My mom set up an appointment today for my grandmother to see about B12 injections as that seems to help some patients diagnosed with Alzheimer's. So far, other than brief hospitalizations for injury, my grandmother has been able to stay in her home. With the help of her caregiver. It isn't easy.
Noah and I last visited 2 1/2 years ago. While there we had to take her car in for repairs. When it came time to pay the bill, she didn't want to pay, and insisted the car was mine (we flew out). It was hysterically funny. We had to leave the car at Sears for abit. We took her to lunch at Famous Daves, and her caregiver snatched her wallet as I distracted her. Neither of us had the money to get the car out of the shop on our own. I had to explain to the mechanic why I was signing her name and showing the military id of someone in her eighties. I was pretty close to freaking out because if he had asked to talk to Carmen, she would have told him that the car was mine and she wasn't paying.
I've found some interesting pieces of the family history over the last few days. So far the scanty evidence seems to corroborate the wild stories I had heard Gramma tell when I was young. I've found records of Domingo's passage aboard the Coppename from Puerto Barrios, Guatemala to New Orleans on May 13, 1915 It records his birth in Managua. It says that he was travelling to university in Philadelphia. I've found his registration for the Draft from 1917. It says that he is employed as a Spanish Instructor with the DC Board of Education. It says that he is single with his mother and child to support, and that he has 3 years of military service in Nicaragua. He claims disability, but on the reverse the registrar indicates none. I found the census record of 1920 which places Domingo, Volberg and Carmen Castillo in Washington DC. My gramma was born in 1918. That is it for Domingo.
But Carmen and Volberg Castillo are passengers on the Olancho in 1923, headed home from Bluefields, Nicaragua. There are no documents related to Domingo's life with my grandmother in Bluefields. What happened to him? Why did he take my grandmother from her mother? Why did he let her mother take her back?
Grandma Carmen says he took her because he loved her so. That makes me smile. Her story is that he became a judge and she had the President of Nicaragua as a godfather. She has said that he died from malaria and that he was killed in rebellion, but there exists the possibility that he survived well into old age and lived to tell his story of the Sandino Rebellion. It is hard to find Nicaraguan documents from the twenties. I am working on it.
I also discovered that Carmen has a half sister she never met. She is still alive. She is older than my grandma...her mom's first child. I don't know her name yet.
Still searching for Domingo.
Love and Peace, Krista
Monday, August 23, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Memory and Carmen Castillo
Memory.
Clickety-clack went her high-heels along the sidewalk as I struggled to keep up, making sure I didn't step on a crack. Where were we? In the dusty book of days past, on some nearly forgotten shelf in my brain, are the faintest memories of shopping with my grandmother in Washington, D.C. I hear the noise of cars passing and feel my arms swinging, but the visual image is just the cement sidewalk-- my feet skipping over the cracks to avoid breaking my mother's back-- and Gramma's red heels and the pleated hemline of her skirt that was just at the knee. And clickety-clack, I had to keep up, and where are we going? but my whole movie has been edited out... except for that one scene. Clickety-clack.
I hate not being able to recall. I know she feels the same. I've heard her say it: "Oh, I'm so stupid, I can't remember the word." My grandmother has been alot of things; stupid was never one of them. And this just isn't the script she'd have written for the last scenes of her movie.
My brother just gave me the sweetest present via ancestry.com:
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According to Gramma the apartment was across the street from a fire department. She had a mischevous side, and apparently burned a wax doll. When smoke billowed out the window, they didn't have far to come. That, and the firemen looked after her a bit as she was a latch-key kid. Her mom worked as an accountant in the fashion district. Gramma says her mom would give her money to attend piano lessons after-school, but it was just enough for pie and a soda at the local diner, so that is where she would go. Apparently it worked out fine until recital time.
My grandmother never sat for a single piano lesson...but as a kid I would marvel at how she could sit at our old piano and peck out a tune. She loved music, still does. We used to all dance with her in her living room when we visited. She has crazy stories of driving all night with my grandad to dance and listen to great music in Chicago back in the 40s. One of them involves dancing through a drummer and landing in a drum.
Well, I have rambled on through this blog tonight, and that was never my intention. Kurt's happy surprise in the middle blew the melancholy memories away, and I am dancing with my gram to "La Vida Loca."
Peace and Love, Krista
Clickety-clack went her high-heels along the sidewalk as I struggled to keep up, making sure I didn't step on a crack. Where were we? In the dusty book of days past, on some nearly forgotten shelf in my brain, are the faintest memories of shopping with my grandmother in Washington, D.C. I hear the noise of cars passing and feel my arms swinging, but the visual image is just the cement sidewalk-- my feet skipping over the cracks to avoid breaking my mother's back-- and Gramma's red heels and the pleated hemline of her skirt that was just at the knee. And clickety-clack, I had to keep up, and where are we going? but my whole movie has been edited out... except for that one scene. Clickety-clack.
I hate not being able to recall. I know she feels the same. I've heard her say it: "Oh, I'm so stupid, I can't remember the word." My grandmother has been alot of things; stupid was never one of them. And this just isn't the script she'd have written for the last scenes of her movie.
My brother just gave me the sweetest present via ancestry.com:
.jpg)
The first tangible evidence of the Bluefields story. Amazing. So they left Bluefields, Nicaragua aboard the Olancho on August 29, 1923 and arrived in New York on September 5. My grandmother was five, and she and Volberg (the spelling is different than I've seen elsewhere) would live at 578 Academy St, NY, NY.
According to Gramma the apartment was across the street from a fire department. She had a mischevous side, and apparently burned a wax doll. When smoke billowed out the window, they didn't have far to come. That, and the firemen looked after her a bit as she was a latch-key kid. Her mom worked as an accountant in the fashion district. Gramma says her mom would give her money to attend piano lessons after-school, but it was just enough for pie and a soda at the local diner, so that is where she would go. Apparently it worked out fine until recital time.
My grandmother never sat for a single piano lesson...but as a kid I would marvel at how she could sit at our old piano and peck out a tune. She loved music, still does. We used to all dance with her in her living room when we visited. She has crazy stories of driving all night with my grandad to dance and listen to great music in Chicago back in the 40s. One of them involves dancing through a drummer and landing in a drum.
Well, I have rambled on through this blog tonight, and that was never my intention. Kurt's happy surprise in the middle blew the melancholy memories away, and I am dancing with my gram to "La Vida Loca."
Peace and Love, Krista
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Carmen Castillo, 2
"Besame mucho" and "Je ne compre pas"
My grandmother says that when she returned with her mother from Nicaragua, she could no longer speak English. Years later she would say that these two phrases comprised her only Spanish. You'd have to really know Carmen to understand that there was never any point in explaining that the second phrase is French. That it means "I don't understand" has always made me giggle...and since she was forever leaving her bright lipstick all over our faces as kids, I am pretty sure she understood the meaning of the first.
These are some of Gramma's pictures. I have guessed that they come from her time in Bluefields, Nicaragua, but I am far from certain. Once upon a time they were packaged with a photo of my great grandfather, Domingo Castillo. He was teaching Spanish in Washington, D.C. when he met my great grandmother, Valberg Erikksen, a Swede. At some point in my grandmother's toddler years, Domingo returned permanently to Nicaragua. He took Carmen with him. In Bluefields, Domingo became a judge, and his friend, one of the seven men who served as President of Nicaragua from 1921 to 1925, became my grandmother's godfather.
My grandmother has said that these were happy times. Eventually her mother would arrive to take her back to the states, but that is a story for another night.
I just got off the phone with Gramma. She lives in Nebraska. It was a 15 second conversation. She asked when I could come to get her. I'm planning on visiting at Thanksgiving. Oh, good. She told me life at the lake was okay. She asked when I could come get her. I'm coming at Thanksgiving. Oh that will be nice. I love...she passed the phone back to her caregiver. Would you please tell Gramma that I love her. I'll try to remember to say that first next time. Besame mucho, Gramma.
My grandmother says that when she returned with her mother from Nicaragua, she could no longer speak English. Years later she would say that these two phrases comprised her only Spanish. You'd have to really know Carmen to understand that there was never any point in explaining that the second phrase is French. That it means "I don't understand" has always made me giggle...and since she was forever leaving her bright lipstick all over our faces as kids, I am pretty sure she understood the meaning of the first.
These are some of Gramma's pictures. I have guessed that they come from her time in Bluefields, Nicaragua, but I am far from certain. Once upon a time they were packaged with a photo of my great grandfather, Domingo Castillo. He was teaching Spanish in Washington, D.C. when he met my great grandmother, Valberg Erikksen, a Swede. At some point in my grandmother's toddler years, Domingo returned permanently to Nicaragua. He took Carmen with him. In Bluefields, Domingo became a judge, and his friend, one of the seven men who served as President of Nicaragua from 1921 to 1925, became my grandmother's godfather.
