Grandpa Grumps

 

Today's Beema's Bedtime Story was Grandpa Grumps by Katrina Moore. The adorable illustrations and sweet tale of a granddaughter's attempt to connect, find common ground with her grandpa brought tears to my eyes, and allowed fond memories to surface. 

I, too, had a "grumpy grandpa," by all accounts, but he was kind and patient with me. His name was Russell, but everyone called him, "Shorty." When my grandma died, he came to live with us, splitting time between my family in Florida and my aunt's in Ohio. I was eight when he moved in, shy and uncertain of him, given his grumpy reputation! He was home during the day, though, and I was lonely, so while my parents worked, we hung out together. He'd take me to a local auto repair shop where he had friends who hung out, drank coffee and talked about..well, who knows. I didn't pay attention to the conversation; I was just happy to be out and about with him, tooling around in his little truck with the camper top. We found our common ground over fishing (well, I sat on the side of the canal and made bait from Wonder Bread) and our love of animals. He and I once rescued a tortoise from the middle of the road and named him "Charlie." (It turns out, Grandpa nicknamed everything, "Charlie.")  A lifetime gardener, he and grandma would show up for Florida visits with their trunk laden down with veggies for us. To this day, I've never eaten a better tomato! They never owned their own home, but even when residing in a tiny apartment over a strip mall, he somehow found a way to tend a garden. He'd make a deal with some friend or another to "borrow" a plot of land, am sure the landowner was repaid in warm-from-the-ground peppers, 'maters and cukes. Not willing to give that up even when he lived with us in Suburbia, he dug up a section of our yard and got to work. He let me plant flowers, and laughed uproariously when I poured an entire packet of seeds into one hole, resulting in the biggest marigold "bush" I've ever seen. 

We spent a summer fishing, watching tv together (Sanford & Sons was a favorite of his) in the little back bedroom next to mine, and generally getting to know each other. He wasn't a very chatty man, but he had strong opinions and wasn't afraid to share them when necessary. 

Grandpa & Mom

Aunt Katie, Grandpa, Me

He bought me this organ for Christmas, I drove my parents crazy playing it! 

The last time I saw my grandpa was Christmas of 1981 when I was 16 years old, his last trip to Florida before he was diagnosed with lung cancer. As a coal miner and longtime smoker, this didn't come as a surprise to us, but it was devastating nonetheless. Despite his short stature, he was strong, independent and feisty and didn't let anyone take care of him, refused to move in with my aunt even when his health was failing. She visited daily, though, and found him early one morning, having passed away peacefully in his sleep in his little trailer in the woods, surrounded by nature & the squirrel he trained to eat peanuts out of his hand (can you guess the squirrel's name?). 

I think of my grandparents often now that I myself am a grandma. Though we didn't get to visit as often as I'd like, my childhood is imprinted with loving memories of them. I'm grateful for those moments, and hope that my little ones will say the same of me one day. 

Rapunzel~

Change of Scenery

Where to begin? The beginning seems to be the most logical place, but where is that? How far back do I go? And how much do I have to unpack along the way? Too far, and too much..for now. So, I'll just tell a short story, a synopsis of the recent past..

We decided to spend some time in Gainesville, arrived nearly two weeks ago and will likely be here for at least two more weeks. We have been busy making the "Lemon House" more homey, building on the beautiful items Lily and C left us when they moved out. 

Since we will be here for a while, we brought the cats and they're having a great time exploring their new space!

This house is so lovely, has it's own unique details and charms different from Ormond Beach. I've been enjoying the process of settling in, arranging pillows and tossing blankets, hanging artwork and stocking the pantry. I've made several meals for Bambi and J, have loved setting a proper table and having family around it, and being "treated" at Bambi's house.

J and I have visited the library and gone shopping, she is the best helper/shopping companion ever! We've also explored her magical backyard, played with her kitty, did some coloring..and she and Captain had a rousing games of cards & Candy Land. 

We still have work to do, but it's shaping up nicely and we are feeling comfortable, finding a routine..enjoying a change of pace and scenery. 

Signing off from Gatorland,

Rapunzel

Wintering

“Snow creates that quality of awe in the face of a power greater than ours. It epitomizes the aesthetic notion of the sublime, in which greatness and beauty couple to overcome you—

a small, frail human—entirely.”~ Katherine May, Wintering

While some members of my beautiful family are enjoying their first winter in Germany, sending gorgeous pics of snowflakes and bundled-up children playing outside, I'm doing my own kind of "wintering." All of the quotes in this post are from a book highly recommended by my friend, so while I wait for it to become available at the library, I'll read the bits I can find on Goodreads.  

January has been challenging, and not in the ways many people think. We here in Florida don't have traditional cold seasons. We don't shovel snow nor worry about our heating bill, and the only snowmen are the ones made of sand on the beach. 

