Change is in the Air

Change is in the air.

The garden tells me we are nearing fall.

The weather is turning cooler.

My blog may change.

My blog is a work in progress, just like this mosaic (picture taken earlier in August) in downtown Binghamton, New York, where I work.

I have been blogging daily for four years now (well, since late April of 2011, so it's been more than four years), and blogging since 2009.  Of late, I haven't had the "bandwidth" (an expression a sister in law taught me) to post new posts daily.  I've been including one or two "throwbacks" each week. 

I've also had a somewhat unfocused blog for the years since I started blogging.  My blog's title reflects that: "Ramblin' with AM". Not "Focused with AM".  Not "Predictable with AM".  I do have three weekly features, on Wednesdays, Saturday and Sunday but they've been drifting a bit lately.  My Civil War Sunday, due to lack of time in being able to research, has almost ground to a halt.

More and more I want to talk about my personal life, including my brother in law with a developmental disability called autism. I want to talk more about what it is like to age.  I want to show some of the attitude I am developing.  It's a good thing, this developing attitude - the attitude of "I'm 62 and certain things I am just not going to take anymore, because life has taught me that it is too short."

But I know talking about my personal life  is not going to interest a whole lot of my readers.  This blog is about my readers.  I should be providing content YOU want, not what I want to write.

But it is increasingly hard for me to come up with fresh content.

Yet, I know a lot of my readers enjoy my flower photography, so I will assure them that the photography will continue.

So, I am not sure where I want to go from here.  There's danger if I change what I have been doing with this blog, but also opportunity.

I just don't know how this will resolve, but when I do know, you'll be the first to find out.

And meanwhile, here's a flower.  It's shy, just like me, but waiting for its moment.  Its center looks like an eye playing peek-a-boo.

I wonder what it is envisioning for the future of my blog.

On The Trail

Today, let me take you on a walk on the Vestal Rail Trail, in Vestal, New York (near Binghamton) on a mild late summer day.

The wildflowers are out.

Goldenrod is one of the most distinctive wildflowers of late summer here in upstate New York.  It is a native wildflower, and a member of the aster family.  Contrary to common belief, it does not aggravate hay fever, as its pollen is generally not distributed by wind.

I am told its young shoots are edible.  I've not tried them.

In Germany, it is considered an invasive plant.

Joe Pye weed is finishing up.  This is also a native, and is sweetly scented like vanilla.  There are, in fact, some cultivated varieties, but you need a lot of space - even "dwarfs" grow to some eight feet (2.43m) tall.

Japanese knotweed is not native, and is invasive.  It is blooming almost everywhere, it seems.  I have to admit to a fondness for it, as invasive as it is.  We can blame Frederick Law Olmstead (one of the designers of New York City's Central Park) for introducing it to the United States in the 1800's.

As time permits, I'll publish more photos of my walk later this month.

Nature is all around us, even in urban areas.

Civil War Sunday - Then and Now

I've had to cut back my United States Civil War Sunday posts due to family obligations, as they take a lot of time to research.  But, today, I wanted to share something with you.

Online, recently, there has been a trend - dare I call it a meme? - to recreate photographs of the past. Some take old photos of their childhood and pose, as adults in the same places, in the same positions.  Others take historical photos, and go back to the site to photograph what is there now.

This photographer from the British paper The Guardian  went to Civil War sites (1861-1865) and photographed them as they appear today.

This is how he did it.

As you view each old photo, it dissolves into the photo of the same site today.

I've been to several of these sites - Ft. Sumter (where the war began), Antietam, Washington, DC, Gettysburg.  Viewing these photos, for me, is an emotional experience although none of my ancestors fought in the war.  My ancestors dd not come to the United States until the early 20th century but the Civil War, I sometimes feel, is embedded in my DNA.

Whether you are interested in the Civil War, or just history in general, this site is a must-view.

Have you ever tried to recreate historical photos?

Local Saturday - There's No Place Like Home

After several weeks of having to travel about 150 miles from home every weekend, I am finally home to stay - and savoring every bit of the summer that remains.

For example, I have a couple of day lilies still blooming.  A red one, which I bought last year, is obviously a late variety.

But this yellow one has been blooming, a little at a time, since around July 5.  I can not believe the staying power of this short lily, almost hidden in a patch of oregano, but blooming away.

Some basil, complete with a bee in the upper left hand corner, in a pot in my front yard.

 A pepper plant in my front yard is finally bearing red peppers.

A Burpees bush cucumber plant, growing in my front yard, has already provided me with some cukes for pickles.  Protected by a fence, it is doing quite well despite neglect. But one end of each cuke is skinny - I've never seen this before.  They look like little balloons.  The skin is a tiny bit tough, but the taste is good.

Just about now, I should be offering some recipes to you, my dear readers.  But today, I won't.   Maybe later next week.

It's so good to be home at last.

How I Blew My Chance to See Jimmy Carter

Yesterday, hours after I posted on facing my mortality, a former President, recently diagnosed with cancer, held a news conference yesterday, shortly before he was going to get his first radiation treatment. In fact, he had also started chemo the day before.

He has stage IV melanoma, highly aggressive.  He spoke for almost 40 minutes, dressed in blue jeans and a blazer.

What courage he showed in his news conference.  He even cracked a joke about the greatest failing of his Presidency (1977-1981).

Which leads me to how I blew my chance to see Jimmy Carter back in 2009.

I had gone to Americus, Georgia to visit the nearby Andersonville Civil War POW site and Plains, Georgia, the birthplace of Jimmy Carter.

