Spring Thaw

Northern New York is beautiful at most times during the year....this is not one of those times.

The trees appear lifeless...not one hint of a bud or bit of greenery. The maple trees are producing that wondrous sap, which after hours of boiling becomes liquid gold maple syrup, but the trees certainly don't look pretty at this stage. Gray skeletons are stark against a frequently gray sky.

The snow banks are melting, but the grass that is revealed as they recede is dead and matted down like a head of hair that has been unbrushed all winter. No tulips, crocuses or daffodils have ventured the smallest green shoot.

Worse yet is all the debris that becomes apparent as the snow banks melt away. I walked several blocks today noting plastic bags and bottle caps, cardboard tubes, chunks of styrofoam, stray Christmas decorations, and worst of all....the canine feces which has been frozen in the snow banks is now thawing out everywhere.

Dog owners are supposed to pick up after their dogs, and some do. I have seen one lady in the neighborhood who gets behind her dog as soon as he squats and places a plastic bag strategically to catch the foul waste. Not everyone is as thoughtful. And so, the entire winter's inventory of doggy doo is now thawing where it was deposited during November, December, January and February.

When my son was a little guy and tried to play outside at this time of year, it was not uncommon to find him at the door nearly in tears wailing, "Oh, no! Puppy-doo!" It's tough on a kid to avoid a whole winter's worth of the stuff.

Ah, well....in a few short weeks, the spring rains will have washed the disgusting plops into the soil, the grass will be greening, violets will appear in the lawn, and the limbs of the trees will have little swelling buds that are a promise of leaves.

But, if you are planning a trip to northern New York before that, watch out where you step.

You know you are in California when...

We are in California visiting with our son and his wife. Today while they were at work, we decided to drive from Mountain View through San Francisco and across the Golden Gate Bridge to the Muir Woods National Monument to see the redwoods.

On the way there, I realized, much to my annoyance, that I had forgotten my camera. It was in the side pocket of my backpack which I had left at their apartment. I would have loved to have taken a picture of the bridge or a picture from the bridge of San Francisco Bay. The coastal redwoods are much too impressive to actually be captured in a photo.

We hiked through the forest...further than we meant to when we started out. The trail was muddy and slippery from recent rain, but the trees were awe-inspiring. It is overwhelming to stand among them looking up and realize their immensity. Later we drove further up the mountain and then down the west side where we could see the ocean from a lookout area. Way below us was the Pacific crashing against the shoreline. Again, it would have made an amazing photo.

However, the picture I most missed taking was of a sign I saw on the way back to the parking lot. You know you are in California when you see a sign that says, "First Amendment Rights Area." Underneath the title was the explanation that this was the designated area in which individuals wishing to express their first amendment rights could do so. Seriously??? There are designated areas for such?! Does any other state in the union do this?

I once heard someone say that a long time ago, the country was tilted to the west, and all the nuts rolled to California. Maybe he was right.

Respect and Disrespect in Denver

Last evening we arrived in the Denver airport and boarded the shuttle train to the baggage pick-up area. Apparently someone was in the doorway the first time the doors attempted to close.

A recorded message said, "Please stand clear of the doors. You are delaying the departure of this train."

Huh???? Nothing like being dissed by a recorded message!

"Oh, wow," I said to my husband. "Welcome to Denver. Whose brilliant idea do you suppose that was?"

With a smirk, he responded with the name of someone that he knows I think is disrespectful and insensitive.

"Hmmmm....I didn't know her influence extended this far!"

Seriously, wasn't there a better and more polite way to ask a person to remove his carcass from the doorway?

How about, "Please stand clear of the doors, so that the train may proceed."

"Please be sure you are not blocking the doors, so that they will close properly."

"Please allow the doors to close by moving all the way onto the train."

One would think that every attempt would be made to welcome an arriving visitor with a politely worded message.

We retrieved our baggage and found the car rental shuttle.

I noticed during the ride that a young man on the shuttle seemed to be looking at me. I wondered why. If I had been 35 years younger, I would have thought he was admiring my good looks.