My grandmother has said that these were happy times. Eventually her mother would arrive to take her back to the states, but that is a story for another night.
I just got off the phone with Gramma. She lives in Nebraska. It was a 15 second conversation. She asked when I could come to get her. I'm planning on visiting at Thanksgiving. Oh, good. She told me life at the lake was okay. She asked when I could come get her. I'm coming at Thanksgiving. Oh that will be nice. I love...she passed the phone back to her caregiver. Would you please tell Gramma that I love her. I'll try to remember to say that first next time. Besame mucho, Gramma.
Carmen Castillo
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Carmen Castillo
"Sea-Fever"
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
By John Masefield (1878-1967)
One of my grandmother's favorite poems. She used to recite it all the time, along with the Preamble to the Constitution and Lincoln's Gettysburg Address. My grandmother has Alzheimer's. She's 92. I have been thinking about her alot lately because I really miss her and I wish I hadn't waited so long to ask the questions about her years in Nicaragua and her father, Domingo Castillo, who took her there in the mid-twenties. I have only pieces of the story, Bluefields, the kidnapping (if you call it that), a godfather that was the President of Nicaragua at the time, and the story of a mother who travelled far to retrieve her daughter, contracted malaria, and eventually died in a mental hospital in New York.
For family that might read this, that is the story I got...if you heard a different version feel free to chime in. I'm going on a hunt for old photos and will scan them in tomorrow, but for awhile at least my blog will be about Gramma. She was the most enjoyable travel partner I ever had, having come out to visit me in both Greece and Italy, and I just really miss her humor. Yes, even hearing "Sea Fever" over and over. And, hey, I wouldn't know the Preamble without her. I'm going to call her tonight, but she never stays on the phone for long...I just need to say "I love you, Gramma."
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
By John Masefield (1878-1967)
One of my grandmother's favorite poems. She used to recite it all the time, along with the Preamble to the Constitution and Lincoln's Gettysburg Address. My grandmother has Alzheimer's. She's 92. I have been thinking about her alot lately because I really miss her and I wish I hadn't waited so long to ask the questions about her years in Nicaragua and her father, Domingo Castillo, who took her there in the mid-twenties. I have only pieces of the story, Bluefields, the kidnapping (if you call it that), a godfather that was the President of Nicaragua at the time, and the story of a mother who travelled far to retrieve her daughter, contracted malaria, and eventually died in a mental hospital in New York.
For family that might read this, that is the story I got...if you heard a different version feel free to chime in. I'm going on a hunt for old photos and will scan them in tomorrow, but for awhile at least my blog will be about Gramma. She was the most enjoyable travel partner I ever had, having come out to visit me in both Greece and Italy, and I just really miss her humor. Yes, even hearing "Sea Fever" over and over. And, hey, I wouldn't know the Preamble without her. I'm going to call her tonight, but she never stays on the phone for long...I just need to say "I love you, Gramma."
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Love is the only freedom in the world
Love is the only freedom in the world because it so elevates the spirit that the laws of humanity and the phenomena of nature do not alter its course-Kahlil Gibran
I am so tired of reading about hatred and prejudice.
Just as some seem to feel righteously called to hate, I am asked to love. Their words, their many, many words can not erase what Grace has given me. Love.
So I will continue to love people of all walks of life, of all races, all nationalities, all faiths. And I will do so without apologies. And love will always be my first instinct-- without doubt or fear-- because that is just me.
That is all I have to say tonight.
Love and peace, Krista
I am so tired of reading about hatred and prejudice.
Just as some seem to feel righteously called to hate, I am asked to love. Their words, their many, many words can not erase what Grace has given me. Love.
So I will continue to love people of all walks of life, of all races, all nationalities, all faiths. And I will do so without apologies. And love will always be my first instinct-- without doubt or fear-- because that is just me.
That is all I have to say tonight.
Love and peace, Krista
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Camp dreams
Well, the camp dreams have at last kicked in...a week or so later than usual...I was begining to think I might miss them altogether. For those who don't already know, part of my job as the 4-H agent in Gloucester involves taking 180 youth ages 9-13 and 26 teen counselors to camp. I am not completely alone. I go with our Program Assistant, Jackie, and ten adult volunteers...and camp has great summer staff and a wonderful Program Director...but still, as the person in charge of our group, it can get a little stressfull...and I find myself going through the potential issues in dreams leading up to camp. In a strange way I am thankful for these crazy dreams because they sometimes take the edge off, and they are certainly preferable to dreams of correcting the disaster that is my house.
So last night it was the first night at camp, and I was surprised to discover that I had too many adult volunteers. Yes, too many. If you were a 4-H agent you would be laughing hysterically about that last statement. I don't think anyone has ever had a problem with too many. Most people just don't relish a week with 200 kids in fairly rustic cabins (they do have air-conditioning now...didn't when I went all those many years ago). Anyhow, you'll just have to trust me...you don't get too many people wanting to go to camp. I am going to ask if anyone has had this issue when I get to Jamestown on the 9th...because now I am wondering... It usually goes like this: I think about someone who would be great to have at camp, and when I finaly muster up the courage to ask, he or she looks at me like a deer caught in the headlights and then laughs...and it is the "You Must Be Crazy" kind of laughter...yep...nine times out of ten, that is how it goes.
So, back to this dream. There are too many volunteers so there is no place for me to sleep. I go to find my friend Marlie, the Program Director. I tell her about my problem and she turns into this completely insane monster, day glo-green and all (this is would be so uncharacteristic of Mars, I can't even explain). She tells me I can't borrow the tents because they are needed for OLS II (Outdoor Living Skills) for the Thursday night camp out. I plead for the tent, because it is Monday for crying out loud! The Marlie Monster tells me she wouldn't want me getting used to sleeping in a tent that wouldn't be available the full week. She points her little glowing finger toward the canoe shed and tells me to sleep there.
I drag my blankie and pillow across the field to the dark canoe shed. It reaks of musty old life jackets, but I arrange them to make a bed, and I try to sleep. It is too hot. There is no air. I can't believe I am sleeping in the canoe shed. I struggle to even breathe. I toss and turn on the ever shifting pile of life preservers. There is a mouse or maybe something bigger in the far corner. I really can't believe I am sleeping here. After a few hours I leave the shed. I find a nearby canoe, put my pillow and blankie in, watch the bats flap their wings across the full moon, and I fall asleep.
Then the dream goes blank for awhile. Nothing.
When it returns, I am awakened by a loud honking sound. I am completely disoriented. I sit up in my canoe and realize I am about to be run over by the Jamestown-Scotland Ferry. Then it ends.
Camp starts August 9. I have 9 more nights of camp dreams.
So last night it was the first night at camp, and I was surprised to discover that I had too many adult volunteers. Yes, too many. If you were a 4-H agent you would be laughing hysterically about that last statement. I don't think anyone has ever had a problem with too many. Most people just don't relish a week with 200 kids in fairly rustic cabins (they do have air-conditioning now...didn't when I went all those many years ago). Anyhow, you'll just have to trust me...you don't get too many people wanting to go to camp. I am going to ask if anyone has had this issue when I get to Jamestown on the 9th...because now I am wondering... It usually goes like this: I think about someone who would be great to have at camp, and when I finaly muster up the courage to ask, he or she looks at me like a deer caught in the headlights and then laughs...and it is the "You Must Be Crazy" kind of laughter...yep...nine times out of ten, that is how it goes.
So, back to this dream. There are too many volunteers so there is no place for me to sleep. I go to find my friend Marlie, the Program Director. I tell her about my problem and she turns into this completely insane monster, day glo-green and all (this is would be so uncharacteristic of Mars, I can't even explain). She tells me I can't borrow the tents because they are needed for OLS II (Outdoor Living Skills) for the Thursday night camp out. I plead for the tent, because it is Monday for crying out loud! The Marlie Monster tells me she wouldn't want me getting used to sleeping in a tent that wouldn't be available the full week. She points her little glowing finger toward the canoe shed and tells me to sleep there.
I drag my blankie and pillow across the field to the dark canoe shed. It reaks of musty old life jackets, but I arrange them to make a bed, and I try to sleep. It is too hot. There is no air. I can't believe I am sleeping in the canoe shed. I struggle to even breathe. I toss and turn on the ever shifting pile of life preservers. There is a mouse or maybe something bigger in the far corner. I really can't believe I am sleeping here. After a few hours I leave the shed. I find a nearby canoe, put my pillow and blankie in, watch the bats flap their wings across the full moon, and I fall asleep.