“When I started feeling the drag of winter, I began to treat myself like a favoured child: with kindness and love. I assumed my needs were reasonable and that my feelings were signals of something important. I kept myself well fed and made sure I was getting enough sleep. I took myself for walks in the fresh air and spent time doing things that soothed me. I asked myself: What is this winter all about? I asked myself: What change is coming?”

The temps rarely dip into the 30s, and the skies are bright blue much of the time. And yet, I still find myself wanting to hibernate, to curl up with coffee and a blanket, light a fire and spend the day reading and crocheting on the couch with the cats. 

So, that's what I've been doing, yet I feel guilty for it, like I should be more productive. I should be tackling that "to do" list, Marie Kond-ing everything, organizing & purging as I see so many other folks doing. I should be back to my walking routine, get that meal plan implemented, set my New Years intentions and shed the ten pounds I have gained. 

And yet, I find myself immobilized. I make my way through the day doing the necessities, of course. No one is going hungry nor living in squalor. Our home (despite the still-unrepaired storm damage) is clean enough, tidy enough, but there are messes lurking behind doors and walls that until the aforementioned work is done, I really can't tackle. Since I am an all-or-nothing kind of person, I can't force myself to deal with an unrelated task, I just want to wait until everything is put back together and then I can dive into projects. That may be a while. 

“we are in the habit of imagining our lives to be linear, a long march from birth to death in which we mass our powers, only to surrender them again, all the while slowly losing our youthful beauty. This is a brutal untruth. Life meanders like a path through the woods. We have seasons when we flourish and seasons when the leaves fall from us, revealing our bare bones. Given time, they grow again.”

Alsoly, as my grandson says, I'm "wintering" in the physical way. The silver streaks are out and proud now, and when I pull my hair back I can no longer see the former color. I am getting a peek at how I'll look when this transition is complete, and so far, I like it. The color is pretty, and though I'm finding that some of my current wardrobe palette looks better (or worse) than before, I think the grey is mostly flattering. I appreciate the slow transition, no matter how strange it may look with these multi-toned tresses. The process is allowing me to come to terms with who I really am, no disguising the aging. It's shocking at times, but also comforting and affirming. "Oh, there you are, my friend! No need to cover up, you're beautiful! Why didn't you let the light shine through sooner?!"

Along with the hair dye, I've also released (thank you for the word, Kali) some other burdens, including the expectations (from myself and others) that I should look a certain way. Should behave a certain way because it's acceptable and expected of me. I stopped having my fingernails "done" months ago, no longer willing to sit in the salon and spend money so that my hands can look "fancier." With as much crafting as I do, and as little time as I spend in "society," it's simply not worth it to me anymore. My hands take a beating from the glue gun, the crochet hook, the sink of dishes, the chlorine and salt water...I am taking care of them as best I can with moisturizer and will probably get a manicure now & then, but the hours and dollars spent on gels are over. Done. I still get a pedicure every few months because I enjoy the experience and the end result, but the same isn't true for my fingers. My hands are hardworking. They can clean a home, create beautiful items that bring joy to others. They can dig holes for milkweed, build habitats, hold newly-born butterflies while they take their first flight. 

They can bake bread, turn pages in story-after-story I read to my grandchildren. Most importantly, they can hug and console and hold hands with those babies. They're doing their job, and I'm grateful to them. They don't need to be embellished any further. The sight and feel of June's hand in mine is quite enough. 

After an impulse moment of rejoining WW, I immediately felt buyers remorse and resentment. The same with the "food program" I followed to lose 25 pounds a couple years ago. I love the whole foods, completely agree that the way of eating is the healthiest and I still follow it..about 80% of the time. I have realized that I am simply not willing to live my whole life without a scone. Or a slice of my granddaughter's birthday cake. Or a bowl of pasta with homemade sauce. I am therefore releasing myself from that expectation. I like wearing Size 6 jeans, don't get me wrong, and hope that once I start walking again I'll fit into them more comfortably, but not if it means I return to the somewhat disordered thinking/eating that resulted in that smaller body. Life is simply too short for that. 

Just as with my hands, my body is doing an excellent job taking care of me and others. I'm not as thin nor fit as some, but I can walk 3 miles barefoot in the beach, chase June around the yard, keep up with her in Disney World. After all of the running, when we are both tired, I can provide a soft spot for her to rest. 

Though I'm no bikini model, my husband still thinks I'm beautiful. He still compliments me and shows his attraction to and appreciation of me, mind and body, in all of the ways I want and need. I hope that never ends, but I know that change is inevitable and eventually we will likely be unable to show our love in those same physical ways, but  if and when it does, it won't be due to the number on the scale, just the date on the calendar and the number of candles on our birthday cakes. 

