friends for years, and with her husband, sister and mother gone, she doesn’t have nearby family connections either, since her grandson George and his wife Mary usually do Thanksgiving with Mary’s family.

When Clif was alive, they went up to St J to spend Thanksgiving with Thelma’s sister and brother-in-law. Since Clif died, Thelma’s brother-in-law (Linwood) and his family have come down from St J. When Thelma’s sister Vera was alive, there were Linwood, Vera, and their two daughters. When Vera died (after a long, terrible, sad illness), Linwood became very withdrawn and his relationship with his daughters failed – only one, Debbie, has re-established a relationship with him. Then about 4 years ago Linwood seems to have become a church-goer and regardless of what you may think of that, it led him to finding a new wife and a new life, sponsored by his church.

Linwood met a woman who years ago would have been called a “mail order bride”, and she is a treasure. Maria is a feet-firmly-on-the-ground Filipino woman, who had her children and her sister living with her when she and Linwood got “matched up”. Linwood visited the Phillipines 3 times – because the church required it, and because Maria demanded it (no fool, she, about marrying a foreigner). Then Maria came for a visit, everything fell into place, the kids and the sister arrived, and she and Linwood were married. They adore each other. Linwood, a “crusty Vermonter”, is actually a teddy bear, sweet, sensitive and sentimental to the core.

Until last year, when not enough people could get off from work at some time over the weekend, they’ve always all come for Thanksgiving. Thelma and I would cook and set up, Debbie would bring pies, Maria would bring some great Filipino dish, and 15 people would sit down.

Now all Maria’s children have grown up and moved away so this year there were only 9 of us. Linwood and Maria, and Linwood’s mother, age 90; Elaine Thayer (George’s sister), who moved back to Thelma’s after her life in Colorado fell completely apart; Linwood’s daughter Debbie, her young son, and her husband; and Thelma and me. Thelma believes in a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, with enough different dishes so that in order to even taste everything you have to send your plate around twice. My creamed onions were extraordinarily good this year, if I do say so myself. But so were the turkey, the mashed potatoes, the sweet potatoes, the salad, the broccoli, the rolls, the stuffing, the squash, the gravy, the cranberry (thank you, Ocean Spray), the three pies, and Maria's citrus flan.

Maria’s daughter Divine married a NH man this past August. We saw about 200 wedding pictures! Divine’s new husband Mike could easily be Robert Lambie’s cousin. The photo of Divine and Linwood as they start the walk down the aisle is just beautiful, and as strong a statement of Father-Daughter love as you could ever want to see.

I have many acquaintances but only a few friends. I’m glad beyond words to have Thelma as a friend, and glad every Thanksgiving to be part of this “matched up” family.

The state of my entertainment media, and a tasty treat

I'm not glued to movies every evening but for the longest time all I had was radio, and being able to play CDs and watch movies again has spoiled me. Last week I sent a panicked email cry for help because I loaded up a DVD and the sound was at whisper level. I was sure I had not touched any significant buttons, but advice from the Florida and DC Media Experts indicated that I must have turned on the surround sound. I guess I did. There were all sorts of tiny icons lit on the amplifier’s CD/DVD display. I got out the booket and tried (understanding and) following the directions. Something worked. Life is back to normal.  

Now for the Tasty Treat Announcement: First there were home-made Ben & Jerry ice cream cakes ...

Now I present: Home-made Chunky Monkey ice cream.  You need

• pecan halves
• chocolate chips or chopped dark chocolate (think Ghirardelli)
• fully ripe but not overripe bananas
• eggnog ice cream

Because eggnog ice cream is only available between Thanksgiving and New Year's, this is a seasonal treat. (Hood and Breyer's are good.  Edy's Slow-Churned is only good when used in home-made Chunky Monkey.)

In the oven or in a frying pan, toast some pecan halves gently (until you can just smell them), let them cool and chop them coarsely. (Don't use already-chopped pecans.) 

If you're not using chocolate chips, break the dark chocolate into B&J chunk-size pieces.

Serve out reasonable amounts of eggnog ice cream in dishes (the extras need room!). Let the ice cream sit to soften just a little.  While you're waiting on the ice cream, slice bananas lengthwise into quarters and then slice crossways into pieces.

Fold bananas, chocolate chips/pieces, and pecans into the ice cream.  Yum, yum!!
And obviously you can make this one dish at a time (heh heh).

If your bananas are too ripe for Chunky Monkey, use them to make Alice's or Danielle's outstanding banana bread ...

Windows

The frame around Ernie’s porch window fell apart in my hands one morning this summer, as I was on my way to work. After weeks of flimsy plastic over the window opening, Tim’s artistic advice in September, and a visit from Allen Lumber, replacements were chosen that would not rot, would not leak, and would improve the view.

The new porch windows are finally in. Glenn, a friend’s husband, who can build/rebuild anything, and built a new shed for me,did a wonderful job. I’m not quite as enthusiastic about Allen Lumber, who insisted on precise measurements (“These are made to measure, you know”), but who said, when the windows were not made to those precise measurements, “Well, are they pretty close?” Apparently made-to-measure means close-enough-made-to-measure.


In any case, there will be no more raining in from the north, no more snowing in from the west. Single panes top and bottom rather than 6 over 1, for a more unobstructed view. The small windows in the center crank outward. Ernie's window and the  three double-hungs on the north side will bring in lots of fresh air. And the windows have screens! This will greatly reduce the summer fly population.