Then the dream goes blank for awhile. Nothing.
When it returns, I am awakened by a loud honking sound. I am completely disoriented. I sit up in my canoe and realize I am about to be run over by the Jamestown-Scotland Ferry. Then it ends.
Camp starts August 9. I have 9 more nights of camp dreams.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
A duck conversation with a camper
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| The geese at Beaverdam. No duck shots. |
Camper: We used to have ducks, but we had to get rid of them...they're messy.
Me: Noah and I had ducks too. The followed us everywhere, but they they really liked to just hang out on our porch.
Camper: They probably pooped there too.
Me: Yeah, so one day we decided to move them to our farm across the street where there is a nice big pond. At the house they only had a kiddie pool. They swam around and seemed to like their new home, but guess what?
Camper: What?
Me: The next day they flew back home.
Camper: So you got stuck with the poop again?
Me: Well, we clipped some feathers so they couldn't fly so well, and we took them back to the pond. But guess what?
Camper: What?
Me: The next day, I was sitting on the front porch when I saw them walking down the driveway. They just walked home.
Camper: Oh, I know, so you cut off their feet. Can I have some lemonade?
I never got a chance to say that we didn't cut off their feet.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Rambling thoughts from the Fighting Mermaid
The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity. Einstein
There are times when I wish I could stop questioning, but it just isn't in me. I spend a lot of time questioning, pondering, meditating on why I believe the things I do, and I am probably no closer to answers than when I first began...I only develop new questions. The questioning can begin with something small, and seemingly simple, and before I have a chance to draw in a single breath the whole puzzle begins to morph and I struggle to put the pieces back, to put the pieces back into a puzzle that no longer has the same shape where the pieces can no longer fit.
So tonight I read somewhere that Jesus was a Conservative and that the U.S. is on a fast track towards Socialism, and now after a few moments in utter amazement, I am contemplating faith and government and trying to understand why I believe the things I do. Be forewarned...you are about to get a glimpse into the workings of a mind that won't be stilled, where the pieces of the puzzle may not appear to fit where they should...this is Krista's brain on religion and politics and to tell you right from the start...I don't buy into either. If I had to use labels, I guess I would say I am a Radical Leftist Christian Treehugger, but honestly, I'm laughing right now at having written that. Labels don't get us any closer to understanding...
A few pieces of my puzzle.
Just some of the pieces of my puzzle...
Peace and Love, Krista
There are times when I wish I could stop questioning, but it just isn't in me. I spend a lot of time questioning, pondering, meditating on why I believe the things I do, and I am probably no closer to answers than when I first began...I only develop new questions. The questioning can begin with something small, and seemingly simple, and before I have a chance to draw in a single breath the whole puzzle begins to morph and I struggle to put the pieces back, to put the pieces back into a puzzle that no longer has the same shape where the pieces can no longer fit.
So tonight I read somewhere that Jesus was a Conservative and that the U.S. is on a fast track towards Socialism, and now after a few moments in utter amazement, I am contemplating faith and government and trying to understand why I believe the things I do. Be forewarned...you are about to get a glimpse into the workings of a mind that won't be stilled, where the pieces of the puzzle may not appear to fit where they should...this is Krista's brain on religion and politics and to tell you right from the start...I don't buy into either. If I had to use labels, I guess I would say I am a Radical Leftist Christian Treehugger, but honestly, I'm laughing right now at having written that. Labels don't get us any closer to understanding...
A few pieces of my puzzle.
- I am a huge fan of Jesus. What to say beyond that, I don't know. The personal relationship means everything to me. I am happy to share my own experience, but I am not going to beat you over the head with dogma, because that never really worked for me.
- I believe that God's love is limitless and that the experience of grace is so wildly insane that it defies description. It is life altering... and it exists for everyone. Don't ever let anyone tell you that you're not included.
- I don't think evolutionary theory contradicts a belief in the Creator.
- I believe that the world's major religions share in common a message of hope, compassion and love, and that God gives me the ability to love and care for people of all faiths.
- I don't think I would use the term "conservative" in any of its meanings to describe Jesus. To me, he was radical, revolutionary, and his love was meant for all.
- I think the best government is one that strikes a careful balance between individual liberties and the good of all.. including the least fortunate and the least deserving.
- I think that the place where we find ourselves now in American politics reflects not the failure of individuals to lead but the failure of the two party system which has so polarized us that we are no longer able to see our many points in common. We make blue and red decisions when we are all just little purple people clinging to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
- I think those who think we are headed toward socialism have no idea what a socialist government really looks like. The short term government solutions to some of our recent financial problems for me just aren't enough to herald the death of capitalism in a country where it is all about the Benjamins.
- I think the way out of the political mess is to rid ourselves of labels, stop the spread of party lies, and be the change we wish to see in the world...yes, thank you, Ghandi...so that means getting our hands dirty, giving up time and money and stepping outside our little boxes to enact positive change.
- I think dealing with differences whether they be politcal, cultural or spiritual requires understanding on a very basic human level. I don't think we get to this understanding without love. We have to care.
Just some of the pieces of my puzzle...
Peace and Love, Krista
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
A treehugger's dilemma...
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| My Favorite Beach |
On Saturday I am participating with the Sierra Club in the Hands Across The Sand event at Buckroe Beach. If you are knew to the Hands Across The Sand phenomenon, you can check it out on fb or visit http://www.HandsAcrossTheSand.com/ . From 12 PM to 12:15 people across the globe will come together on beaches and parks and join hands to say no to near and off-shore drilling.
I am excited about being part of this, and it is my first event as a Sierra Club member. It is going to be awesome. But the decision to go came with a treehugger dilemma...I'd be driving an hour each way, using up fuel every mile. And that's when I came up with one of my great ideas...why not host a gathering right here in Mathews...we have beaches. It seemed at first like a great idea...get more local support...increase some visibility...so I let my fingers do the walking and I signed up to host a Hands Across the Sands gathering at Bethel Beach. I should mention it was late at night. I am a nocturnal genius.
That night I went to sleep full of excitement...and then the dreams started...enter treehugger dilemma #2. Too many people...too many people leaving traces even well-intentioned people leave. And all this on my most favorite beach in whole wide world. I've been to alot of beaches...in Puerto Rico, Jamaica, Fiji, Italy, Greece. There was a time when I could say "Let's go to the beach" in six different languages. But, Bethel Beach has always been my favorite and has captured my heart more than any other...the chattering of the ospreys in their nest, the relentless breeze, the many orange and purple skies, and the way the beach is simply never the same one twice...it is all just heaven to me. So, the Leave No Trace educator in me just couldn't risk heaven. And heck, I had just helped clean up trash there with the Chesapeake Bay Foundation...why do it again. I woke up early and emailed the Virginia coordinator of Hands... to say I'd reconsidered. I'd be attending the event at Buckroe. If you caught it at the right time you may have seen the Bethel Beach event on the Hands Across The Sand map. It was there for a few minutes. Really.
Bethel Beach saved, I was now back with dilemma #1...which I have solved in my tiny treehugging brain by making a list of all the things I will do across the bridge so that the fuel counts for more than one thing. Trader Joe's for organic coffee that I can actually afford. Habitat for Humanity Restore Warehouse to look for some used windows and building materials. If you haven't been there it is worth a visit... My kitchen is painted with discarded paint that cost $ 1 a gallon, my back porch glassed with used windows and sliding doors which I never would have managed bought new.
Oh, and I am bringing trash bags...to help clean up the traces even well-intentioned people leave...at Buckroe this time. Saturday, June 26 at Buckroe Beach. Gathering starts at 11. Joining of hands 12-12:15. Come out and say no to near and off-shore drilling. http://HandsAcrossTheSand.com/
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
In Perspective: Visualizing the BP Oil Disaster
It is getting bigger all the time.
In Perspective: Visualizing the BP Oil Disaster: "See how the oil spill in the gulf would look over your hometown"
In Perspective: Visualizing the BP Oil Disaster: "See how the oil spill in the gulf would look over your hometown"
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Sickened by the Spill
Anyone who knows me also knows that I have been deeply affected by the BP oil spill in the Gulf. I am angry, bewildered, frustrated...on so many levels... for so many reasons that I have put off writing about it for nearly a month. I am no closer to being able to wrap my brain around this tragedy than I was in the beginning, but I am blogging on because I am hoping it will at least help me think it through.
