On Mowing the Lawn

Frequently my husband mows our lawn, but today he was otherwise occupied, and I decided to seize the couple hours of rain-free weather for the chore.

The weather in northern New York has been very wet this summer. Finding a dry day to mow has been difficult. When I declared I would mow today, my husband informed me that while I had slept soundly, he had been up during the night closing windows, and that I might find the grass too wet. With that word of caution, I decided to start where the grass is the least dense.

We have a fairly large area to mow. In addition to a normal sort of front yard, and a large back yard, we own two lots out in the middle of the block. We do not have a riding mower. It is a power mower, but not self-propelled. In other words, the mowing is actual work.

I began out in the middle of the block carefully skirting the day lilies. The forget-me-nots are done blooming so that area went under the blade. By the time I got to our back yard, the sun had still not dried out the dense grass. The mower clogged up repeatedly, and I had to stop it to dig the clumps of wet grass out from around the blade with a stick. Then, of course, it had to be restarted. Yank, pull, yank. I tried to occupy myself with pleasant thoughts to keep my mind off the exertion and the sweat pouring off my forehead and stinging my eyes.

The maple trees that volunteered themselves in the now unused garden area are really getting tall. One is almost 10 feet. The lilac bushes have finally grown to the point that there are enough blossoms to cut for bouquets in late spring. The rose bushes are coming along nicely considering that my care-taking is best described as benign neglect. And the tomatoes..oh, yes...the tomato plants are about 5 feet high and loaded with green tomatoes and blossoms. BLT season is not far away.

After an hour and 45 minutes with only a brief break for a glass of water, I finally finished the task and more or less staggered into the house. I grabbed a soda, rationalizing that even if I didn't need the calories, I needed the electrolytes. I spread a beach towel out on the bed, stripped off my perspiration soaked clothing and collapsed on the beach towel. The idea of the beach towel was to keep the bedspread from being saturated with perspiration too. Eventually I recoved enough to shower.

Maybe 64 year old women aren't supposed to push a mower for almost 2 hours. But, I'm thinking that as long as I keep pushing myself, I will die in my tracks, and not do a slow shrivel.

In the Raspberry Patch

About 30 years ago, neighbors gave us a small clump of raspberry plants they had dug up from their yard. We planted them next to a narrow sidewalk which runs along the side of our carriage house. Each year as runners from the plants came up out in the lawn, we dug them up and planted them along the sidewalk. We now have a dense thicket of raspberry plants about 20 feet long and 3-4 feet wide.

We have been out of town the past ten days, and in our absence the berries have ripened. Tonight I picked 2 quarts of raspberries. Lots more will be ripening over the next couple of weeks.

As I picked, I thought about the first few years when I was lucky if I got as much as a handful to bring into the house. The plants were fewer in number and the children playing on the swingset next to them were greater in number. My daughters were the first berry-snatchers. But, I do need to admit that the fact that my son and his friends cleaned off the bushes was my fault.

My son's first summer, he was about 8 months old when the berries were ripe. I would put him in the stroller and take him with me to work in the garden. As we passed the bushes, I would find one perfect berry, break it into small fragments and put them in his mouth. He would smack his little lips and enjoy the berry. I suppose I programmed him to be unable to pass those bushes without sampling the fruit.

Eventually the patch expanded to the point where even though my son and his friends helped themselves, I got enough in the house to make a pie or two, and have some to put in muffins or on top of ice cream.

The swingset rusted out and is long gone. No berry-snatchers play near by. I guess I'll be baking pies tomorrow. No amount of sugar will make them anything other than bittersweet.

Asking the Impolite Question

Two very famous people died yesterday....along with a whole lot of other people who were not famous. The media talks on and on and on about the contributions of those who were famous. No one asks what has apparently become an impolite question....where are they today?

Of course, no one really knows the answer to that for any of us. No one else knows what is in our minds and hearts, all private and hidden away in our innermost beings.

Most of those in the media probably believe there is no 'today' for those who died yesterday, or perhaps, they believe in a peaceful beyond into which we all pass regardless of the life we have lived.

But suppose, heaven and hell actually exist, and there is some defining question? Has your life conformed to God's plan for you? Have you considered God's claim on your life? What have you done with Jesus?

Last night I listened to a clip from an interview Barbara Walters did with Farrah Fawcett. At one point, Farrah said, "I just think I should be able to do what I want to do." Now maybe this was not her basic life philosophy, maybe the clip was somehow taken out of context. But, what if it was the theme of her life? Would her talent, beauty, bravery in her fight against cancer, or love for her son mean more in evaluating her life, than such an underlying philosophy?