While staying at a B&B, I was told that Jimmy Carter taught Sunday School every Sunday he was in the area.  He was still doing extensive travel for his charity and foreign relations work, and, when I looked up his schedule, it said online he wasn't going to be at church that Sunday.

I felt a little uncomfortable, being of a different faith, and decided not to go to the service.  The set up was:  service first, then the Sunday School.  You had to go to the service to go to the Sunday School.

If I had gone, I would have seen him, because, as it turns out, he did teach that Sunday.

We had talked about going back to Americus this March.  Jimmy Carter is still teaching Sunday School.  We didn't, and lost our chance.  Although, Jimmy Carter does plan to continue to teach it as long as he can, I also know a little (from a friend's experience) of what radiation treatment to the brain can do.

So the obvious lesson of this moment is:  Grab the moment.  Don't let the discomfort of a new experience keep you from a once in a lifetime opportunity.

But that wasn't all.

But then, at the conference, there was one last surprise.  Yesterday, I had blogged about my family history of pancreatic cancer.  It turns out that Jimmy Carter may have the most extensive pancreatic cancer history of any living person.

Pancreatic cancer killed his father, brother and two sisters (all of his siblings).  His mother died from breast cancer that spread to her pancreas.

But, despite all this, he plans to continue working as long as he can.   

I am in awe of Jimmy Carter and how he faced his mortality in public yesterday.  No matter what your politics, this man deserves our respect.

What a lesson he taught yesterday.

Facing Our Mortality

I hesitated a lot - a lot, before writing this post. 

I suspect that most bloggers practice some degree of self-censorship.  Don't discuss certain topics.  Treat other ones lightly.  But I saw something on Facebook the other day that, as the current saying goes, I can't unsee.

Yesterday, I had lunch with a friend.  Her husband died from a combination of causes, including stroke and several cancers and spent his final year or so in a nursing home.

Earlier this year, my friend was treated for breast cancer.

We were chatting about "this and that" when I brought up a topic that I normally don't bring up in conversation.  No, instead, I opened my mouth and out it came.

I started to talk to her about an article I had read online yesterday called "How Doctors Die".  It was published a couple of years ago by an online magazine and made it to my Facebook timeline earlier this week. It was written by a doctor.

Doctors don't die like the rest of us, said this doctor.  The difference is extraordinary, according to this article. 

Many doctors, faced with an advanced life threatening illness, choose not to be treated.

What grabbed me was the beginning - a mentor of the author, and a doctor himself, found a lump in his stomach.  It was pancreatic cancer.  This doctor made the decision not to get treatment.

I have thought about pancreatic cancer from time to time over the years.  Three of my relatives died from it.  I don't know what type they had, but I do know the life expectancy statistics are not good.  I also know there is a genetic component.  My doctor has confirmed that, but he has nothing to offer me.

Right now, there is no test - no pap smear, no mammogram, no PSA test, for pancreatic cancer.

Why did this article grab me?  Because one of my three relatives who died from this cancer was a doctor.  I had lost touch with that branch of my family so never knew the details, only the death.  But now, I started to wonder if he had sought treatment. This man was a brilliant doctor, known for his ability to diagnose cases that stumped others.  He must have known the odds.

My aunt, who was in her early 50's, did know her odds of survival, I suspect.  She worked in insurance (I'm not sure if it was life or health but it was one of them) - in claims.  But some other family members were in total denial. "You'll get better", they said, even as she wasted away.  I moved to where she lived (a move planned before her diagnosis) while she was in her final months, and saw her decline. 

My son's pediatrician died several years ago.  I suspect he chose not to be treated for his condition, either.  Instead, there was a party for him, all his former patients invited, and he died not that long after.

This article suggests that Dr. Murray is not alone in his view.

My friend has told me, more than once, that if her cancer returns, and doctors want to give her chemo, she will not do it - except, perhaps, in an experimental program where she can benefit others.  My friend is deeply religious, and is comfortable with her decision.  So when I opened my mouth yesterday - we had a friend to friend talk.

I have other friends who faced a grim diagnosis by undergoing the treatments the medical profession suggested.  In fact, I know several people who survived when the odds were against them.

Treatment is an extremely personal decision and I would never give anyone any advice on facing their mortality.  I haven't had such a diagnosis. My time has not come yet and I have no right to think any less of anyone who takes a path that works for them, whether it is full treatment or no treatment, or something in between. I am not a deeply spiritual person, but knowing a number of people in the past few years who have faced death with dignity has  made me think a lot about what I would do.

There is no easy way to face our mortality, or the mortality of a friend or loved one.

I usually end my blog posts with a question. Not this time.  Because right now I just don't know what to think.

And no, I can't unsee the article.

Summer Ramblings - The Barn

Summertime is fleeting where I live.  Each moment must be enjoyed.  Each flower must be appreciated.  Each landscape must be studied.  For soon, the green season will be over and the chill of fall will take care of the flowers and the green.

This is the cycle of the growing seasons in our four season climate.

I'd like to show you a barn in upstate New York, near Windsor, New York, photographed by the friend I call my "guest photographer".

She travels the rural roads,and fell in love with this barn.  She took some of these pictures on a misty day and another in sunlight.  Which do you like better?

The flowers are beautiful, but the advertising signs are even better.

The morning mists common at this time of year.

The flowers show themselves in this angle.

The roof and an old silo.

And one last misty view.

What kind of summer photos do you like to take or see?

A Question of Pants

Those of my readers who know I have a brother in law with a developmental disability called autism may be a little surprised that I haven't mentioned him in the past few months.