Beyond the tragic loss of human life, the BP disaster will have far reaching consequences for the ecosystem along the U.S. Gulf Coast and it has already impacted residents who depend on a healthy Gulf of Mexico to support both fisheries and tourism. There are so many restrictions on fisheries at present, I couldn't begin to list them all...and despite reports of "clean beaches" tourism is down...so BP has now reportedly given 70 million dollars to the Gulf states to air commercials the company made to promote tourism. It all makes me sick.
And then there is the BP Atlantis platform. Just as dangerous, and again, without the acoustic control shut-off system...and that isn't all BP's fault. We don't require them...not part of the rules for off-shore drilling. Our rules are in part to blame. Brazil and Norway have safer rules.
Our whole energy policy stinks. We talk about clean energy, but it is just talk. Instead of pushing through clean energy solutions, the President I've supported ushered in a new wave of off-shore drilling exploration just before the Deepwater incident. Bad timing clearly. I am angry. We are too dependant on fossil fuels. We are all to blame. My car gets good gas mileage, but I drive it too much. I haven't finished the glassing/insulating of my south facing back porch which could have provided some solar heat last winter. I am mad at me.
I have a whole list of idiots whose pictures I'd like to throw darts at: Tony Hayward (BP CEO already mentioned), Rush Limbaugh (for even suggesting that the Sierra Club should pay the clean-up tab), Lisa Murkowski (yet another Alaskan idiot, for derailing the move to increase fines for wreaking environmental havoc)...and yeah, I'm not real happy with my guy in the White House because I need him to take a stronger stand. If ever there was a time to cement a new sense of environmental obligation...this is it.
And then there is my beautiful Chesapeake, my home, my peace, my place like no other...and the thought of drilling off the Maryland/Virginia coast just scares me...and I am hoping those plans will not proceed, but they are far from being tabled...so stand up, my friends, and make your voices count. We could be next.
Angry. Angry and wanting something good to arise from the anger...So, I will complete the porch project, and when I finish paying off the Matrix, the next one will be a hybrid. And I will have to make better lists so I don't have to drive to the same place twice. And I will keep signing petitions, and writing to our legislators about the need for clean energy, and about ending off-shore drilling. We must fully understand the consequences of our mistakes...we can't continue to put our oceans and our planet at risk.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
At it again...
Since my last blog...
when Noah wasn't lookin'. We haven't really even made much strawberry short cake because Noah is a real berry kid. He loves them. He is already eyeing the raspberries and blackberries!
I also became obsessed with the BP oil spill and resulting environmental catastrophe ...and I am not exaggerating...but that is another blog on its own. Until then, happy weekend, XO
 |
| Tomatoes soon!!! |
I have puttered around worked in my mom's garden...
My mom's garden is always a mini wonderland, and always chaotic...We aren't talking nice neat rows...but it is an awesome place, nonetheless. She has everything from Crista tomatoes to kiwi and black bamboo growing in there.
Noah sometimes helps us weed, but mostly he likes to help plant when he is in work mode...otherwise you'll find him with a net and a bucket "saving tadpoles" in the fish pond. Yeah, we're growing frogs in the house. Once he lost a bull frog in the living room. By the time we found it, it was flat as a pancake. We might never have found it, but dead things do have a stinky phase. Since then, we've been a tadpole only kind of place.
I have also eaten more than my fair share of strawberries with-
out making a single jar of freezer jam. I even ate some
 |
| Yum!!!!!!!! |
I planted grasses with the Chesapeake Bay
Foundation with the little guy. This year we
planted along the James at Westover Plantation.
|
| Noah with the grasses...photo courtesy of the cell phone as I forgot to charge batteries |
...And David and I got married... in one of my favorite places.
|
| Sunset after the wedding... |
I also became obsessed with the BP oil spill and resulting environmental catastrophe ...and I am not exaggerating...but that is another blog on its own. Until then, happy weekend, XO
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
What's Cookin' Wednesday...Strawberry Girl Makes Freezer Jam
Yes...I need something to make me come back week in and week out...and I am hoping this helps. I thought maybe it would be fun to see what others are cooking...or not cooking...and either get a few ideas or share some kitchen pain. Noah and I eat far too much
So for my first What's Cookin blog, I decided to do something close to home, and something for which I am about 2 weeks early on in my neck of the woods...I've always been the impatient sort (this is not to be confused with getting things done in a timely fashion...I am also the queen of last minute, the ever procrastinator).
STRAWBERRY FREEZER JAM
I grew up on a strawberry farm. The only lingering trauma for having done so is the name-calling. I still get called Strawberry Girl on occasion at the local store. For those out of town, your local store is the closest convenience store to your house. It is that place where everyone knows your dog's name and they have your cell number posted next to the cash register so they can call you when she makes the
So we don't grow pick your own strawberries anymore...only pumpkins. We do have a smallish patch at the farm (50 X 50')...and I will probably be making the daily trip in a few days so that I don't miss out on the first ripe berry. I am impatient. I hated strawberries as a kid. I
STRAWBERRY FREEZER JAM
Ingredients
2 cups crushed fresh strawberries
4 cups sugar
1 (1.75 ounce) package Sure-jell dry pectin
3/4 cup water
Directions
1. Pick a heap of fresh, ripe strawberries. I don't know how much. I always pick loads and eat what I don't use.
2.Mix crushed strawberries with sugar, and let stand for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, stir the pectin into the water in a small saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, and boil for 1 minute. Stir the boiling water into the strawberries. Allow to stand for 3 minutes before pouring into jars or other storage containers.
3.Place tops on the containers, and leave for 24 hours. Place into freezer, and store frozen until ready to use.
Lasts about a month once you've opened it and put it in the fridge.
If this recipe looks like the one that comes in the box of Sure-Jell, it is. It is the best out there. I have tried all sorts of recipes, so if you thought you were getting a family secret, I hope you aren't too disappointed. If there is a strawberry patch near you, go pick some and try it. The Strawberry Girl can't wait to have strawberry freezer jam on an english muffin.
The photo above is from my uncle's farm in Roca, Nebraska. Strawberry growing was once contagious.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Poison Ivy and Ticks, Fresh and Raw
Following up on yesterday's post...
The Octagon soap apparently worked its magic...no rash...and I am extremely allergic to poison ivy...which means I am extremely allergic to my yard.
And I haven't found anymore ticks...so I either don't have anymore...or my eyesight is just plain bad.
But that has me wondering if Frontline or Advantix has ever been tested on humankind... And if it has, I want some...and if it hasn't, maybe I'd consider offering myself up as a test specimen.
And I am curious about the folk remedies for poison ivy and ticks. So if you have any, please share.
My sister has been getting poison oak like crazy on the job with the BLM in Oregon. She's been consuming Certo (that preservative you use making jams and jellies) because it is supposed to make the rash fade quicker. I did a little research and discovered the active ingredient, sodium benzoate, may combine with vitamin C to produce benzene...which according to the research is a carcinogen...so I am not so sure about that one. But wouldn't this mean that jams and jellies and any preserved foods for that matter might combine with C to do the same???? I would think this would mean we should be eating fresh, raw food?!?! Hmmmmmmmmmmmm...
The Octagon soap apparently worked its magic...no rash...and I am extremely allergic to poison ivy...which means I am extremely allergic to my yard.
And I haven't found anymore ticks...so I either don't have anymore...or my eyesight is just plain bad.
But that has me wondering if Frontline or Advantix has ever been tested on humankind... And if it has, I want some...and if it hasn't, maybe I'd consider offering myself up as a test specimen.
And I am curious about the folk remedies for poison ivy and ticks. So if you have any, please share.
My sister has been getting poison oak like crazy on the job with the BLM in Oregon. She's been consuming Certo (that preservative you use making jams and jellies) because it is supposed to make the rash fade quicker. I did a little research and discovered the active ingredient, sodium benzoate, may combine with vitamin C to produce benzene...which according to the research is a carcinogen...so I am not so sure about that one. But wouldn't this mean that jams and jellies and any preserved foods for that matter might combine with C to do the same???? I would think this would mean we should be eating fresh, raw food?!?! Hmmmmmmmmmmmm...
Saturday, April 17, 2010
A few ticks and a rash
It occurred to me that it has been two weeks since I have written. I've had some things on my mind that have kept the words inside, but it is time to dive back in...not because I have anything earth shattering to say, but because if I don't, I just may never.
