Monthly Archives: August 2019

Hold Me Closer Tony Danza

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It’s official. My house is for sale. There’s a sign out in front to entice casual passersby and to confirm the location for those who are searching. So, it’s definitely happening. All we need now is a buyer.

A buyer and…oh just a few…tiny details to be addressed before one arrives.

The woodchuck. They are normally shy little vegetarians. Not at all as pushy and greedy as the squirrels that attacked my bird feeder last winter. This one, however, decided to take up residence in the corner between the house and garage. Not a wise choice on her part. I’d rap on the window and shout from the porch…and just like Elizabeth Warren..”Nevertheless, she persisted.”

I hired a professional trapper at the suggestion of the Vermont DNR. He was a very quiet, gentle man who was very non-intrusive. He promised that I’d hardly even know he was there. The first day he arrived with two have-a-heart traps and by the next morning one of the traps was occupied by a raccoon. I never saw the trapper come to empty the trap and I didn’t ask what happened to the raccoon, but I’m pretty sure he was sent to a farm in upstate New York. After a couple weeks the groundhog, too, had been removed and his burrow filled with cement. When it came time to pay the trapper in a very Vermont-like manner he explained the bill and said, “I only charged you for trapping the woodchuck. You didn’t hire me to trap a raccoon. The raccoon was free.”

Vegetarian Delight…Luckily Woodchucks Can’t Jump

As part of this house-selling adventure I’ve met some really wonderful people. Shortly after the ground hog challenge. I met Ryan, septic tank man…the first septic tank man. When Ryan arrived I pointed out where I thought the tank was located. He said by the contours of the lawn I was probably correct, but if he had a problem he’d let me know. When he knocked on the door, I knew it couldn’t be good. Without going into too much detail or getting too graphic, let’s just say…there was a problem. “Come see this,” said Ryan. I really didn’t want to see anything that Ryan wanted to show me, but, I can now say that I have…looked…into…the…abyss. I will NOT be looking again, but…get this…Ryan suggested I take photos in case I needed documentation! Ewww! Gross!

The short version of this tale is that I decided the next owners deserve a new septic tank, so next Thursday, Jordan, the second septic tank man, will be delivering a brand spankin’ new septic tank. Who needs diamonds or jewels when you can spend your money on a state of the art septic tank.

The very next day, I discovered a tree out in the back had come down while I was out of town. Only $400 and the tree was cut up and hauled away. Sadly, it was one of the few remaining Ash trees not infected by the Emerald Ash Bore. It just blew over in the wind after losing its grip on the huge rock around which it had chosen to put down roots.

Well…if things come in threes as they say…I’ve met my quota. I’ve even got one in the bank, if we count the slight mishap with a malfunctioning dehumidifier.

Now that I’ve made the decision to sell, I want someone to come to my door tomorrow morning and say, “Please let me buy this house. I promise to love it as much as you have, but I think you’ve priced it too low. Allow me to give you more money. I insist.” Of course, it doesn’t happen that way.

You go through the preliminary steps of which there are many…photos, disclosure statements, de-cluttering, documents to sign, and finally the post on the internet and a sign in your yard…only to reach the most difficult phase…the waiting. All you can do is wait….and wait…and wait…and wait.

So tired
Tired of waiting
Tired of waiting for you

The Kinks Tired of Waiting for You

My house is over two hundred years old and it has been inhabited for nearly every one of those years, so I know that soon someone’s path will lead them here, but in the meantime, I’m going slightly crazy. I hate to admit it, but if you haven’t figured it out by now, I’ll confess. I’m a worrier, a what-if-er, a person easily stressed. Apparently, I also have very little patience and I hate the suspense of not-knowing.

The House on Cassie Street
Barre, VT 2019

During the waiting phase there is very little you can do, but I thought I should try everything possible. I remember hearing my Catholic cousins talk about burying a statue of St. Anthony in their yard when they were selling their house. I’m not sure what he’s suppose to do, especially from that location, but what could it hurt? Of course…I remembered…I don’t have a statue of St. Anthony. Anthony…hmmm…Tony… I’d print a picture of Tony Danza and plant him in the yard somewhere. Shoot! The printer is on the fritz. Maybe it would be just as good if I just sang that Elton John song…you know the one. So…I spent the afternoon singing.

Then the friendly folks at Google informed me that it was St. Joseph… not St. Anthony and he was supposed to go into the yard head first. I do have a statue of St Joseph. I made him in high school as part of a Nativity set, but a couple years ago his head snapped off and I have yet to repair him. So…does he go in headless or do I tuck the head in with him in the approximate position? There’s so much to know.

