oh relax

People love to express themselves by the clothes they wear, through the music they listen to, the art they create, the flowers they grow in their gardens...so many ways of self-expression - including the license plates on their vehicles. The surge in popularity is driven (see what I did there 😄) by a desire for individuality and this trend is evident while walking through the grocery store parking lot noticing the catchy phrases on the bumpers. This one hit home. Whenever my mom got worked up about whatever, my dad's response..."Relax, dear." And one time when Todd and I were having a "discussion," a little voice piped in and said, "Weewax, Mommy and Daddy!"

OH RELAX

stamped in metal, bolted to chrome,
a tiny manifesto riding home.

OH RELAX

it sighs at traffic’s daily theater,
at the honk-happy gladiator,
at the tailgater inching near
like urgency itself lives here.

maybe the driver wears it like a grin -
a laid-back soul in rumpled skin,
windows down, arm in breeze,
laughing at life’s small emergencies.

maybe it’s a joke on road rage heat,

a playful jab from the driver’s seat,

a bumper-level therapy session

for every impatient and rude expression.

perhaps it echoes some unseen thread -
a catchphrase once casually said,
an inside joke, a family tone,
a borrowed line now made their own.

OH RELAX

a bumper's message, brief and bright,
a dare to soften, just tonight.

and whether a whisper, joke, or shield,
it turns the highway to a field
where metal carries something kind:
a nudge to ease the racing mind.

monday's mulling: grandma

I am in the midst of a much needed project: organizing my arts/crafts and sewing supplies. Five years ago I had a lot of space to store my supplies but after a series of moves they've ended up in a box over here and in a bin over there, in a random drawers around the house. In the last few months, I've made Christmas stockings for my granddaughter and daughter-in-law and then the zines for my grandsons and it was stressful because I spent so much time looking for "stuff." 

A couple days ago I found three boxes of books and they are now on shelves...yay! In one of the boxes was one of my grandpa's diaries. While plodding through the pages of his 1977 journal (his handwriting was horrible), every single day he mentioned visiting Clara, my grandma. He documented my grandma's Alzheimer's journey. 

Wednesday, February 23, 1977. My grandma died 49 years ago today. 

Grandma always said that Grandpa's handwriting looked like chickens were hopping all over the pages. It always took a bit of time to decipher what he wrote.

"Clara passed away while at coffee. Jack Stucky said John wanted to talk with me. Said Mother was bad. She passed away before I got there. Will have funeral Friday 10. Visitation tomorrow night 5-9. I have a couple hard days ahead. Picked out casket etc this evening. Have called _______." (Couldn't figure that one out. Maybe Arizona as my grandparents spent their winters there).

I was a sophomore in college, Mom called me with the news that Grandma died. I was sitting at the desk in my dorm room working on a paper for an English class and the tears just spilled onto that paper. My college was 45 minutes from home, Mom told me to pack some clothes and a couple nice outfits because Dad would be there in a couple hours to take my siblings and me to Illinois. She had called the schools for my siblings' dismissals, got all their clothes in suitcases, and was heading to Illinois as soon as she got off the phone.

Grandma was a devout Catholic and this date, February 23, 1977, was Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. The funeral was on Friday, the first one in this Lenten season. During Lent Catholics are to abstain from eating meat and consume minimal amounts of food on Fridays to imitate Jesus' 40-day fast in the desert. My grandpa was Mennonite and all the ladies from his church provided food for the after funeral reception. And this food included meat - ham, fried chicken, meatballs, and all sorts of marvelous desserts - things that Catholics should fast from on Lenten Fridays. There was an air of what are we supposed to do with all this good food that we're not supposed to eat and the priest is here, too? The priest came through and gave a dispensation to any Catholic who chose to eat the meat dishes (and desserts) that the ladies so lovingly prepared could do so. Hallelujah!

I adored my grandma. I envied my cousins because they lived in the same town as my grandparents and could visit them whenever they wanted. Because of my dad's job, we always lived 4-5 hours away from them and got to visit two or three times a year. But whenever we arrived at their house, Grandma was always on the back porch stoop, waiting for us as the family car crunched down the gravel driveway, with her smile and open arms that said, "It's about time you got here!"

it's that kind of sunday

Maya Angelou believed in treating everyone with dignity, viewing the world as a, "rich tapestry" where all threads are equal and where very act of kindness counts.

After my mom died and I was out and about around town, I would occasionally see her friends at the grocery store, downtown at various venues, walking at the small indoor shopping center, the library -  just wherever we randomly happened to be. The most frequent comment after their condolences was the remembrance of having afternoon visits at Mom's home, sitting at her kitchen table, visiting over a pot of tea with some cookies. Mom had a tea pot very similar to this and I, too, remember visiting at her table over a pot of tea. It was a time to slow down and talk about whatever. Kind and gentle moments - you don't forget how they make you feel.

 "I'm convinced of this: Good done anywhere is good done everywhere. For a change, start by speaking to people rather than walking by them like they're stones that don't matter." ~ another Maya Angelou quote

the crescent moon

Yesterday we met my brother and sister-in-law for an early dinner. It was a gorgeous but very windy, getting back to chilly day. We had been blessed with a couple spring teaser days with sunshine and temperatures in the 60s. But, it's still winter in Ohio and Ole Man Winter took back his duties and hit us with a doozy of a weather event. Thursday night Todd and I were watching the Olympics, waiting for Alyssa Liu's gold medal skating performance. The wind and rain had all at once become much stronger and both our phones went off with a horrendous beep. TORNADO WARNING. We flipped the TV to the local weather station with the adorable meteorologist being very serious telling the viewers to get to their tornado safe spot. The weather system passed in 15 minutes with no tornado touchdown.