So in case you don't already know, it is tick season again in our neck of the woods. Oh, I would love to blame it on someone else's woods, but unfortunately it is my own backyard...backyard, front yard...I wouldn't even really call it a yard. Landscaping was the first thing to go when I became a single mom. I know there are single parents out there who can do it all...work, kids, housekeeping, landscaping, and even manage going back to school at the same time...but that isn't me. So I got rid of the flowers (or rather they died, along with the rest of the shrubbery I'd planted years ago) and I decided to just deal with grass...only it isn't grass...it's weeds and poison ivy...and I don't deal with it...unless I am guilted into it.
Last week I bought some zinnia seeds, and sunflowers and moonflowers (my absolute favorite), and today I actually dug a raised bed in the spot I swore I would never dig again (it is much easier to push the lawn mower right up under the porch than it is to pull weeds in a flower bed). I had to haul in extra dirt which I dug from the ditch that invisibly separates the field from the yard. I apparently ventured into tick haven and through poison ivy wonderland on my way ferrying the dirt to what will eventually become the weedy flower bed. I am hoping that I have all the ticks off me, and that octagon soap really does remove the poison ivy oil...but something tells me I am going to be itching tomorrow. I don't like even thinking about that.
The good news is that I am even actually thinking about flowers again. I'm not even going to attempt getting inside my head to understand why. Maybe it's love :-). Bright, cheery flowers make me happy, and I will be glad to see them growing in front of the dilapidated porch...and I am hoping that the moonflower vines will grow all around it, and late on a summer evening I will sit out there and look at the stars with a glass of wine while the sweet scent of moonflowers wafts thru the air...it's worth a few ticks and a rash.
So in case you don't already know, it is tick season again in our neck of the woods. Oh, I would love to blame it on someone else's woods, but unfortunately it is my own backyard...backyard, front yard...I wouldn't even really call it a yard. Landscaping was the first thing to go when I became a single mom. I know there are single parents out there who can do it all...work, kids, housekeeping, landscaping, and even manage going back to school at the same time...but that isn't me. So I got rid of the flowers (or rather they died, along with the rest of the shrubbery I'd planted years ago) and I decided to just deal with grass...only it isn't grass...it's weeds and poison ivy...and I don't deal with it...unless I am guilted into it.
Last week I bought some zinnia seeds, and sunflowers and moonflowers (my absolute favorite), and today I actually dug a raised bed in the spot I swore I would never dig again (it is much easier to push the lawn mower right up under the porch than it is to pull weeds in a flower bed). I had to haul in extra dirt which I dug from the ditch that invisibly separates the field from the yard. I apparently ventured into tick haven and through poison ivy wonderland on my way ferrying the dirt to what will eventually become the weedy flower bed. I am hoping that I have all the ticks off me, and that octagon soap really does remove the poison ivy oil...but something tells me I am going to be itching tomorrow. I don't like even thinking about that.
The good news is that I am even actually thinking about flowers again. I'm not even going to attempt getting inside my head to understand why. Maybe it's love :-). Bright, cheery flowers make me happy, and I will be glad to see them growing in front of the dilapidated porch...and I am hoping that the moonflower vines will grow all around it, and late on a summer evening I will sit out there and look at the stars with a glass of wine while the sweet scent of moonflowers wafts thru the air...it's worth a few ticks and a rash.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
My Easter Bible
My China boycott has not been easy...it has been far easier to stay out of Wal Mart. I look at everything I put in my cart no matter where I go...even greeting cards get scrutinized as I discovered so many wear the "Made in China" tag...and toys...well, forget about it.
So Friday night I was waiting for Noah to come to the toy realization at Ollies where we had stopped to pick up something. I was perusing the Bible section as I had just bought Noah his first and I was curious about what Ollies had. Well, I happened to spot a big, black one called the Archaeological Study Bible, and coming from an archaeological academic background, I had to check it out...
By the time Noah had arrived at the conclusion that I wouldn't be buying any toys (I am sure he scrutinized every possible toy for 9 year old boys), I had fallen in love with the Archaeological Study Bible. It had beautiful illustrations and great articles related to biblical archaeology. It placed each Book in historical and cultural context with wonderful discussion about ancient peoples. It was a Bible for me. I am a context person. Context helps me hold onto new knowledge...otherwise that wisdom just wobbles around in my brain. Context gives it a place to take root and grow. I sooooo wanted that Bible.
And then came the kicker, a mean little sticker that read...yes, you know..."Made in China." Noah had seen me flipping the pages of the Bible...He can read my expressions well. "Is it too expensive?" he asked. "No, " I said, and I showed him the sticker.
"Oh, Mom. Give it up. Everything is made there. Buy the Bible, forget about the boycott."
So there I was...And it was tempting to forget about my boycott...but I try to raise Noah by example. My boycott was about taking a stand for something, an idea, I believe in. I couldn't show Noah that I throw in the towel because I want something...even if that something is the Great Book. I told Noah that I would return after the boycott and that if the Archaeological Study Bible was still on the shelf I'd buy it. We both left empty handed (and I still don't remember what we stopped to pick up in the first place).
On Saturday Noah asked me to take him to Ollies because he wanted to get me an "Easter gift". "I want to buy you the Archaeology Bible, Mom," he said. "Just because you are boycotting China...well, it doesn't mean I am going to do that too. I have my own money. I am going to buy it for you and me and David."
So... I drove him over there...and I didn't expect him to really do it...because he is pretty frugal about spending his own money. But, he found it, and whipped out 25 bucks from his wallet and asked if I would hold his place in line while he looked around. As I got to the cashier, Noah arrived with a small plastic toy and his wallet. "Almost everything is made in China, Mom," he said. "If you want to pay me back sometime, that will be okay." I just smiled...maybe next month...
Thank you, Noah. It has been a wonderful Easter. We spent time with family. We enjoyed Big Day at Living Waters Church, the church we call home...and my mom came with us! Noah says it has been the best Easter ever. I have to agree.
So Friday night I was waiting for Noah to come to the toy realization at Ollies where we had stopped to pick up something. I was perusing the Bible section as I had just bought Noah his first and I was curious about what Ollies had. Well, I happened to spot a big, black one called the Archaeological Study Bible, and coming from an archaeological academic background, I had to check it out...
By the time Noah had arrived at the conclusion that I wouldn't be buying any toys (I am sure he scrutinized every possible toy for 9 year old boys), I had fallen in love with the Archaeological Study Bible. It had beautiful illustrations and great articles related to biblical archaeology. It placed each Book in historical and cultural context with wonderful discussion about ancient peoples. It was a Bible for me. I am a context person. Context helps me hold onto new knowledge...otherwise that wisdom just wobbles around in my brain. Context gives it a place to take root and grow. I sooooo wanted that Bible.
And then came the kicker, a mean little sticker that read...yes, you know..."Made in China." Noah had seen me flipping the pages of the Bible...He can read my expressions well. "Is it too expensive?" he asked. "No, " I said, and I showed him the sticker.
"Oh, Mom. Give it up. Everything is made there. Buy the Bible, forget about the boycott."
So there I was...And it was tempting to forget about my boycott...but I try to raise Noah by example. My boycott was about taking a stand for something, an idea, I believe in. I couldn't show Noah that I throw in the towel because I want something...even if that something is the Great Book. I told Noah that I would return after the boycott and that if the Archaeological Study Bible was still on the shelf I'd buy it. We both left empty handed (and I still don't remember what we stopped to pick up in the first place).
On Saturday Noah asked me to take him to Ollies because he wanted to get me an "Easter gift". "I want to buy you the Archaeology Bible, Mom," he said. "Just because you are boycotting China...well, it doesn't mean I am going to do that too. I have my own money. I am going to buy it for you and me and David."
So... I drove him over there...and I didn't expect him to really do it...because he is pretty frugal about spending his own money. But, he found it, and whipped out 25 bucks from his wallet and asked if I would hold his place in line while he looked around. As I got to the cashier, Noah arrived with a small plastic toy and his wallet. "Almost everything is made in China, Mom," he said. "If you want to pay me back sometime, that will be okay." I just smiled...maybe next month...
Thank you, Noah. It has been a wonderful Easter. We spent time with family. We enjoyed Big Day at Living Waters Church, the church we call home...and my mom came with us! Noah says it has been the best Easter ever. I have to agree.
Early Morning Easter Musings
Happy Easter, Buona Pasqua, Happy Big Day/Resurrection Day!!
The sun is just rising and my little one is still asnooze. There wasn't much sleeping going on here last night. I had thought that he was just too excited about today...but it turned out that he watched "The Haunting" at Boys and Girls Club... So the Easter Bunny has done her thing, but there is no little one chasing eggs yet.
I am in desperate need of coffee. I had enough filtered water for two cups, but I put in coffee for eight, so I am waiting on the filter...