When we arrived at the car rental, my husband jumped up, grabbed his suitcase and put it out on the sidewalk first. Before the young man could have even assessed whether my husband would come back to help me, he stepped over to me.

"I'll get your suitcase for you. Is it OK if I sit it right out here on the sidewalk for you?"

Ah...so now I know what he was thinking. "That poor old lady looks tired. I'll give her a hand."

I found myself thinking old lady thoughts.

"Oh, what a nice young man!"

So just in case you care, there is disrespect and respect in Denver.

We humans have a choice as to how we treat each other every day in every city.

Too Strange

The whole idea of sleep and dreams is fascinating. We put our heads on pillows, close our eyes and quite purposely allow ourselves to become "unconscious" and vulnerable. While in this state our brains apparently do some sorting and filing and general house-keeping. I have some genuinely bizarre dreams that cause me to wonder just what on earth it is that my brain is actually doing.

Last night I dreamed that I was a guest in someone else's home. I got ready for bed, and as I turned out the bathroom light, I saw a parade of mice scurrying along the edge of the tub. I turned the light back on, but the mice had disappeared. One of my uncles entered the dream. He tried to help me locate the mice, but somehow they had turned into blue caterpillars which were trying to hide by causing themselves to blend in with objects in the room. Some were wrapped around blue ornaments on a Christmas tree. If there was more to the dream, I don't remember what it was.

This morning I told my husband about this strangeness.

He flashed me one of his impish grins and said, "I suppose such dreams are the curse of a creative mind."

Interesting concept....he, on the other hand, sometimes wakes up exhausted because he has played basketball or run all night long.

Moving in the Right Direction

I am filled with a sense of relief that things are moving in the right direction.

Twelve days ago, my father-in-law fell in the bathroom and did a number on his left forearm. A large flap of skin was left hanging. The doctor decided not to remove it, hoping that circulation would reestablish and the wound would heal without the loose flap needing to be cut off.

Each day when I have dressed the wound, I have been concerned about the extreme discoloration of the wedge shaped flap. Various shades of deep purple, sometimes with yellow patches have had me worried.

Yesterday I went with him to the follow-up doctor appointment. Much to my relief, there was finally some improvement. Today the improvement was even more significant. There are a couple of very small edges that clearly aren't going back into place and will eventually come off, but the bulk of the tissue appears to be healing.

Each day I have evaluated the situation and found it static. I was waiting for it to get worse, so that I could make the decision to get him back to the doctor, or to improve so that I could exhale with relief. Turning the corner is a very good thing.

At this time of the year, I can see nature turning a corner. We still have lots of snow and freezing temperatures, but the sun is higher in the sky. The cold doesn't seem quite as bitter. South-facing snowbanks are showing signs of melting and creeping back from the edges of the roads and sidewalks. We are moving in the right direction.

Healing happens.

Spring comes.

Balancing on the edge of a situation is stressful. Knowing which way you are going, even if it is in a negative direction, at least gives you an inkling as to what your course of action should be. It's the not knowing that is unnerving.

Unwarranted Familiarity

I absolutely hate it when people I don't know call me "honey" or "sweetie" or "dear."

When I was in nursing school back in the dark ages, we were instructed never to use such terminology with patients. It was viewed as inappropriately familiar, and therefore, lacking in respect.

Having people address me this way seems to be happening with increasing frequency, and I am struggling with how to respond, or whether I should respond at all. I suppose the gracious thing to do is to let it roll off. But, depending on the tone or context in which it is said, it can be downright condescending.

I suppose this is pride on my part just bubbling to the surface, but I find myself wondering....

Do I really look like a honey or sweetie or dear? Most people actually find me a bit intimidating. Do I secretly like being intimidating, and is that why it makes me mad when a stranger calls me by a familiar term?

Am I starting to look like a doddering old lady? Are they thinking, "Oh, the poor, sweet, old dear."

Is it just a generational thing? When I was young I was taught not to address my elders that way, so is it that I just can't accept such unwarranted familiarity now being in vogue?