Back to yesterday...after having dinner with my brother and sister-in-law (their names are Pat and Patty - isn't that fun?) we came home and the sun was starting its descent. I asked Todd if he wanted to take a walk, he said "Sure," so we took a quick sunset walk. 

We got home And there it was - the crescent moon.

Such a perfect moment: the color of the sky, the outlines of trees, the silver edge of that crescent hanging just above the sunset’s glow.

It was too light to see them in this photo but three planets, Venus, Mercury, and Saturn shone on the western horizon below the moon. 

Possible tornado one night, beautiful sunset with a crescent moon the next. Mother Nature keeps us on our toes.

the friday feed: tabbouleh

I met my friend Annette when our her middle child and my first born were in the same kindergarten class. Her family history tells quite a story. Her mom was a German Jew living in Munich during WWII.  Ruta and her family left Germany to find haven in Israel. Annette's Palestinian dad lived in Jerusalem, Ruta and Elias met, fell in love and married, had two children, and moved to the United States, where they had three more children, Annette being one of them.

Through my friendship with Annette, she introduced me to Levantine food: zeit and za'atar (an olive oil mixed with za'atar dipping sauce with pita bread, Lahma bi Ajeen (Arabic pizzas), dolmas (stuffed grape leaves) falafel, and tabbouleh. When she makes tabbouleh, she'll send a text message: "I just made way too much tabbouleh. Want some?" Of course!

A couple weeks ago Annette went to a golf tournament in Phoenix and stayed with her friend who lives there. Her friend loves to garden, has a couple lemon trees on the property, and sent a few lemons home with Annette. She called me when she got home. "I brought you something from Phoenix!" She came by the house and handed me two lemons. The little orbs of sunshine smelled so fresh and I knew right then and there what I was going to do with them. "Im going to make tabbouleh!" 

Tabbouleh is a Middle Eastern salad that originated in Lebanon. It's made primarily from finely chopped parsley, tomatoes, mint, and onion, with soaked bulgur wheat, all tossed in a dressing of olive oil and lemon juice. I had some mini cucumbers and added those, too. That lemon juice in the dressing tasted so fresh. It wasn't puckery tart. Tabbouleh is served as a side or appetizer, often scooped with lettuce or pita bread. I scooped mine with a spoon. Todd is not a big fan of tabbouleh. More for me...darn.

 

how did that get there?

 

On a sunny, cold, snowy day I was looking out my kitchen window at the snow covered patio, at the birds gathering on the feeders, and at a couple of icicles clinging to the gutter. And then I saw it. One of the icicles held an unexpected passenger: a single dandelion seed. 

How did it get there? 

Months earlier it had been a bright yellow bloom in someone's backyard. No one noticed it and it turned into a delicate silver globe waiting for the wind or perhaps a child to blow its seeds into the air. How far had it drifted?

Snow began to fall as the seed was still aloft. It could have landed anywhere - on the bare bushes that lined the patio, on the snow piled on the grill, but instead it brushed against an icicle as the meltwater dripped and refroze.

And there it was. How it caught my eye, I'll never know. 

A summer memory caught on winter's ice.

The icicle has melted and the seed has disappeared. Maybe it will show up in my yard and a yellow bloom will stare back at me.

wednesday's words and wanderings and wonderings

The snow storm that dropped 15 inches (38 cm) of snow on January 25 has finally melted. While it blanketed the earth, some early spring flowers pushed through the dirt on their way to blooming into hyacinths in the next few weeks. Such a welcome sight! Spring countdown: 32 days.

A couple times a week I volunteer at Miami Valley Meals, a volunteer initiative that began during the pandemic and quickly evolved into a full-time operation serving thousands of meals per month. A team of chefs transforms recovered foods from various partner organizations into nutritious meals and then distributes the meals to groups that serve people facing food insecurity. Last week I put together 45 egg bake casseroles and just yesterday I chopped okra for two hours. This team of chefs is quite remarkable to put together the meals that they do. Each week unknown food arrives and they turn it into tasty meals to serve a community in need.

Last week my daughter-in-law sent some distressing news on the family text chain. Her mom was diagnosed with Stage 2 breast cancer. Monday afternoon Jennifer left to visit her mom, take her out to dinner, and spend the night at her parents' house. Mom's first chemotherapy treatment was Tuesday morning. I asked my son if he wanted me to come to Cleveland to help him with his little ones - the bath and bedtime routines are a little hectic with a soon-to-be 1-year old, a busy 3 1/2 year old, and just one parent. He said I didn't have to but if I wanted to, but...enough said. I would be there around the time he got home from work with a pot of beef stew. 

The morning routine of getting the littles ready for daycare wasn't quite as crazy as the nightime routine, except the power went out. We warmed the Hallie's bottle in a pan of warm water, put Owen's frozen muffin in a plastic bag and thawed it in another pan of warm water, thank heavens for flashlights to get the kids dressed. 

Before leaving, Andrew asked me to take a photo of him and his sweet kids to send to Jen's mom. They all wore pink to show support to Nana as she starts her chemo to beat this ugly cancer.