So, I guess what I'm saying in this long ramble, is that winter is here, both the season of the earth as well as the season of my life. Along with all of the other stages & changes, I can either fight it tooth and nail or I can relax, lean into it, release the negative demands and embrace it for what it is. I'm not sure if I'd call it "aging gracefully," perhaps easing gratefully would be more like it. 

Blessings, 

Rapunzel

BirthDay Musings

"We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, 

but rarely admit the changes it has gone through 

to achieve that beauty." ~ Maya Angelou 

Saturday was my birthday, my 58th. I have lots of thoughts swirling around my head, about the day itself and also about the bigger meaning, the significance of the date, the passing of time, aging.  

I've never been one to dwell on the number, haven't given much thought to growing older and what that entails, but this year is different. This year, I've decided to somewhat embrace the inevitable. I've stopped coloring my hair, letting the grays show. I'll admit, as much as the "Silver Sisters" movement encourages us to enjoy the "silver crown," I don't like how this looks. I don't care for the way the front of my head is different than the rest. I know it's a transition, it will take time (at least 2 years!), and I "should" be patient and enjoy the experience. Right now, though, I miss my brown with blonde highlights. I don't care for the way my skin looks against the gray hairline. (I'm also not happy with my weight, and that's probably part of my frustration, but that's another subject.) This sudden change, not the "natural" way as it would have been if I'd allowed the strands to come through over time, is hard. It's jarring. Along with some other changes to my body, aches & pains and weird things that are happening, I'm just feeling out of sorts. Not comfortable in my skin. I'm sure it's temporary and I'll adjust, but for now..I'm just a little sad. 

I'm still processing, will likely have more to say once I get my head around it, but for now, I want to write, to share, to get these memories down somewhere that I can reflect on them at my leisure. Yes, I posted on Instagram and Facebook, but, to be honest, I'm growing weary (again) of social media and find myself turning back to blogging where I feel comfortable and safe. 

Maybe, like the metaphorical caterpillar, I'm cocooning at the moment. I'm hunkering down and having some deep thoughts which may lead to big changes..or not. Perhaps I just need to take a breath, give myself a little time to regroup and settle into the changes that have happened already. Maybe nothing else is needed this year. 

I'm not sure, but for now, I'm going to relish in the memories of the gorgeous celebration with my family. I'm going to appreciate the sweet gifts and the heartfelt greetings from friends. I'm just going to sit right here and count my blessings.

Michele~

The Way We Were

I have spent most of the quarantine on a huge project that has occupied my mind, my hands, and my heart. I have gathered up every single photo in my home, begun sorting & scanning, tagging & uploading, then finally filing digitally as well as physically. Since our family are avid photographers and since I inherited both of my parents' collections, this ads up to an enormous amount of photographs dating back to the 1950s. Some of them have been carefully preserved, dated and subject identified, but the majority were stuck in albums or haphazardly tossed into boxes over the years. To my credit, my own personal pictures, especially those from my daughters' younger years, were among the aforementioned, making them easy to sort & file. (Thank you, younger self!) Still, the task is daunting and several times I've closed the door to my craft room closet, thrown up my hands and declared myself finished, announced to my family that they will inherit the mess and can do with it what they wish. But that doesn't last long. A day or two later I decide to peek in, grab a stack, take a deep breath and begin again.

As you might imagine, the process has been not only challenging physically, straining my eyes, my neck, my back as I sit for hours sifting and scanning, but it's been emotionally draining as well. I've dredged up so many lost memories, dusted off forgotten moments in time, become reacquainted with old friends & lovers as well as past versions of myself I thought I'd left behind. Some of this has been happy and exciting, some absolutely wrenching. Letters from my mom, cards from my dad. Journals and calendars filled with stories, snapshots of my life at various stages. Adorable toddler. Awkward, angsty pre-teen. Young adult. New mom. Divorced mom. (Repeat). So much stuff, so much emotion! It can be overwhelming, so I check in with myself, only do as much work in one day as my body & heart feel able. I aim for an hour a day and then see how I feel. Sometimes that's enough and I move on, but other days I can spend four or five hours back there, holed up with my music & memories.

I get so caught up in the task, immersed in whatever era I'm working on, that when I emerge & pass by Beren, sitting in our dining room/pseudo office, I'm surprised to see him,  this person who wasn't a part of "that" life, at least another than a couple of snapshots & calendar entries from one blissful teenage year. Yet here he is, as is my current home, belongings, pets. And as I catch a glance of myself in the mirror, it's not the ten-year or 20-year or even 30-year-old self I see reflected back at me. Who is this older woman, and how do I reconcile her with those other versions? Is she who I expected to be, oh so long ago when I painstakingly sat and preserved those photos, those mementos, knowing that one day I'd be doing exactly as I am right now?