I've added some photos I shot yesterday with the camera I was given for Christmas. The camera is one of the best I've ever used, but it is part of an old life and was intended for other purposes...so I am giving it back today...which means it is getting added to the car with the other wierd stuff...
I have a new life. It is beautful. Photographs can't capture all of it...
So...here are some pictures of yesterday...it was a really hazy morning for those of you who don't already know that Mathews County didn't pay any heed to the weatherman...
You couldn't even see the marker at the mouth of the North River...but the haze eventually lifted, as it did on my life. Happy Resurrection Day!
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Dear Hasbro
Dear Hasbro,
You should make your toys in the U.S.A. instead of China. I really like the Star Wars toys that you make, but now my mom won't buy anything made in China and so now I won't be able to get any more and I am a big fan of Star Wars. My mom says that Americans need jobs and that is why she won't buy anything made in China, and I am a big fan of Star Wars. If you don't bring your factories back to America, I won't be able to buy a single Star Wars Action figure or any figure you make. I won't get any action figures for my birthday, Christmas, or Easter because my mom is boycotting China. So please make Hasbro toys in the U.S.A. again.
Sincerely,
Noah B.
--A letter from my boy.
You should make your toys in the U.S.A. instead of China. I really like the Star Wars toys that you make, but now my mom won't buy anything made in China and so now I won't be able to get any more and I am a big fan of Star Wars. My mom says that Americans need jobs and that is why she won't buy anything made in China, and I am a big fan of Star Wars. If you don't bring your factories back to America, I won't be able to buy a single Star Wars Action figure or any figure you make. I won't get any action figures for my birthday, Christmas, or Easter because my mom is boycotting China. So please make Hasbro toys in the U.S.A. again.
Sincerely,
Noah B.
--A letter from my boy.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Lucky Jeans for Dinghy not Made in China
So you are wondering "What the cuss?"...Maybe you didn't see the Fantastic Mr. Fox...I've always been a huge Dahl fan...
Noah and I drove down to Savannah last Thursday to spend some time with David and do some glasswork on the dinghy we want to use on the big trip back North to North on Nico (the profile says I live in Mathews, VA...if you say that you live in North, Virginia people think you are an idiot...like my third grade teacher in Annapolis did when she asked me where I was moving).
We goofed off Friday. The weather was beautiful. We made banana pancakes, walked Spot and went to the beach at Tybee. Eventually we found ourselves at Fort Pulaski National Monument, a Civil War site. I am not what you would call a Civil War buff, but Noah has been studying it in school... so we went, and had a good walk and some fun finding the not so short cut out... Anyhoo, we didn't get around to lunch until about 3...so no work on the dink.
Saturday was cloudy and cool with a really big chance of gnats. It wasn't good glassing weather. We hung out, went for a few walks and wondered briefly if we should have laid glass the day before. But Friday had been so well spent...it had been a bonding day of other sorts...so the glass work would have to wait for another trip, or so we thought...
And then the clouds drifted away and the sun came out. It got warm, and we decided to get to work. For those of you who have not laid fiberglass with polyester resin, let me tell you it is messy...the kind of mess that just never cleans up. So I decided to change into my favorite ugly jeans...an old pair of torn Lucky Brand jeans I had picked up in some thrift store. I was about to put these on when I discovered...THEY HAD A TAG ON THEM THAT SAID MADE IN THE U.S.A. I almost couldn't believe it. My Levi's are made in Mexico. So I had to save those rags...and I wore David's old shorts instead... which was why Harley was able to praise my style on fb (I love you, Harley).
So the dinghy was glassed, and the American jeans saved. Krista never recovered her fashion sense...she wore her skirt inside out to church on Sunday. No kidding.
And here I am on Tuesday, still in awe of the American jeans and deciding to give myself a little challenge. I am tired of the "Made everywhere but Here". I am especially tired of the "Made in China"...so for the next month I am going to refrain from purchasing anything "Made in China." I am easing myself in to a full on "Buy American" that I hope will last a lifetime. This from the girl who drives a Japanese car made in Canada... Yeah, I am sick of it.
If you have a minute, you can check out http://www.stillmadeinusa.com/ for a list of products we still make at home. I've added to my favorites, become a fan on fb. I am going to use it as a resource. I will accumulate a lot less junk...it seems to all sport the "Made in China" tag.
Noah and I drove down to Savannah last Thursday to spend some time with David and do some glasswork on the dinghy we want to use on the big trip back North to North on Nico (the profile says I live in Mathews, VA...if you say that you live in North, Virginia people think you are an idiot...like my third grade teacher in Annapolis did when she asked me where I was moving).
We goofed off Friday. The weather was beautiful. We made banana pancakes, walked Spot and went to the beach at Tybee. Eventually we found ourselves at Fort Pulaski National Monument, a Civil War site. I am not what you would call a Civil War buff, but Noah has been studying it in school... so we went, and had a good walk and some fun finding the not so short cut out... Anyhoo, we didn't get around to lunch until about 3...so no work on the dink.
Saturday was cloudy and cool with a really big chance of gnats. It wasn't good glassing weather. We hung out, went for a few walks and wondered briefly if we should have laid glass the day before. But Friday had been so well spent...it had been a bonding day of other sorts...so the glass work would have to wait for another trip, or so we thought...
And then the clouds drifted away and the sun came out. It got warm, and we decided to get to work. For those of you who have not laid fiberglass with polyester resin, let me tell you it is messy...the kind of mess that just never cleans up. So I decided to change into my favorite ugly jeans...an old pair of torn Lucky Brand jeans I had picked up in some thrift store. I was about to put these on when I discovered...THEY HAD A TAG ON THEM THAT SAID MADE IN THE U.S.A. I almost couldn't believe it. My Levi's are made in Mexico. So I had to save those rags...and I wore David's old shorts instead... which was why Harley was able to praise my style on fb (I love you, Harley).
So the dinghy was glassed, and the American jeans saved. Krista never recovered her fashion sense...she wore her skirt inside out to church on Sunday. No kidding.
And here I am on Tuesday, still in awe of the American jeans and deciding to give myself a little challenge. I am tired of the "Made everywhere but Here". I am especially tired of the "Made in China"...so for the next month I am going to refrain from purchasing anything "Made in China." I am easing myself in to a full on "Buy American" that I hope will last a lifetime. This from the girl who drives a Japanese car made in Canada... Yeah, I am sick of it.
If you have a minute, you can check out http://www.stillmadeinusa.com/ for a list of products we still make at home. I've added to my favorites, become a fan on fb. I am going to use it as a resource. I will accumulate a lot less junk...it seems to all sport the "Made in China" tag.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
A Mermaid Day
It is a mermaid day... How could it not be? When the weekend starts early...when there are no meltdowns before breakfast...when I actually find two socks that match (and they are both clean). Yay!
I am highly distracted today...but it is still a mermaid day. I can't share all that has me distracted...someone else's story has to unfold in her own time...but, I am believing it will roll out well...I have hope.
I am driving to Savannah today with Noah after lunch. We are going to see David, and we are both excited! This is another part of the distraction. I don't ever pack well. Good intentions, but then it doesn't carry over...so I have a list of things in my head that I know I didn't pack and a list of the things I am not sure if I packed. Those I know I didn't include a blanket, my toothbrush, and Noah's pillow he can't sleep with out. I will stop by the house to get those. The things I am not sure I packed could cover anything from underwear to medicine, shoes to eyeglasses. I could go out to the car and unzip my bag and look...but I won't do that because that is just who I am. I know I have insulin.
If the distractedness doesn't go away by lunch time I am going to have to use one of Noah's old ADD patches that he doesn't use anymore because he is allergic to the adhesive. I am allergic to the adhesive, too. One square welt on the butt won't kill me though...and they work. We used to call it the focus patch...It is actually some type of ritilin that absorbs through the skin.
I almost forgot. Here is a chance to use some new to me lingo. S.H.I.T.
Hope ya'll have a great weekend!!
I am highly distracted today...but it is still a mermaid day. I can't share all that has me distracted...someone else's story has to unfold in her own time...but, I am believing it will roll out well...I have hope.
I am driving to Savannah today with Noah after lunch. We are going to see David, and we are both excited! This is another part of the distraction. I don't ever pack well. Good intentions, but then it doesn't carry over...so I have a list of things in my head that I know I didn't pack and a list of the things I am not sure if I packed. Those I know I didn't include a blanket, my toothbrush, and Noah's pillow he can't sleep with out. I will stop by the house to get those. The things I am not sure I packed could cover anything from underwear to medicine, shoes to eyeglasses. I could go out to the car and unzip my bag and look...but I won't do that because that is just who I am. I know I have insulin.