There's a reason.

This past week, we completed (let me rephrase - it's far from complete) a downsizing of my elderly mother in law's belongings and a move for her to be closer to us and to another family member and his wife.

My brother in law with autism, whom I call "B" on this blog, lives with my mother in law. That meant he moved, too.

He moved out of the only house he ever knew, a house he's lived in since early childhood.  It would be rough for anyone.  But he doesn't communicate much, and he keeps his thoughts to himself much of the time.

The success of the move (from his point of view) all boiled down to a pair of pants.


People with autism depend on routine.  It helps them feel secure and safe in a world that doesn't always make sense.  The world can be painful, and confusing, to an individual with autism.

"B" wants to know at what time everything will happen.  So many times I've had to tell him "B, I don't know."  What made it worse is when his mother needed surgery, experienced a complication and ended up hospitalized a lot longer than first expected, we couldn't predict the outcome. We couldn't give "B" the timeline he craved.  We couldn't say she would be released on (made up date) July 25 at exactly 1pm.   But he survived.

She still hasn't recovered completely.  But as for "B", that is not how he sees it.

He wants his routine, his safety.  He wants life to be predictable.  He doesn't want change.

Moving is not routine.  Moving is not predictable. His mother's health is not predictable. Moving is not predictable.

Towards the end, we were racing against a moving deadline and things got a bit hectic and disorganized.

 The moving van came first.  "B" and his mother came the next morning.
Crisis when they arrived.  The only pants we could locate for "B" were the pants he was wearing.

You could see the rising panic in his eyes.  He raised his voice.  He was yelling.  He wanted his pants.  And he wanted them now.

Several of us, including his mother, got him calmed. We promised family members would look for them.

We have a lot of boxes and containers stored at our house.  We looked. But we couldn't find the pants.  Perhaps they are in a mislabeled box.  We aren't going to open each and every box. Truthfully, we were tired....so very tired. 

Finally, on his own, he came up with a solution and a deadline.  If we didn't find the pants by today, one of his brothers would take him to the mall and buy him two pairs of pants.  If only all problems were solved that easily.

Well, yesterday, we found them.  Their container was mislabeled.  Crisis avoided.
So that's that....until the next time.

We have a lot to learn.

Flowers of Memory

On August 17, 2003, one of my aunts died suddenly in a car crash.  If she was alive today, she would have been 90 years old.

On August 17, 2012, I devoted a blog post to her memory.  Parts of that post are included in this post below.

Today, I am again thinking of the end of life.

My dear friend from childhood, whom I have known for 52 years, is gravely ill as I write this post.  It remains to be seen if modern medicine, supported by her strong spirit, can pull her through.

On this anniversary, there is always so much that I think about.  I still think of my aunt from time to time. A couple of 2015 updates are in brackets.

The Flowers of Memory

Have you ever planted a flower (or two, or three) for a dearly departed loved one in your life.  I have.  I wonder how many other flower gardeners have.

Two bloggers gave me inspiration for this post. Thank you, Christine at Inspired Life, for the prompt  (the prompt originally came from writing.com):   Imagine a phone conversation with a relative who has died.  And Marisa, who left a post about a leopard lily given to her by her flatmate, who also died. 

On Wednesday, I wrote a blog post talking about a red dahlia I've grown (digging up tubers every fall) that was given to me by a friend who subsequently died from cancer.  And, I mentioned a hibiscus I planted in honor of a late, dear aunt.

The dahlia, 2015

 If I could have talked to my Aunt M. on the phone on the anniversary in August, 2012, what would I have said?

Maybe something like this:

Dear Aunt M:

I want you to know I still think of you often.  I thought of you earlier this month when we had a mini-family reunion.  We talked to two of your children on Skype.  Isn't that amazing?  You never wanted a computer.  We still wrote letters, you and I.  I haven't written a letter for pleasure since the day you died.

I also want you to know that the special hibiscus I planted in my front yard, in your memory, is blooming very nicely. [Since then, it died]. I remember how proud you were of your hibiscus and your small vegetable garden.  You were in your late 70's, and lived alone, but you got a lot of things done.  You were amazing.

I remember one of the things we did the day before you died. We went to the Saturday farmers market in the Iowa city where you lived.  You loved houseplants, and you saw an orchid.  You almost bought it, but changed your mind and told the farmer you would be back Tuesday, at the next market  Of course, you never made it.

I also wanted you to know about the "Aunt M" plant.  It is a euphorbia and you would be amazed how long it took me to find that out.  You didn't know what it was, either but you had grown it for years and years in your house  You would grow it outdoors every summer, then take cuttings, overwinter them indoors, and repeat the process.

You had been doing that for over 20 years. The visit before you died, you gave me a cutting.  In fact, I forgot it and we drove back just to retrieve the cutting.  We drove home with it, almost 900 miles.  My plants from that cutting are still alive, too. [And they are still thriving in 2015.] I don't put them out every summer, but I thought you would be pleased to know how much those cuttings make me think of you, too.

It was great talking with you, Aunt M.  I hope there is gardening where you are living now.  Heaven wouldn't be heaven without gardens, would it? 

2015 postscript:
But right now, I would rather heaven have one less new inhabitant.

The End and the Beginning

A chapter has closed.  Another one is ready to be written.

I stare at the blank pages of today, ready to be written on.

My mother in law and developmentally disabled brother in law now (as of yesterday) live about two miles from us.  We, and my sister in law and her significant other, with help from several family members (you know who you are, and I thank you once again) survived the downsizing and moving process.  My mother in law and the brother in law I call "B" have arrived, and spent the first night in their new home last night.