It’s a good thing from time to time to be reminded that there are some things in life we simply can’t control. We just have to have faith, trust the Universe, and accept the help of friends. As a Unitarian Universalist I have friends from many faith traditions. My Christian friends are praying; the Buddhists are meditating; the Hindus are slipping beads through their fingers; the Pastafarians are heating up the sauce; the Humanists are studying statistics of past sales in the area; someone’s burning incense; and the Pagans are snaking off their clothes and dancing naked around the fire. I don’t actually know if they are Pagans, but a couple of my friends were up for the naked dancing, so what the heck. I want to cover all the bases. I’m breathing in and breathing out and learning to be patient. After all it has been ten days!

Gettin’ In The Water

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One afternoon last week, my three grandchildren and I piled in the car and drove up to the neighbor’s for a swim in his pool. We plopped our towels and other paraphernalia down and prepared to enjoy the inviting crystal clear water. I watched as the three children excitedly approached the pool. I watched my grandson gingerly putting a foot into the water at the first step and immediately pulling it back onto the sun-warmed cement deck. “Ooooo. That water is cold,” he giggled before trying once again. Our teen decided to sit on the edge and dangle her feet in the water to get acclimated before taking the plunge. This back and forth activity went on for quite a while…first one body part and then another. Perhaps, they thought, going slowly, bit by bit, would be the easiest way to get fully submerged in the cold, but enticing water.

The middle child walked confidently away from the steps to the side of the pool. She adjusted her goggles, took a breath, and then just went for it. In a seven year old’s version of a cannon ball she was immediately wet from head to toe, and after regaining her breath, momentarily stolen by the frigid water, was soon paddling around like a little otter while the other two were still trying to work up the courage to actually get in.

When I was younger I might have opted for the dive-in method, but now it takes me longer and longer to get into the water and adjust to the temperature. With age and experience comes caution. I’ve experienced that shock of frigid water and I carry that memory with me. I want to get in the water; I mean, what’s the point of swimming if you only wade in up to your knees, but yikes! You can put it off, but if you’re going to swim, sooner or later you’ve just got to get past the tender bits and duck beneath the surface.

As I exercise my decision-making muscles, I recognize that I make many choices in much the same way. Sometimes I make a cannonball determination. I run forward, pull my knees to my chest, make a huge splash and displace a lot of water. There’s no turning back and there’s no second-guessing. You’re in baby! From head to toes you’re fully committed. On most occasions I’m more of the toe in the water kind of gal; moving slowly toward a decision while weighing every possibility, each step deliberately taken, hesitating momentarily, yet still moving forward down the path toward the beach.

Prince Edward Island, 2018

Several years ago, three women friends and I decided to spend a glorious summer day exploring some of Vermont’s nude swimming holes. Yes, you read that correctly.

Interestingly enough, in Vermont, it is not illegal to be nude in public, but it is illegal to disrobe in public. You can leave the house without clothes, but you can’t take them off in the public square once you leave your house. Skinnydipping is not only permitted in some cases it’s encouraged and expected. Most kayakers I know have at one time or another stripped down on a hot summer day for a quick dip. Getting back in the boat can be a challenge, but trust me, it can be done.

We are always looking for new adventures and nude swimming certainly seemed to fit the bill. It was absolutely something none of us had ever done before. There was a limit to our bravery however and we were only interested in swimming where the bathers would be limited to the four of us and even then there was discussion about whether we’d go in sans undies or not.

All it takes is one brave soul and before you know it you’re at the edge of the pond in the all together, wrapped in a towel, trying to figure out the most discreet way to enter the water. I stepped to the edge of the shore and before I could give my modesty and my entrance any consideration the gravel beneath my feet began to slide and I was propelled backward on my bum and sliding with great rapidity into the drink. No time for uncertainty or indecision. Within seconds, I had lost my balance, my towel, and the internal argument of should I or shouldn’t I. I was in and after the initial shock it was quite delightful.

Skinny Dipping in the Mill Pond
Summer About 2010

I know the adage about not making any hasty decisions when your partner dies…give yourself time to test the new and unfamiliar waters…but a few weeks ago when I decided to sell my house it didn’t seem rash or unwise since Dave and I had been weighing the pros and cons of it together for a long time. It was definitely not a cannon ball leap toward something new. For months it was absolutely a toe in the water situation. Until unexpectedly one day it wasn’t. Without even realizing I’d made the decision I was suddenly at the pond knowing that the gravel was sliding and so was I…feeling vulnerable, exhilarated, scared, and excited. Yep, I was going for it!

“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” 

John Lennon, “Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)”

Whenever any of us stand and contemplate whether to get in the water or remain on the warm deck, it’s good to remember that most likely the worse that will happen is that we’ll get wet and maybe a little chilly. As I prepare for my next adventure I know that if the water’s too cold or I’m getting a little too ‘pruny’ I can always get out, towel off, and see what else I can find along the shore or maybe I’ll just grab a beach chair and just sit in the sand for awhile.