Probably not, and that's part of what I'm processing. As painful as this is, I also am driven, almost manically so, to complete this task, to have my life tidied and in order before...? Before what? Yes, before I die. Morbid, perhaps, but the reality is that I am on the other side of middle age and all that that entails. My memory is already not as sharp as it once was, and if I don't record the stories now, they'll be gone forever. I don't want my children to inherit a mess of random bits of my life, of their lives, without rhyme or reason. I want to sort it out before I pass, leave behind order instead of chaos. In thinking of it this way, I'm not "just" doing a mindless organizational project, or even a therapeutic exercise for myself, it's a labor of love for my family. A gift to them. And it's that mindset, that goal, that keeps me going, photo by photo, memory by memory, moment by moment.

Rapunzel~

A New Day

Eight years have passed since my last post, and wow has a lot changed! I won't attempt to catch up on everything, just jumping in where I am now, and the stories will unfold as they see fit to do. I'm not even sure why I'm writing here again as blogging has become a bit passé, no? It seems to have been replaced with various other social media (Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter, to name a few) it seems unnecessary and perhaps even redundant to also blog about one's life. Yet, here I am, doing just that. And it appears I'm not alone, I see other friends return to this format or to other ways they have expressed themselves in the past. One friend is blogging after a long absence. My daughter has created a virtual zine. Maybe it's nostalgia, a yearning for a simpler time, or the general trend toward less clutter, busy-ness, which for some of us includes idle screen time. Or, maybe it's the pandemic. Maybe we want to memorialize this, this insane moment in history, one which will be discussed, debated, dissected by generations to come. Maybe we want to leave our marks in some way, tell our stories in our own voices. Maybe we are facing our own mortality. Or, perhaps we simply have more hours now, stuck in lockdown, to think, to dream, to write, to create. To breathe. 

Whatever the reason, I see this collective inward turning as a good thing, a bright spot in an otherwise dark & scary place, and hope that on the other side we are better, stronger people for have taken this pause to draw inward a little, then reach out in the ways that feel most comfortable, most relative, to ourselves.  

So, as for myself, well, to be honest, there has been some relief mixed in with the anxiety and fear. Underneath the constant undercurrent of stress & worry, deep down, there's a peacefulness that comes with the realization that my social calendar, limited as it was, is now completely bare. I no longer feel the pressure to go out when I don't feel like, to socialize when I'd rather stay home alone, go and do and be something that isn't really who I am! I have kept my circle really small, and my commitments minimal, but still..there were many days when I would have prefered to sit on my couch and read rather than go out to dinner, for coffee, to lunch..whatever I felt that I needed to do to keep up with what was expected of me socially, societally. I always suspected that I was an introvert, but once I quit drinking two years ago I realized just how much that was true, how often I used alcohol to force myself to do things I'd have preferred not to do. With that came more knowledge about myself, and eventually acceptance for not being the someone I pretended to be. Or tried to be. Or felt pressured to be. I stopped apologizing for not being her, and summoned the courage to say no. No, I don't want to go to happy hour. No, I don't want to go to a restaurant where there is nothing healthy/vegan on the menu. I choose not to sit at a crowded bar and listen to loud music while squished up against drunk people. No, no, no. No, thank you. I found my voice, and discovered that the sky didn't fall after all. My real friends & family still love me even though I am sober now. My husband, though admittedly misses the "fun" times of drinking with me, didn't leave me and we have found other ways to enjoy each other's company that don't involve alcohol. Nothing bad happened, and so many good things did! 

So, all of this to say: I had already been a little bit isolated. I'd already turned inward, discovered new past times and picked up long lost hobbies. Baked and cooked, read & crocheted. Cleaned & organized. Embraced my homebody nature. That part hasn't been hard for me. Except, and this is a HUGE exception: my family. I miss my children and grandchildren desperately. Which is why, after 8 weeks of being apart, I took a calculated, careful risk and went to see them last week. And it was everything. Everything sweet and wonderful and poignant and beautiful and heartwrenching and I will never, ever forget the moment when A ran to me, arms outstretched and gave me the biggest, best hug I have ever had. Grabbing all of my grandbabies, holding my daughters tight, something I never really took for granted but is even more precious now. 

Now, we wait. We keep doing what we have been for the past couple of months, sit tight, be safe, be careful, stay healthy. Wash hands. Wear masks. Hope & pray that this passes soon while wondering what the "new normal" will look like. In the meantime, I'll keep looking inward, deciding what I'll bring with me from my old life, and what parts I'll leave behind. I think I'll keep writing, for myself, so that I will remember. 

Michele~