Ernie has his cat door back - the window by the porch door.  It took a couple of days for him to get the idea, but now he looks to see if the window is open.  Ernie complained that I haven't posted a picture of him. Here is Ernie lounging in front of his old window last winter. 


Today I moved the furniture back onto the porch, so except for putting the Christmas window lights back up, order has been restored. And now that I have these nice windows, next summer’s project will definitely be Painting The Outside Frames. Anyone want to come up in July 2010 to help??

You win some, you lose some

Today the Army Corps of Engineers were found guilty (in court!) of failure to maintain the levees in the lower 9th ward of New Orleans. According to reports, “The judge ruled that New Orleans' Lower 9th Ward and nearby St. Bernard Parish were flooded due to engineers' “negligent failure” to maintain the shipping channel Mississippi River-Gulf Outlet.”

The Lower 9th Ward is poor and non-white, and St. Bernard Parish is largely working-class. Not demographics that politicians and town managers fall over themselves for. This guilty outcome was determined by the New Orleans Times-Picayune two years ago, but it took a lawsuit that ended today to actually render justice. So you do win some.

On the other hand, the idea that women shouldn’t get annual mammographies, and wait until age 50 to start getting them regularly, is a LOSER of monster proportions. I was in my mid-40s when my annual mammography looked suspicious but a biopsy disclosed nothing of concern. My sister was in her late 40s when her annual mammography looked suspicious and cancer was disclosed. I survived a cancer scare; but my sister survived cancer.

What would her outcome have been if her first mammogram had been at age 50? A doctor was interviewed this afternoon on NPR’s All Things Considered and when asked his opinion on a similar case he said (with absolute seriousness) “That woman would have received the same appropriate treatment and care as she would have received in her 40s.”

Oh how disingenuous. Like care of a cancer diagnosed later is the same, and is as bearable, and costs the same, and takes the same length of time, as a cancer diagnosed early. Give me a break, doctor. Every cancer survivor, and every cancer victim’s family, knows the difference between treatment of an early stage cancer and a later stage cancer.

"Winter's Closing In"

Black ice has arrived. The morning radio show announced that part of the interstate north of here was closed because of the road conditions – rain on top of blacktop when overnight temps had been in the 20s and the 7am temps were around freezing is a fool-proof recipe for black ice.                                         
This is the first day of rifle season (deer hunting), which goes on for about 3 weeks. Despite these pictures, the leaves are of course off the trees. “Stick season” doesn’t really give good woodland pictures. 

The local radio station calls this first weekend the Vermont High Holy Days. The woods are full of hunters. Given the rural nature of northern New England (VT, NH, Maine) hunting is cultural, and many hunters are indeed putting meat on the table or in the freezer. Some hunters who love hunting for its own sake will donate a deer to the Vermont Food Bank, which is certainly worthwhile. Generally, deer aren’t being hunted for obscure medicinal purposes, or just to put trophies on the wall in the den.

Yes, there are hunters who cheat: they hunt out of season, they use decoys, they hunt on the road using strong lights (a deer will freeze in headlights, hence the well-known expression). Those folks get whatever punishment can be meted out. There are hunters who shoot because they “were sure it was a deer”. This behavior leads to horses, cows, goats, dogs and even people being killed. Last year a man was hunting with his 20-something son, a years-long family tradition. They separated, and the father lost track of where his son was. He fired, and killed his boy. A well-publicized case over the last two years featured a young man who wanted to see how far a bullet would carry and fired at a tractor that was very far away. “Way over yonder” was not an understatement. Well, the bullet carried, entered the cab, and killed the tractor driver, a farmer with a family to support.

Target identification is enshrined in Vermont state law and hunters who do not “properly identify their target” can be prosecuted. This second man drew a meaningful sentence. The hunters I know are careful and responsible. They practice gun safety and don’t fool around. They will pass up a shot before they put anyone or themselves in danger.

I finally realized that I was not going to be able to buy a new car before I needed snow tires, so I bought new snows yesterday. Sigh. Three years ago I bought high-end snow tires for $400+ dollars. Yesterday, for the same money, I could only buy the high end of middle-grade tires. We’ll see how they work out. It looks like I got them on just in time.

(The title of this post comes from Joni Mitchell’s Urge for Going)

Taking it easy

Here are two of Ray's Jersey cows. It's fascinating to me how cows will so often align themselves facing in the same direction when they're lying down in pasture.

Star light, star bright

Now it’s barely light when we go to work, and if we stay even a little late we come home in the pitch dark. At this time of year you can’t be comfortable if you need a “night light” all the time.

I don’t know the stars but I can find the Big Dipper in a flash whenever it’s visible. Now it’s not too high in the sky, and north of me. From the driveway it seems to sit gently on the roof of the house, with its handle pointed westward.

Out here there is very little ambient light. Even the lights of traffic on the interstate don't really intrude, because they aren’t constant. So on many evenings stars are very visible, and on clear nights, they sparkle.

I remember the first time we left our NJ suburbs to visit VT, thanks to friends with a home in Bridgewater. Our boys were just heading into middle school. Older Son got out of the car, looked around and said “Listen to the quiet.” Then he said “Vermont has more stars than New Jersey, and they’re right over us.” The sky was chock full of stars.  They looked close enough to touch.

Looking at the stars on a cold, clear night is one way to clear the mind of the day’s travails, and bring brightness to the end of a long day.

Getting started

Well, let's try this.  A blog that appears occasionally (none of this 365-blogging for me), whenever the spirit moves me.  Maybe some photos.