If the distractedness doesn't go away by lunch time I am going to have to use one of Noah's old ADD patches that he doesn't use anymore because he is allergic to the adhesive. I am allergic to the adhesive, too. One square welt on the butt won't kill me though...and they work. We used to call it the focus patch...It is actually some type of ritilin that absorbs through the skin.
I almost forgot. Here is a chance to use some new to me lingo. S.H.I.T.
Hope ya'll have a great weekend!!
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
My medical calculations
Without insurance I would pay:
Insulin and needles for me, monthly $650
Testing supplies, monthly $50
Medication for Noah, monthly $165 (add $125 during allergy season)
4 Diabetes check-ups yearly...I don't know
4 A1C Tests yearly...I don't know
Colonoscopy every 5 years because my mom is a survivor and my grandad wasn't..I don't know
Well checkups for Noah...I don't know
Sick visits for Noah...I don't know...except one time someone forgot to enter my insurance info at the pharmacy and his antibiotic rang up at $264.00
In other words, I would be choosing between health and a roof over our heads and food on the table... If i didn't choose health, Noah would have a short-time mother. I can not choose not to take it and live long enough to see his story unfold.
I have a personal stake in this healthcare mess. I also know there are many with diabetes who make the choices I avoid today.
This isn't the piece of legislation that I had hoped for once upon a time. It isn't a done deal. I remain optimistic about the direction of our great country. I don't think that bringing affordable healthcare to the masses diminishes us as a nation.
Insulin and needles for me, monthly $650
Testing supplies, monthly $50
Medication for Noah, monthly $165 (add $125 during allergy season)
4 Diabetes check-ups yearly...I don't know
4 A1C Tests yearly...I don't know
Colonoscopy every 5 years because my mom is a survivor and my grandad wasn't..I don't know
Well checkups for Noah...I don't know
Sick visits for Noah...I don't know...except one time someone forgot to enter my insurance info at the pharmacy and his antibiotic rang up at $264.00
In other words, I would be choosing between health and a roof over our heads and food on the table... If i didn't choose health, Noah would have a short-time mother. I can not choose not to take it and live long enough to see his story unfold.
I have a personal stake in this healthcare mess. I also know there are many with diabetes who make the choices I avoid today.
This isn't the piece of legislation that I had hoped for once upon a time. It isn't a done deal. I remain optimistic about the direction of our great country. I don't think that bringing affordable healthcare to the masses diminishes us as a nation.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The new old piano, boat people, and my beautiful boy
Noah has been taking piano lessons for the past two years from Diana Allison. I knew from the first lessons that she was a perfect fit for us. Apart from being a great teacher, her conversations with Noah on all matters from history to music did more to build his esteem than any conversation he'd had with the Talking Doctor. Miss Diana is also boat people...by which I mean she is a sailor and works also at one of the marinas in Deltaville...which means she is also good people. She'd been helping us look for a cheap upright for Noah to play at home (Noah has a Yamaha keyboard...his second, but that is another story). Well, she recently found one...her boss at the Marina has a sister...
Well last week, after weeks of losing phone numbers, and probably trying Miss Diana's patience in my repeated requests for the same, I found (for probably the fifth or sixth time) the number of the boss' sister I was to contact and I actually made the call. And, wow, what a call, and connection on so many levels. Connie couldn't have been more kind...and then there came the comment/ question that almost blew my mind... "so you have the boy with autism?" My brain went blank...After a few seconds, I stumbled back to thinking..."Noah may have Ausberger's syndrome," I heard myself saying, "but there has never been a diagnosis." Yes, my boy is a special boy. He walks to a different beat. I'd heard when he was in pre-school and again in kindergarten..."sometimes he dances and sings like he is in his own world"...school has been a struggle at times...he has had fantastic teachers who have been very understanding...We've been blessed. Noah went thru testing for the Special Education program...He has a high I.Q. He has ADD like me. Learning to read was a struggle at first; handwriting outrageous, math is a mystery.
But, Noah could teach a class in creating sculpture from found objects. He loves to build, invents great gadgets... could tell you anything you want to know about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. or pirates or sea creatures...and can identify almost any song on the radio in the first three seconds of lead in. He brings joy to my life daily. His favorite line this week: "Hey, Mom, you know what you look like today?" Me: "A monkey?" Noah: "No...the best mom in the world."
That is my beautiful boy.
Well...I went to see the piano on Friday. It is a beautiful, old piano with a rich history in the family who owns it. Connie lives in a house like mine. It was built by her grandparents who once operated it as a general store in Gloucester. It is old and cluttered with life. We laughed about the obstacles we've both traversed in dealing with old houses (these will go unmentioned to preserve our mutual peace of mind). She even gave me a tip on some heated mattress pads that might keep us from freezing next winter. I made a new friend.
So, we are getting a new old piano. It is beautiful, and perfect for Noah. I just need to sort out where it should go. Noah's Yamaha has its spot on the dining room table; his electric guitar is the instrument of choice in the living room along with Rockband... and he is saving space for drums (yeah right). I guess when it comes...wherever it goes, there it will be...and we will be blessed to have it as part of our lives.
Well last week, after weeks of losing phone numbers, and probably trying Miss Diana's patience in my repeated requests for the same, I found (for probably the fifth or sixth time) the number of the boss' sister I was to contact and I actually made the call. And, wow, what a call, and connection on so many levels. Connie couldn't have been more kind...and then there came the comment/ question that almost blew my mind... "so you have the boy with autism?" My brain went blank...After a few seconds, I stumbled back to thinking..."Noah may have Ausberger's syndrome," I heard myself saying, "but there has never been a diagnosis." Yes, my boy is a special boy. He walks to a different beat. I'd heard when he was in pre-school and again in kindergarten..."sometimes he dances and sings like he is in his own world"...school has been a struggle at times...he has had fantastic teachers who have been very understanding...We've been blessed. Noah went thru testing for the Special Education program...He has a high I.Q. He has ADD like me. Learning to read was a struggle at first; handwriting outrageous, math is a mystery.
But, Noah could teach a class in creating sculpture from found objects. He loves to build, invents great gadgets... could tell you anything you want to know about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. or pirates or sea creatures...and can identify almost any song on the radio in the first three seconds of lead in. He brings joy to my life daily. His favorite line this week: "Hey, Mom, you know what you look like today?" Me: "A monkey?" Noah: "No...the best mom in the world."
That is my beautiful boy.
Well...I went to see the piano on Friday. It is a beautiful, old piano with a rich history in the family who owns it. Connie lives in a house like mine. It was built by her grandparents who once operated it as a general store in Gloucester. It is old and cluttered with life. We laughed about the obstacles we've both traversed in dealing with old houses (these will go unmentioned to preserve our mutual peace of mind). She even gave me a tip on some heated mattress pads that might keep us from freezing next winter. I made a new friend.
So, we are getting a new old piano. It is beautiful, and perfect for Noah. I just need to sort out where it should go. Noah's Yamaha has its spot on the dining room table; his electric guitar is the instrument of choice in the living room along with Rockband... and he is saving space for drums (yeah right). I guess when it comes...wherever it goes, there it will be...and we will be blessed to have it as part of our lives.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
The Bucket List
So I got another of those emails with the "bucket list" of things you are supposed to want to do in your lifetime...only I don't give a rat's ass about camping in an RV (oxymoron in my book) or jumping out of an airplane or visiting Niagra Falls (although I am sure it's nice there when it isn't cold). In fact, everytime I get one of those emails, I feel like a big dork (just like the dork that hopes a friend is okay when she posts S.H.I.T. on fb on a Thursday). My "bucket list" just doesn't seem to include things that can be completed all at once. I'm wondering if thats just another grand feature of my ADD, or if I really am a dork, or if it is just that I am still a "big picture" person, or whatever! So here are 3 things from my big picture bucket list. Please feel free to comment or share some of yours... I promise not to be offended if you call me a dork. :-)
1. To face a great fear on faith and live to tell the story. This will happen at some point in an ocean crossing with David on Nico. I love sailing, but have a profound fear of the Atlantic. Profound FEAR!!! I trust David, however...and when he says we are ready, I will gladly go...just hoping for the moment that there are more than a few years in waiting.
2. To make a life-long friendship with someone in a land far away who I will never meet, living a life quite different from my own and to have lasting impact on eachother's lives.
3. To help one child break the cycle of poverty. I believe this is within reach... and it's part of the reason I stick with the job I have.