I can not put myself into the heads of my mother in law or brother in law.  My brother in law has autism, and this process has been hard for him, perhaps harder than for any of us.  He just doesn't show it in the same way.

My mother in law is still recovering from heart valve replacement surgery.  She is trying to gain strength and health back.  It is a battle, at her age.

We all have a lot of adjusting to do. Mother in law and "B" must adjust to a new area, a new home, and apartment living.

We must adjust to them being two miles away and not 150.

It will be a "process".

Now the REAL work begins.  We all have to take it one day, maybe one hour, at a time.

Wish us all luck.  We are all going to need it.

Garden Bloggers Bloom Day August 2015 - There's No Place Like Home

Today, on Garden Bloggers Bloom Day, I am home for only the second Saturday since mid-June.  I had to travel, as my regular readers know, some 150 miles each way back and forth, to help care for an aging mother in law and also helped her to downsize and to move.

It was an ordeal for me, my spouse, and my sister in law but now we are almost (I hope) ready to cross the finish line.  The move was yesterday. She comes up with my sister in law later today.

Now, I can finally enjoy my home garden, just in time for a heat wave.

In my garden in upstate New York, in zone 5b, I know we aren't that far from fall.  I haven't been to my garden in weeks, and will try to get there today. Hoping the sunflowers are in bloom. (If they are, maybe I'll take pictures for tomorrow.)

It rained last night.  I still have lilies blooming.  In addition to this red one, I also have a yellow one that has been blooming since early July.  It has one bloom left to open, but it wasn't open yet this morning.

Tall phlox.  First year I've had this and so far I am happy.

One of my petunias.

Another petunia.

Garlic chives

A container of three geraniums.  I love the leaves of the yellow leafed variety.  Needless to say, I've forgotten the variety name.

Finally, one of my nasturtiums.

Please visit the host of this 15th of the month meme, May Dream Gardens.  From her Indiana blog, you can link to flower gardens all over the world. 

Falling Friday - Still Together after All These Years

True love survives.

From August 15 to August 17, 1969, a music festival was held in upstate New York that became one of the most famous music events of the 20th century.

This museum is on the site of the concert, which was not held in Woodstock, New York

Every week for the past eight or so weeks, I passed the exit for where Woodstock took place on the way to my long distance care giving duties in a suburb of New York City.

I remember seeing posters advertising Woodstock on New York City subways in 1969.  I had a summer job in Lower Manhattan, not far from the late World Trade Center, and commuted back and forth on the #5 subway from my home in the Bronx.  It sounded so good and I wanted to go but my father forbade me.  I was 16 and couldn't do much about it.

But a couple who did go to that concert had their picture taken and, on the 40th anniversary of that photo, were still together.

But Nick and Bobbi Ercoline went to Woodstock, and ended up on the cover of its album. They fell in love, married in 1971 and (as of earlier this year) were still married.  They have two grown children.  Bobbi is (or was) a school nurse in Pine Bush, New York, where they live.  Nick worked for the Orange County Department of Community Development until his retirement in 2014.

As of this year, they are still going strong.

I can envy Nick a little for his retirement,but, you know what?  I'm not sorry I didn't make it to Woodstock in 1969.

I hope I can visit the museum one day, though, and experience it in a lot more comfort than the original concert goers ever knew.

Until then, I can enjoy some magical pictures of a couple who were in the right place at the right time.

Throwback Thursday - The Peanut President

I have visited several United States Presidential birthplaces or childhood homes.  The varied backgrounds of our Presidents are always a source of amazement for me.

Yesterday, we in the United States were saddened by the news that a former President, Jimmy Carter, has been diagnosed with cancer.  He had been operated on earlier this month for a mass in his liver.  Wherever the cancer started, it has spread.  The doctors may never find where the cancer originated.

President Carter, 90, has to "rearrange his schedule" for cancer treatment.  That is the kind of age 90 I admire - an age 90 of making a difference in the world with travel, charitable work, and even teaching Sunday School.

Here is a post I wrote on Jimmy Carter in 2010, when I visited his birthplace in Georgia.

They called him....

The Peanut President

Jimmy Carter has always fascinated me.  He came seemingly out of nowhere, seemed to have what it took to be President, but once he got into office he never succeeded.  Yet, in private life, he has succeeded beyond what may have been his wildest dreams.

What in his upbringing, what in his childhood values, what in his education made this man?

And why has this area of Georgia grown organizations such as Habitat for Humanity and others?  What here was so special?

We are visiting the Americus/Plains area to find out. In this blog entry I am concentrating on Jimmy Carter the man.

This is the house that Jimmy Carter grew up in.

Jimmy Carter grew up outside of Plains, GA in a solidly middle class family.  The actual town, which no longer exists, was called Archery.  The realities of rural life in those days created a childhood of lots of hard physical labor.  His father, loving as he was, did not believe in keeping anything on the farm that did not "pay its own way".   And this was hard farming, although the Carters were rich enough to have tenant farmers.  Still, Jimmy worked side by side with area black farmers, performing distasteful chores such as "mopping cotton".

"Miss Lillian", Jimmy's mother, was a nurse who did not turn anyone away, black or white.

Jimmy's father encouraged Jimmy to work and play alongside of the local black farmers.


The Carters grew cotton, peanuts, and sugar cane.  Student farmers still raise these crops at the homestead today.  They kept goats for meat, and mules to plow the fields.

And, in this windmill, is the germ of using "alternate energy".  There is nothing new about windpower.