Earlier this week, I was in a J. C. Penney store at the mall. I found what I wanted to purchase and began the search for an open checkout station. It was clearly past opening time on the store clock, but the checkouts at both the back and side entrances were unattended, and no clerk was in sight. I wandering into the center of the store where a clerk was at the jewelry counter. I asked if there was a checkout open somewhere. I was, of course, hoping she would offer to check my purchase out right there. But her response was, "Why the front check-out is open, honey."

I muttered, "I'm not your honey."

She said, "Pardon me?"

I repeated with a sigh, "I'm not your honey."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

I know I made her feel bad, and so I felt guilty. It was the tone that got me. Of course, I probably would have found the front check-out open eventually by myself, but I had entered at the back of the store, the store was supposedly open, she didn't offer to check out the item herself, and then she called me HONEY!"

A couple of years ago, I went into a flooring store to order some laminate. We were remodeling the kitchen at the time. The salesman was young enough to be my son and maybe even my grandson. The entire conversation was sprinkled with "sweetie." Finally I couldn't take it anymore, and I said, "I am NOT your sweetie."

He looked shocked. I suppose it is such a habit, that he doesn't even know he does it.

Recently my computer needed repair. The owner of the shop, who I would guess to be close to my age, kept calling me 'dear.' I didn't say anything to him, but I thought, "If I was his wife it would bother me that he calls other women 'dear.' It would cheapen the term."

I later learned, he is divorced. Hmmmmmm.

I wonder if our society is so lacking in genuine intimacy, that people attempt to make up for it by using terms of endearment on a routine basis. Personally, I am reserving 'honey,' 'sweetie' and 'dear' for my children and grandchildren. My husband is 'my love' and absolutely no one else gets that!

Response to Reprimand

A couple of days ago, I was talking on the phone with one of my daughters, when her almost three-year old could be heard whimpering in the background.

Daughter: What's the matter Maddie?

Granddaughter: I was shy.

Daughter: Who were you shy of?

Granddaughter: Daddy

Daughter: Why were you shy of Daddy?

Granddaughter: Because, he told me the truth!

Apparently she had been running with a stick in her mouth, and he had told her to take it out and explained that she could get hurt.

I was amused, because it revealed something about her personality which is very like her mother's personality as a little girl.

Children respond in many different ways to discipline. These sweet ladies are mortified that there is even a need for discipline. Neither my daughter or her daughter like the notion that they have done something foolish. Maddie doesn't know the word "embarrassed" yet, but I think that's what she was going for with "shy."

My son was likewise horrified at the need to be corrected. When he was about 6, I commented that he had never been spanked. He said, "Oh, yes I was."

I asked, "When were you ever spanked?"

He replied, "One time when Dad was trying to help me put my jacket on, I did not cooperate, and he spanked me."

This was humorous, because this incident had occurred years earlier when he was a toddler, and what he counted as a "spanking" was one swat on the behind to get his attention. No matter...in his mind, he had required correction, and that certainly wasn't going to happen again.

In contrast, another daughter had a completely different response to discipline.

My husband needed a new suit, and we thought we could get away with taking our daughters, who were about age 3 and 4 at the time, along on the shopping trip. We figured we would just tell them that if they were good, we would go to McDonald's for lunch afterward.

We were in one of the higher end stores in our small city checking out possibilities. We had placed the girls on a bench within sight and instructed them to stay there. We turned our backs only briefly looking at the suits. When we turned around, they were gone. We split up looking for them. How they could have moved so quickly, I don't know. I found them in the display window in the front of the store...clearly visible from the sidewalk. They had taken a shirt off a mannequin and had added about a dozen pairs of black socks to the window display.

I retrieved the girls from the window and found a clerk. I apologized that my daughters had rearranged the display. She crawled out in the window, and as she picked up each pair of socks, she made a noise of disgust.

We took the girls home, gave them a peanut butter sandwich for lunch and put them in their rooms for nap time. My husband said he was going to go up and talk to them about what they had done.

The first girl agreed that what she had done was wrong, and that it wouldn't happen again.

When he asked the second girl what she had learned from this experience, she responded vehemently, "That the next time we are going to McDonald's, we'd better not go shopping first!"

Ahhhh....guess how the teenage years went with that one.