Standing at the Irish Sea
June 2015

Jump!

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“When it feels scary to jump, that is exactly when you jump. Otherwise you end up staying in the same place your entire life.” —

Oscar Isaacs as Abel Morales in A Most Violent Year

While walking through the park the other day I watched a group of little girls running along the top for five picnic tables which had been arranged in a long straight row. The elevation of the tables provided added excitement and the girls giggled with the sheer delight as they dashed from one end to the other and back again. As I got a little closer, I noticed that there were two little girls standing at the end of the last table in line. A girl in a pink and white sundress stood on the ground while her friend remained at the edge looking down at the ground. “Jump. Jump,” the one in pink implored, but her friend hesitated. I wanted to stop and ask the one considering the jump what she was thinking. What was she weighing in her little mind? Was it the distance from table to grass? Was it the fear of a hard landing? Was it peer pressure that caused her to consider jumping in the first place? I walked on while the hesitation and the cajoling continued, but I’ve thought a lot about those barefoot girls in their summer dresses.

Summer Morning
Star Island, 2019

About fifteen years ago my sister, Kelly, invited me to join a group of women on a white water rafting trip down the Gauley River in West Virginia. The morning of the promised adventure the eight of us, in various sizes, colors, ages, and levels of fitness and only loosely connected by a shared relationship to my sister, climbed into the raft together.

The first test came when our guide, young Captain Mike, who at that time was still under the impression that he was in control of a boatload of middle aged women, informed us that we were approaching Jump Rock. “This is Jump-Rock,” he said in his most authoritative voice. “It’s not Climb-Up-There-and-Decide-Rock. Once you’re out of the raft there’s only one way back in. You have to jump.”

I’m usually pretty timid about such things and I hate heights, but as I gazed up at the cliff face I suspected that the tenor of our entire adventure hinged on this decision. I was going to climb up there and jump. When the others who were hesitating saw me…old, chubby, and out of shape…preparing to make the trek up rocky path to the top they too gathered their courage and we all jumped off that rock.

She took a leap of faith and grew her wings on the way down. 

David Brinkley

I suppose you could call my jump…holding my nose, my eyes squeezed shut, and yelling all the way down…a minor leap of faith. I’d watched others do it before me. I was confident in what lay ahead. I knew that eventually I’d hit the icy water, sink momentarily beneath the surface and then pop up gasping for air and, I imagined, feeling exalted. It took a fair amount of courage on my part to move from tera firma, but in doing so I was given the wings of self-confidence, fearlessness, and moxie. From that point on we were bonded; we were invincible! That day was one of my peak life experiences. I sometimes wonder, would that have been the case if I’d remained in the raft and merely watched?

White Water Rafting
Pixabay Photo

Often of late, I find myself standing at the edge of what feels solid and comfortable contemplating whether to jump or not. The loss of my partner has also meant I’ve lost a part of who I am or at least who I was when I was part of a team. I am trying to discover, create, or at least identify who am becoming. That journey involves risk and taking chances. Sometimes the metaphorical jump is just a matter of going to the movies by myself, walking into a restaurant and asking for a table for one, or checking into a hotel and only needing a single key. Do I jump or do I stay in the boat?

A Soft Day in Scotland, 2014

On a trip to Scotland in 2014, Cousin Doug, coaxed and teased me into taking a short hike up a. steeper than I’d like, hillside to see one of Rob Roy’s hideouts. I wasn’t planning to hike that day and was ill prepared, without proper footwear, or my hiking poles. Then it began to drizzle. it was Scotland after all. I was soon wet, tired and the trail had turned to mud. Oh, the evils of peer pressure!

I finally convinced Doug that I was in beyond my skill level and needed to turn back. Taking a different…supposedly shorter…return route we came to a very small stream…a trickle really…that Doug hopped over effortlessly.

“Jump,” he said. “You can do it.”

“No, I can’t,” I replied.

“Sure you can. Just jump.”

“Jump into the middle of things, get your hands dirty, fall flat on your face, and then reach of the stars.”

Ben Stein

Moments later I lifted my head from the mud where I had landed face first, to see my sweet cousin convulsed with laughter.

Life presents us all with choices. Do we stay with what we know or do we take a risk and discover something new? Do we jump and learn to fly or are we content to hang onto the branch for a while and enjoy the way it sways gently in the breeze ?

“The sparrows jumped before they knew how to fly, and they learned to fly only because they had jumped” 

Lauren Oliver, Liesl and Po

The real leap of faith is learning to trust ourselves to know when it’s right to step off and when we need to stand firm. It’s perfectly fine to wait on the edge, contemplate, and step back for a while or to decide not to jump at all. No one is ever forced to climb Jump Rock and we can always just wade through the stream or we simply slide off end of the picnic table. Then again…flying is pretty cool and if you get a face-full of mud it makes a good story.