The Plains High School the Carters attended has been closed (as part of consolidating various school districts).  This is a classroom set up the way it would have looked for Jimmy Carter in the 7th grade. Like so many famous people, Jimmy Carter credits a high school teacher, Miss Julia Coleman, as another great influence on his life.  In 1940 Eleanor Roosevelt invited her to the White House to honor her.  I highly recommend reading about her life.

 This is the outside of the high school.

Plains was the "Big City" for Jimmy Carter.  This is what it looks like today:

Jimmy Carter lives just outside of Plains today, and when he is in town, teaches Sunday School at his church.  This is Jimmy Carter's "Church Home".

When we had first planned our trip, Mr. Carter was not supposed to be in town but this has since changed. We won't be able to change our plans but it certainly would have been interesting.

The Carters also raise a lot of money by auctioning various belongings, momentos, and even paintings.

So, what about this childhood made Jimmy Carter so special?  Didn't many other Georgians had a similar rural childhood?  Not exactly.  There were Jimmy's parents, the hard work ethic instilled in him, his travel in Navy service.  But what else?  The Americus area has something very special, and you can find out more about Americus by reading some of my other posts from 2010.

Summer Ramblings - Down by the River

(With apologies to the Standells) 

Downtown Binghamton, New York is trying to reinvent itself.  For the past several years, it has had a trail along its river, the Chenango. (There is a second river, the Susquehanna, which meets the Chenango at what is called Confluence Park.  Today, I'd like to show you a little of the Chenango.

Growing up, I fell in love with a song about Boston, by a group called the Standells.

If Binghamton, New York, had its own song, it might have lyrics like these:

Down by the river....

Mosaics framing the Chenango River, downtown Binghamton, New York

Down by the banks of the Chenango River in Binghamton, NY.

Joe Pye Weed

That's where you'll find me on a lovely afternoon like last Friday.

Taken by my guest photographer

Binghamton, you're my home. (Not quite, I only work there.)

I have a love/hate relationship with Binghamton, but last Friday, the mood was love.

As for the mosaics in the first picture: as soon as I have time, I will feature more of them in a future post.

Thank you, readers, for keeping me company on a summer's day lunch walk.

Throwback Tuesday - Checkerboard Heaven

I originally posted this in 2009.

Since then, I have visited MacKenzie-Childs twice, once taking a tour.  They have beautiful grounds with gardens (they used to have chickens, too, but I didn't see any last year) and a beautiful house you can tour for free.  Unfortunately for you, my readers, they don't permit photography on the tour.

You either love their style or hate it.

I love it.  I just can't afford it.  The more expensive pieces are made in Aurora and the craftsmanship is impressive.  Better yet, it doesn't cost anything to look.

It's checkerboard heaven.
Here's the original post.

MacKenzie-Childs: Not for the Timid

We went up to Aurora, NY (in the Finger Lakes) to the annual MacKenzie-Childs barn sale.


MacKenzie-Childs is not for everyone. Their pottery, furniture, and other decorative items are...shall we say, quite bold. If you love checkerboard patterns, this is your place.

Here is an example of some of their furniture.
Unfortunately, photography was not permitted inside their "farmhouse" which was decorated in this style: but this will give you some flavor











Outside, there is a "chicken palace" where normally there is a nice collection of rare chickens - to my disappointment the chickens were removed for the occasion. They did leave some geese, who ran up to everyone who came close-I assume waiting for a handout:









Some metal work was featured. Here is a gate showing the detail put into their garden gates plus a little peak into one of their gardens:










Finally, here is a view of one of their gardens.

One day I may afford one of their artisan pieces. Until then, I will feast on the art.

It Doesn't Stop Just Because

For how long are we students of this world?

Yesterday, my mother in law and I met with a social worker who is helping us transfer her home health services up to where we live. She will be moving to our area before the end of the month.

I was raised to believe that learning is a lifelong process.   You never stop learning.  Life always seems to give you new opportunities to learn new things.  Sometimes they are pleasant.

Sometimes, they are not.

For example, life presented my spouse with this life lesson today.  Just because you are in the middle of a cluster of caregiving issues, life does not stop.

Yes, someone tried to break into our car (we are a one car family) this afternoon, while it was parked in a supermarket parking lot. That hole is where our lock used to be.  The lock is gone (it may have fallen into the car door) but, thankfully, the thief didn't get into the car.

 So now, my spouse is chasing around - called the store's security and had a nice chat with them (waiting for a phone call to see if their security cameras picked up the crime in progress), went to the dealer, is filing a police report, and, tomorrow, there will be the call to our car insurance agent.  I only hope it is covered, because the repair is probably not going to be cheap.  And, oh yes, we got an email confirmation from the dealer and they screwed up the time of the appointment - by about 4 hours.

But things could be a lot worse. 

They could have stolen the car.

Feeling Young Again

The most unlikely things can make you feel young again.

Yesterday, I was at my elderly mother in law's, helping her in the final stages of downsizing and moving to be closer to family where I live in upstate New York.  My son was with us.

My son works in a machine shop (dirty, smelly work) and drives an old beat up 1998 Ford Explorer.

He needed gas, and we needed to pick up a couple of pizzas for dinner.  So, away we went.

Such an innocent phase, "away we went".  It's a process for him to have a passenger in his car.  Seat latches are tricky and he has to go through an operation to pull the seat back so a passenger can get in.  There's a huge step up, too, huge at least to a 62 year old woman with an arthritic knee.

I managed the step up the first time, but not the second time.  I landed on my rear end "plop" right on the floor rug.  The dirty floor rug, in a vehicle smelling of machine shop.