Have a great weekend eveyone! It just became Friday. T.G.I.F. :-)
1. To face a great fear on faith and live to tell the story. This will happen at some point in an ocean crossing with David on Nico. I love sailing, but have a profound fear of the Atlantic. Profound FEAR!!! I trust David, however...and when he says we are ready, I will gladly go...just hoping for the moment that there are more than a few years in waiting.
2. To make a life-long friendship with someone in a land far away who I will never meet, living a life quite different from my own and to have lasting impact on eachother's lives.
3. To help one child break the cycle of poverty. I believe this is within reach... and it's part of the reason I stick with the job I have.
Have a great weekend eveyone! It just became Friday. T.G.I.F. :-)
Monday, March 15, 2010
Our Crazy Kitchen
I said it in my last post...I love crazy. Noah and I both have ADD, vivid imaginations, and incurable curiosity...See...I can feel my friends smiling already. It makes life interesting. It transforms my living space. It propels us into sometimes loony adventures, and makes possible new discoveries. But, sometimes it is just plain frustrating.
Tonight Noah's kitchen experiment went awry. Who knew you can't cook spaghetti in a ziplock bag in the microwave? I guess at 5 minutes the pasta wasn't done, and at 8 minutes it became a brown brick. And when I went to clean up the mess...yes, a big mess...I discovered that he had been too impatient to see if the box of noodles had been opened...so he opened the other end...which, of course, led to almost two pounds of noodles on the floor...stray ones are still crunching beneath my feet.
So I asked, "Why didn't you look to see if it was already open before opening the other end?"
And he smiled back at me "Why didn't you look to see that both ends were open before you picked it up?" and then a slightly more humble, "my food experiment didn't work out so well."
I try to be patient, but the kitchen is a wreck. His second food experiment was microwaved pineapple. It was tasty, and also messy, and we may get food poisoning because he cut it with the same knife I used to cut raw chicken earlier. But I can't complain...I still remember making peanut butter and jelly casserole when I was a little older than Noah, and I am pretty sure I tried to serve it for dinner when it was my night to cook.
David, get ready for the kitchen experiments. There is one coming to a boat near you. He says he has an appetizer experiment. I will make sure he leaves the soda and mentos behind!
Tonight Noah's kitchen experiment went awry. Who knew you can't cook spaghetti in a ziplock bag in the microwave? I guess at 5 minutes the pasta wasn't done, and at 8 minutes it became a brown brick. And when I went to clean up the mess...yes, a big mess...I discovered that he had been too impatient to see if the box of noodles had been opened...so he opened the other end...which, of course, led to almost two pounds of noodles on the floor...stray ones are still crunching beneath my feet.
So I asked, "Why didn't you look to see if it was already open before opening the other end?"
And he smiled back at me "Why didn't you look to see that both ends were open before you picked it up?" and then a slightly more humble, "my food experiment didn't work out so well."
I try to be patient, but the kitchen is a wreck. His second food experiment was microwaved pineapple. It was tasty, and also messy, and we may get food poisoning because he cut it with the same knife I used to cut raw chicken earlier. But I can't complain...I still remember making peanut butter and jelly casserole when I was a little older than Noah, and I am pretty sure I tried to serve it for dinner when it was my night to cook.
David, get ready for the kitchen experiments. There is one coming to a boat near you. He says he has an appetizer experiment. I will make sure he leaves the soda and mentos behind!
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
The Blessing Box
Noah and I have some of our greatest chats in the car. Tonight on the way home from piano lessons we started to have a conversation about the earthquake in Haiti. He wondered if the Haitians were still able to listen to music as he didn't think ipods would have survived beneath the rubble. I told him that many people there probably had never listened to music on an ipod or had even seen one.
We talked about the poorer developing countries and how people in those countries concerned themselves with basic human necessities. These are places where ipods and cell phones simply don't exist. Together we began a list of those basic necesseties. "A roof over your head" he said. "something to eat" I added. "something to wear" he said, "and if you are lucky, shoes on your feet." "Faith," I added, wondering if he would grasp that..."Jesus," he said. "You can't forget Jesus, Mom". "I didn't forget, just waiting for your help with the list."
"Mom," he continued, "Do you know what a blessing box is?" I confess, I had no idea...so Noah explained: "God helps us when we need him, but sometimes it is hard to remember that he has helped us before. So, a Blessing Box is a box you can put things in to remind you that God helps you incase one day you forget. You can put in an object that represents or write it on a piece of paper, and then when you need it you just open it up and you know that God has always been there for you. And he will still be there for you. We need a Blessing Box, Mom."
Sometimes I wish I could be two places at once. I wish I could watch Noah learn in Children's Church... without missing the message at the other end. But the Blessing Box is a great idea, and I think it just might help me witness what he is learning. We're going to make a Blessing Box this weekend. I can hardly wait!
We talked about the poorer developing countries and how people in those countries concerned themselves with basic human necessities. These are places where ipods and cell phones simply don't exist. Together we began a list of those basic necesseties. "A roof over your head" he said. "something to eat" I added. "something to wear" he said, "and if you are lucky, shoes on your feet." "Faith," I added, wondering if he would grasp that..."Jesus," he said. "You can't forget Jesus, Mom". "I didn't forget, just waiting for your help with the list."
"Mom," he continued, "Do you know what a blessing box is?" I confess, I had no idea...so Noah explained: "God helps us when we need him, but sometimes it is hard to remember that he has helped us before. So, a Blessing Box is a box you can put things in to remind you that God helps you incase one day you forget. You can put in an object that represents or write it on a piece of paper, and then when you need it you just open it up and you know that God has always been there for you. And he will still be there for you. We need a Blessing Box, Mom."
Sometimes I wish I could be two places at once. I wish I could watch Noah learn in Children's Church... without missing the message at the other end. But the Blessing Box is a great idea, and I think it just might help me witness what he is learning. We're going to make a Blessing Box this weekend. I can hardly wait!
Saturday, February 13, 2010
The Fighting Mermaid and this is all new to me...
So.....this is all new to me, and I don't really know if I'll have the attention span to keep it up, but I'll give it a shot anyways. I vastly prefer the serenity of the mermaid, slipping beneath the clear blue, but sometimes I truly am the water-bug skimming across the surface in a whirl of chaos. I seek balance, but find it too often elusive. So this is what my blog is about...the confessions of a water girl, my life here in Mathews and on the beautiful Chesapeake Bay and life with ADD whch has been not so much a struggle, but a blessing.
The Fighting Mermaid is the name of a pirate ship from a bedtime story I invented for my son Noah years ago. He chose the name. Sometime after the story was told, I found myself on a bizarre family vacation in Rin Con, PR (which would have to be its own post). While in Puerto Rico, I fell in love with seaglass, those bits of broken bottles, polished smooth by the waves and sand. I came home with pockets full, and decided to turn those sea gems into jewelry. I made earrings and necklaces, sold a few, and donated some to charity auctions under the name Fighting Mermaid Seaglass Jewelry. For me, it was more than the act of reclaiming those bits of discarded beer bottles and the like...it became a fight for clean beaches. My son and I would spend hours looking for seaglass and picking up the sharper pieces and trash along the way. It amazes me how dirty our beaches get...but we haven't done that in far too long, and it has been a year since I have made a single piece. I got side-tracked by divorce and the need for stable employment...so some of my passions, including the seaglass, were forgotten for awhile. I am still the fighter for clean beaches and healthy waters. I do beach clean-up and volunteer with CBF for the Grasses for the Masses program, raising aquatic grasses and planting them in the James ...and tomorrow, after church...I am making seaglass jewelry.
The Fighting Mermaid is the name of a pirate ship from a bedtime story I invented for my son Noah years ago. He chose the name. Sometime after the story was told, I found myself on a bizarre family vacation in Rin Con, PR (which would have to be its own post). While in Puerto Rico, I fell in love with seaglass, those bits of broken bottles, polished smooth by the waves and sand. I came home with pockets full, and decided to turn those sea gems into jewelry. I made earrings and necklaces, sold a few, and donated some to charity auctions under the name Fighting Mermaid Seaglass Jewelry. For me, it was more than the act of reclaiming those bits of discarded beer bottles and the like...it became a fight for clean beaches. My son and I would spend hours looking for seaglass and picking up the sharper pieces and trash along the way. It amazes me how dirty our beaches get...but we haven't done that in far too long, and it has been a year since I have made a single piece. I got side-tracked by divorce and the need for stable employment...so some of my passions, including the seaglass, were forgotten for awhile. I am still the fighter for clean beaches and healthy waters. I do beach clean-up and volunteer with CBF for the Grasses for the Masses program, raising aquatic grasses and planting them in the James ...and tomorrow, after church...I am making seaglass jewelry.
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