Similarly, I saw a clip of an interview Ed Bradley did with Michael Jackson. He tried to get Michael to admit that his behavior with young boys certainly looked 'bad' to others...allowing young boys who were not related to him to sleep in his bed. Michael's response indicated that he could do this, and that anyone who thought ill of it was just plain wrong. He could defy social convention, and it should be ignored. In other words, he should be allowed to do what he wanted to do. His talent was immense, but does that entitle him to go against what society views as acceptable in dealing with children?

Here's the thing....none of us gets to do what we want to do all...or even most...of the time. We all have to live in the context of a family and a society and many other relationships in which someone else's needs or wishes may override ours. For many of us, we also decide to live in the context of a relationship with God. We believe it is that relationship, and not immense talent or fame, which will determine our destiny for eternity.

I don't know where Michael or Farrah or anyone else who died yesterday is today. God is wiser than I. He alone knows what is hidden to all others. But, 'today' someone who died yesterday in obscurity may be the one receiving the loudest applause.

Reflections on 41 years of marriage

Today I am celebrating the anniversary of marriage to my wonderful husband. I can't believe it is 41 years already. For the most part, it seems as though the years have flown past. While one is in the midst of a difficult day, it seems interminable. But, when one looks back on the years, they have gone by in a flash.
So here we are 4 kids and 8 grandkids later. We have only lived in two homes, and Bill has only had one job, but life has been full and varied. We have stuck together through wonderful times and absolutely horrible times.
We have had fewer fights than can be counted on the fingers of one hand....lots of debates and discussions...but very very few harsh words. We respect each other, and we each defer to the other in certain areas. He never argues with me about health or education related issues, and I never argue with him about money. That is not to say that we never ask each other quetions about these topics. We use each other as a sounding board when thinking through issues. We always consult each other on decisions which impact the others life.
There are some things about him that drive me crazy, but I expect there are things that I do and say that drive him crazy too.
Even if we have 41 more years together...which I know we won't...it won't be enough.

Backyard Drama

Instead of a traditional garage, we have a large carriage house. However, like many traditional garages, it has a basketball hoop on the front. Unfortunately, this creates a cozy space in which pigeons have been building a nest for many years. We have tried numerous means of getting rid of the pigeons nesting behind the backboard, but nothing has worked...not the plastic owl...not the rubber snake...not multiple occasions when my husband has destroyed the entire nest.

On Saturday I looked out the kitchen window and noticed that the current resident of the nest was sitting up on the backboard with two young offspring. The young ones were stretching their wings thinking about trying them out. The mother pushed against one of the birds moving it towards the end of the backboard. She pushed again and again until finally the young bird was clinging to the last inch of space.

Underneath the backboard watching every move were...not one...not two....but three neighborhood cats. One was sitting ready to pounce, one was standing with tail moving slowly from side to side. The third was laying on his back with eyes fixed on the activity above him. I imagine they were all salivating.

I was thinking that pigeons aren't very bright. She was about to push junior off and turn him into an early Thanksgiving dinner. But, after pushing the young bird to the very edge, she flew off, and a short time later, the young bird flew off too. Later I saw the mother and both young birds perched on the barn roof. Either she is lucky or smarter than I thought.

The cats had wandered off. I expect they were deeply disappointed.

Turtle on the Line

Today on the way home, I was cruising along through a rural area at 55 mph plus, when I spied a small object on the yellow line in the middle of the road. There sat a turtle whose shell was about the same diameter as a tea cup. The poor thing appeared to still be alive as the shell was dome shaped...not squashed flat, and there was daylight between its head and the pavement.

I suppose turtles don't experience consternation and/or sheer terror...both of which seemed appropriate.

Perhaps he was thinking, "So...I've made it this far...if I move, the odds of meeting my demise are pretty good, but if I don't move, I'll get it sooner or later too. What to do? What to do? Why, oh why, did I leave that nice muddy ditch?"

I certainly sympathize. I have had times in my life when I felt like a turtle on the yellow line.

Sunday Dinner at Grandma's

Times have sure changed!

When I was little, Sunday dinner at Grandma's was a frequent event and a major gathering of family.  I loved the delicious home-cooked meals.  I especially remember yellow beans with buttered bread crumbs and pineapple upside down cake with real whipped cream...not Cool Whip.  I was fascinted with the adult discusssion at these events.  My mother's brothers were loud, argumentative and opinionated, but also highly intelligent.  Sometimes when I was done eating, rather than excusing myself, I would crawl under the table and just sit there listening.

Today after church, Bill and I said that we would help his Dad plant the gravesites of his parents and other family members in a small cemetery outside of town.  On the way there, we stopped at a sub shop for lunch.  Two older ladies were behind the counter making the subs to order.  A family was already seated and eating when we arrived.  As they got up to leave, the mother said to her daughter, "Go say 'good-bye' to Grandma."  The young girl stuck her head in the door that led behind the counter and called, "Bye, Grandma."  Then the young woman called out, "Thanks, Mom."

Now that gives new meaning to Sunday Dinner with Grandma!