And I started to laugh uncontrollably.

I don't know why, but that undignified landing on my rear made me feel young again.  I laughed and giggled for the next few minutes.

My son can drive me crazy (he knows all my buttons and doesn't hesitate to push them) but he has a heart of gold.  (Just don't tell anyone I said so.)

He says I don't laugh enough.  It's true.  Sometimes I feel like all the worries of the world are on my shoulders.

But, for a minute, on the floor of that Ford Explorer, I forgot them.

Incidentally, the pizza was delicious.

Local Saturday - Contrasts

I've written about farmers markets so many times in the past few years, but I now find myself in a situation where I am rarely home (or in a place with a farmer's market) on weekends.  So, instead, I am going to link to a fellow blogger, Vera Linton, who wrote a post called Watermelon and French Bread.

This is a story of contrasts - her childhood, and mine.

This blogger's upbringing was so opposite from mine.  Ms. Linton grew up on a farm in California.  I grew up in a public housing project in the Bronx, in New York City.

Her childhood included a family garden.  I never saw a garden until I was 17 years old, if you don't count the marigolds and lettuce I tried to grow on my city windowsill.
 
She talks about tomato borscht.  My childhood foods included borscht made from beets.

She ate lots of fresh veggies and salads.  In my household, fresh salad veggies rarely darkened our apartment threshold.

Yet, we share some memories - like lamb chops and cabbage rolls.  And we share a love of good food and the garden.

Although, I must admit, my first taste of fresh food wasn't poetic.  I ate too much, and made myself sick.  But I've never looked back.  I hope I am able to grow something (at least more than windowsill lettuce) for the rest of my life.

What memories do food, or farmer's markets, bring back for you?

Falling Friday - Can We Turn the Falling Tide?

The headlines, past and present, produce fear.  Especially if you are a senior citizen or care for one.

"George H.W. Bush [a former United States President, now 91 years old] fell and broke his neck bone", read the headlines in July.  This is a man who parachuted for his 90th birthday.

Actor Robert Culp - dead from a fall at age 79 in 2010. I remember him from a TV series of the 1960's called "I Spy".  The other starring actor became famous, too, but eventually in a different way.

Singer Eddie Arnold, dead after he fell and broke a hip in 2008, just shy of his 90th birthday.

Hillary Clinton, age 67, who is running for President of the United States, has had several well publicized falls.  One ended up as a topic of discussion in her Presidential campaign.

A man by the name of William Bechill, a man famed in the aging advocacy community, died in 2007 after he fell on ice.  He was 78.

Is falling in old age something that can't be prevented?  Is there any hope for seniors as they age?  Do we in the areas of harsh winter weather (I live in one of those areas) have to become prisoners in our homes due to aging?

Many are now trying to turn this around.  And, seniors are ready to listen.

Seniors such as my mother in law's next door neighbor of over 50 years, and good friend.  She is 83 (I hope she doesn't mind me giving out her age) and she and I grew up a mile - and 20 years - apart in the Bronx, a borough of New York City.

This woman, a widow for many years, still leads an active life, and lives in her house of over 50 years.  She walks up to four miles a day.  She travels.  And when I demonstrated the exercises I had learned in my falls prevention class during a recent visit, she was eager to learn them.

Why?  Because she has fallen.  Of course, she said, "I got right up".  She didn't want her companions to see her lying on the cobblestone streets of the city she was visiting.

Except that it was a fall.

Fortunately for this woman, she is not in denial.

If your area has falls prevention classes, don't be shy.  Take them. 

It can't hurt.  I've lost a little on my waist.  I am feeling the difference as I walk my imaginary tightrope.

In just minutes away, you can gain optimism.  Perhaps we, all together, can turn the falling tide.

Throwback Thursday - Nostalgia Ain't What It's Cracked Up to Be

The Throwback Thursday meme brings me to the subject of nostalgia.

Just in the three years since I last wrote this post:

Email?  (replaced, for many of us, by social media)

Cable TV? (replaced, for many of us, by streaming online)

Time (and technology) moves on.

All of us, eventually, succumb to the emotion of nostalgia.  Perhaps, technically, nostalgia is not an emotion. But, when you realize many of the people around you have no knowledge of the technology you grew up with....well, it's a bit humbling. And emotional.

So let's take a nostalgic look at this slightly outdated post from 2012.

Nostalgia Ain't What It's Cracked Up to Be

Pining for the "good old days" is probably as old as humanity is.  But today, we have electronic ways of expressing it - especially, for the last 15 years or so - email.

Anyone over the age of - oh, 45 or so - has gotten these emails. You know "those emails": the emails full of photos of Howdy Doody and church keys and reminiscences of old black and white TV show.  Memories of idyllic childhood straight out of Dick and Jane books try to get you to pine for the "good old days".

Yeah, right.  And that is because there is no such thing as the 'good old days".  Never has been.

If yoiu, gentle reader, are in your 20's and 30's, just wait....in about 20 or so years that nostalgia mosquito is going to bite you.  One day you'll find yourself frustrated with technology that your 10 year old child uses effortlessly.  Or you'll suddenly realize that TV shows (if they even have TV in 20 years) just aren't made the way they used to be.

That "my childhood is a museum" feeling that I used to get talking to my son will be your feeling, too.

And the thing is:  "those days" weren't ideal.   Not everything was great.  Not everything has gone downhill.

So exactly what it is about the "good old days" that I don't miss? . For my younger readers: you get one point for every item where you actually knew what I was talking about without using the link.  Ready?  Let's go!