Jump or not…the choice is ours.

Long I Stood

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“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood, And looked down one as far as I could…”

Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken
The Sound of Yellow Aspen
Santa Fe, NM October 2015

“You know, when it comes to poems meant to inspire us, I think The Road Not Taken is one of the most over used,” she told me. And yet, once again, I find myself drawn to it. Not for the last stanza where attention is usually focused. “I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.” No, I find myself stuck on the phrase “long I stood.” Most often we focus on the outcome not the process. The traveler stands at the crossroads deliberating for what they think is a long time before eventually lifting their foot off the ground and taking that first step.

For over forty years I stood in that yellow woods with another traveler. I seldom made grand decisions on my own. I was the one who would point out the differences, the possibilities, and the pitfalls of each decision. Dave would often listen without indicating that he was actually hearing what I was saying and then suddenly declare with confidence and finality which direction our path would take. Occasionally, I’d feel rather annoyed. Why did he get to have the ultimate say? At times I was really irked at him for getting the last word and at myself for ceding that power to him. I’d attribute it to the male/female thing, but in actuality it was the difference in our personalities and how we saw the world of choices and decision making. His world was black and white while mine was a blaze of color, glitter, and flashing lights. Together we found a satisfying balance as we chose our path beneath the banner of golden leaves.

Hidden Valley
Rocky Mountain National Park, September 2018

With his death I find that my life in many ways is off-kilter, off balance, and out of focus. Making decisions is one of the many ways this manifests itself. I keep exploring all the options, weighing the pros and cons, and considering all the angles, but there is no longer anyone there to announce that the deliberations are ended and a choice had been made. I miss Dave’s decisiveness. I feel myself on a constantly repeating loop like driving on a roundabout without ever finding the exit. I know it’s there and when I find it I’ll be able to move forward, hopefully in the right direction, but in the meantime, it’s nerve wracking and exhausting.

Frankly, I’m getting quite tired of standing at that tedious crossroads among those yellow trees. I’m also tired of the mosquitos, black flies, and thoughts that keep buzzing around my head with their constant drone of what if, what if, what if. As lovely as the woods are, I am beginning to yearn for a wider vista. Any day now…I’m going to brush the mud off my Keens, tighten the laces and…actually move.

“Did you ever have to make up your mind? And pick up on one and leave the other behind? It’s not often easy and not often kind. Did you ever have to make up your mind? Did you ever have to finally decide? And say yes to one and let the other one ride? There’s so many changes and tears you must hide. Did you ever have to finally decide?

The Lovin’ Spoonful, Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind?https://youtu.be/CV9DMgVF-Nk

I’ll go left. I always go left. Decision made. Then the second guessing sets in. Oh Bummer! I want to join Jean-Luc Picard and “seek out new life and new civilizations. To boldly go where no one has gone before!” Then I think of the traffic, remember that I get motion sickness and begin to doubt whether or not I can read the map.

“You know the greatest danger facing us is ourselves, and irrational fear of the unknown. There is no such thing as the unknown. Only things temporarily hidden, temporarily not understood.” 

Captain, James T. Kirk, Starship USS Enterprise, The Corbomite Maneuver
View From the Porch

It’s puzzling to me that making decisions has become so difficult. Life itself is merely a continuous chain of decisions, but maybe some of my trepidation is recognizing that being a solo decision maker there is no one but myself to blame if I mess up.

People tell me to listen for Dave’s voice when making decisions. Unlike me, Dave didn’t generally share his opinions when he was alive, so I’m not expecting to hear his voice from the beyond anytime soon. I gradually learned over the years that he made decisions for all kinds of reasons. If you ever played cards with him you know exactly what I mean. Some of his decisions were well thought out, some were just based on a gut feeling and others were just made to shake things up, provide a laugh, or…well usually to provide a laugh. His decisions met with varying degrees of success. Perhaps that’s the message he’s sending. That it’s OK if I choose poorly, if I make a mistake, or if I should have painted the kitchen Wild Oat instead of Jewitt White. It’s all good and quoting a friend, “It’s probably not a pivotal moment in history.”

It’s true that “way leads on to way”. Any savvy shopper knows that if you find a pair of jeans that fits, buy them immediately. But Robert Frost lived in another time and was never privy to the dulcet tones of a disembodied voice instructing…”When possible make a safe and authorized u-turn.” It is possible to go around the block, dig yourself out of a hole, or simply choose again. The Merlot not so good? Next time select a Riesling.

Learning to make decisions on my own is difficult and it’s going to take some time, but I know with each choice I make I’ll grow more confident, positive, and comfortable. So, just for the practice…and since it’s chilled and open…I will choose the Riesling.