1.  Coke-bottle eyeglasses.  If you wear glasses and have poor vision (like me) I am thankful daily for ultra light lenses that don't leave permanent sores on your nose and your ears.  And which don't break because the lenses were made of glass.

2. Typewriters.  I learned to type on a manual typewriter in Mrs. Gottlieb's 7th grade typing class.  Mrs. Gottlieb was the most feared teacher in my school.  She put tape on all the keys so you couldn't cheat and find the correct key by glancing down.   Typewriters?  Well, if you didn't have one, you'd have to pay someone to type your term papers.  It was a complex process:  inserting paper into a roller, rolling it into position, setting the margins, typing, and when you heard a bell, you knew you were about 5 spaces from the end.  Time to hypehenate, then return the carriage to where it started, and type your next sentence.


3.  Carbon Paper.   And  onionskin.
If you needed copies, you just didn't tell your word processing software to print multiple copies.  You took special paper, and inserted carbon paper between each sheet - and heaven help you if you made a typo and had to correct all of those pages.  That was an art form in itself.

4.  Old fashioned medicine.  I'm probably going to get an earful about this.  But, let's put it this way.  I have a medical condition, easily treated today for many people with diet, exercise and medication.  My grandmother died from the same condition in 1927 because there was no treatment.  Things wouldn't have been much better in the 1950's.

Modern medicine has a lot of problems, no doubt about it.  But enough of us are walking around right now who may not be on this earth if we hadn't expanded on the medical knowledge of the 1950's.

5.  Pup tents.  My first camping adventure was in a small canvas tent borrowed from a fellow college student.   Guess what.  It rained. Do you know what happens when it is raining and you touch the walls of your canvas pup tent, which, from the weight of the water, has sagged so the entire tent is inches away from you?  What happens is that you spend the rest of the stormy evening in the ladies rest room of the campground.  Which, in this case at least, wasn't a latrine.  Give me a modern tent made of synthetic materials any day.

You'll notice I am talking about technology and not culture, not people's attitudes.  There's enough material there for another blog post.

Do you feel nostalgic for your childhood or teenage years?  What don't you miss about it?

Summer Ramblings - Travel Flowers

In my various travelings to and from my mother in law who lives some 150 miles away from me (I've been there with my spouse almost every weekend since mid-June and sometimes on Fridays and/or Mondays, too), I look forward to seeing my home flower garden when I return.

This is what was waiting for me after my last commute this past weekend.

These are day lilies glowing in the late afternoon light.  I love how this picture came out - taken, like all my other photos, with my iPhone 4S.

Tall Phlox.

Yellow and Red nasturtiums.

And finally, one more picture of my glowing lilies, this time in a group.

For a minute, all my cares and tiredness washed away, to be replaced by a humble amazement.  (And then it returned, but you can't get everything you want.)

What are your favorite flowers?

Thanks for the Memories (Or Not)

Did something like this happen to you yesterday?

Yesterday I worked, walked with my spouse, and shared what we had done towards our goal of moving his mother up here closer to us, and caring for her needs, discussed our next trip to go down to her, and tried to problem solve.


I came home, opened up Facebook, and was greeted with a helpful "memory".  It was on top of my wall, and it said "[My name], we care about you and the memories you share here. We thought you'd like to look back at this post from two years ago."  It gave me two options:  share, and see more.


The photo it showed me was harmless in and of itself.  It was a picture I took of country singer Leann Rimes performing at the 2013 Spiedie Fest and Balloon Rally in Binghamton. But there was no Spiedie Fest for me this year.

That's not what bothered me about this, though.  (Well, let's be honest.  It did bother me a little.  It was a gorgeous weekend.  People at work yesterday were raving about how gorgeous it was.  But, as the saying goes, whatever.  I hope to experience more gorgeous weekends in the future, life willing.  Not everyone I know will have that opportunity, and I am fortunate.)

But:  who is to say which memories should be brought up and reshared?  Me? Or Facebook?

So, out of curiosity, I clicked on "see more".

What Facebook is wanting me to give them permission for them to send me notification of memories.  It gave me a sample of my postings onto my wall from "on this day" in 2014, and 2010.

No thank you.

Facebook only does things to make money.  This is a capitalist country, so nothing wrong with that, but they are not going to make money off helping me remember.

You know, Facebook, my mind does a good job of this, thank you very much.  I spent some 45 years without the Internet and I haven't forgotten how to remember.  If I want to remember, I can go out to my friend's timelines.  Or mine.  Or take out some old photos. 

There may be good uses for this feature- perhaps it will help families whose members struggle with dementia, for example.  Right now, thankfully, we are not one of them.

But...there is something about this I am not comfortable with.

I am not putting Facebook in charge of my memories so they can somehow make money off of it.

What do you think?

Aging in Place

For better or worse, June and July are just a memory.

I thank my readers for hanging in during a time of change in my life.  I am not quite done yet.

My spouse and I have been working, the past several weeks (with the help of another family member we couldn't have done it without) on downsizing and moving my elderly mother in law closer to us (right now we are about three hours away from her).  Before the end of the month, we hope she will be up here, in a living situation more suited to her physical condition.

She tried to age in place.  It worked for years but, in the end, she is having to move.

So much has happened in these weeks. My mother in law had heart valve surgery and spent time in ICU and in rehab.  She got a buyer for her house where she has lived for over 50 years.

Lots of suffering.  But also lots of gifts.  In a way, we are too exhausted to appreciate some of these gifts, but one day we will.  I hope that day is soon.  But right now I know one gift I've been given.

We now know which family members will come through in hard times and which will not.  That, in itself, is a gift, but it has also caused me a lot of anger I will not subject my readers to.

There has also been a lot of saying goodbye (not so much for me as for my spouse and some members of his family, my mother in law's next door neighbor and good friends and others.)  I did not grow up in that house.  I did not raise children in that house.

I have so much to blog about, and I just don't have time.

So I will fill the gap with another blogger's thoughts.  Carol Cassara is an excellent writer. 

Recently she wrote a post called "The Gift of Aging In Place".  My mother in law tried to age in place, but her house wasn't right for it, and after a time it just didn't work anymore. 

I hope my mother in law does, one day, so she can know she made the right decision.

Some Exercise for Sunday

iPhone commercial

Today, a throwback from June of 2014.  It's a good time for some exercise.

Touch down every morning....

Do you remember this song?

Chicken Fat

In my 1950's/1960's childhood, chicken fat was something my mother would render out  and make a treat called "gribenes" for me as a childhood treat.  I would accompany my Mom to the butcher, where she would pick out a chicken (already deceased) and I would watch the butcher cut the chicken up. Then she would make the magic happen at home.

I haven't eaten crispy chicken skin (a by product of the chicken fat rendering) with onions in many years, and I am not even sure I would enjoy it today if you fed it to me.  But chicken fat is part of my childhood memories.

Children grow up. There is something we still need to do, as adults-move around. And dare I use a word I hate, exercise.

Speaking of chicken fat, there's another childhood memory I need to disclose.  The first time I watched this iPhone commercial, I was transported back in time.

It was this song.  The Chicken Fat song (see above, because I can't get it positioned right in this post, in its full 6 minute version).

Baby boomers (and even some of subsequent generations) in the United States may well remember this song.  And if you click on the above video, you will soon know the song even if you don't now, because this song is one of the worst earworms ever created.  I will warn you, don't click on either video unless you want to have this song in your head for the rest of the day.

What is so addictive about the Chicken Fat song?  Well, it has everything to do with a physical fitness program created by our President in 1961 to encourage Americans to exercise.

Meredith Wilson, of The Music Man Broadway fame (remember 76 Trombones?)  wrote this song for President Kennedy's physical fitness program in 1961.  It is sung by Robert Preston, who starred in the 1962 movie based on the Broadway show.

Yes, there was trouble in River City, and in the rest of the United States.  There was too much chicken fat, and not enough exercise. Can you believe it - in 1961 we were already too sedentary. This song's purpose was to encourage us all to change that.

The song (the 6 minute version, that is) has explicit instructions for doing various exercises - no app needed.

Thousands, if not millions, of American children have exercised to the full, six plus minute version of the song.  Meanwhile, iPhone/Apple has pared the song down to about a minute, in a commercial called Strength, featuring people exercising with the help of something that didn't exist in 1961- their iPhone apps. And yes, all the apps are for real.

In a strange way, I love the revival of the Chicken Fat song. It drives my spouse crazy, that commercial (he doesn't remember the song) but I love it.  And I love seeing the apps at work.  Most of them are free, too.

Too bad our country holds lots more chicken fat than ever before. And I am one of many Americans who fights it, daily. Just think, what if this revival of the Chicken Fat song caused an old fashioned exercise revival?  Wouldn't it be, as we used to say years ago, awesome?

Go, you chicken fat, go!

Do you remember the Chicken Fat song?  Did you have to exercise to it?

Local Saturday-Peregrine Falcons of Binghamton

This post dates from 2011.  The photos were taken by someone working in this building. She still does.  And, I still walk past this building and find - well, some interesting things.

There is a joy in hearing the falcons call.  It makes me glad that I'm not a pigeon.

Enjoy the post now.....

One of the joys of working in our downtown area here in Binghamton, New York, is knowing that high above you, a pair of peregrine falcons is taking care of business. 

Back in 2001, a pair set up on top of the Security Mutual Life Insurance Company of New York building, and proceeded to nest.  They (and another pair that took over at some point, I believe), make this an annual ritual.

I have been fortunate enough to see the falcons several times over the years.  Sometimes, bird watchers set up near the Broome County Court house when they are sighted, and allow noonday office workers out and about at lunch to share their binoculars.  And, enough times....how do I say this delicately, but if I have to walk past the Security Mutual building, I must step around....er, the remains of their lunch.  Pigeons are their favorite, and they are choosy about which parts they eat.

I understand they can dive at 200 miles per hour.  I've never seen one take prey, but I have heard their haunting screeches.

In June of 2008, someone I know who works in the Security Mutual building sent me these photos.  I would like to share these photos with you.

Thank you, Donna, for these photos. As Donna explained at the time:

"Please enjoy the pictures of the male, baby Falcon, approximately 3 months old, that hit the window of the Security Mutual Building around lunch time, and decided to take a little rest on the ledge, outside offices on the 8th floor, before he took off flying to join the rest of his family.  We learned from the DEC (Department of Environmental Conservation) that this may have been his maiden flight."  

The building visible in most of the pictures is the Broome County Courthouse.

This is an action sequence.  The bird rests on the ledge, a bit stunned, recovers, and then finally flies away. 

The pigeons may not be happy to have the falcons in town, but many office workers in downtown Binghamton are thrilled to have the falcons live among us.

 Here, the falcon peeks into the 8th floor offices.

What a beautiful sight.

 A very nice closeup.

 Great shot down Court Street, as the bird prepares to take off.  And finally, the happy ending.

 
The young birds, sadly, do not always survive to adulthood.  But I believe this one did.