Mama Told Me There'd Be Days Like This

I Can Hear Their Laughing

Here are two older men, now gone, who delighted in our family, in each other, in their Cindy, in their experiences of their worlds and cultures, travels and jokes. I love looking at their faces here, except that I miss them both terribly when I look for more than a quick second. I'm pretty sure this picture was taken within days of Kali's birth. I miss them.

The Land of Canaan

Today I went way up to the little town of Canaan, Vermont, to do outreach work at a senior meal site. My dear colleague from the Area Agency on Aging, Lynn, and I have been doing these outreach activities once every month or two for a year and a half now. They are always incredibly enjoyable and rewarding. We show a 25 minute dramatic film about an older woman who has experienced domestic violence throughout her life and follow this with a discussion. We always stay for lunch, or, as was the case today, have lunch with the seniors before our presentation. I love the lunch part because this is when we get to talk intimately with the seniors.

In Canaan about half the folks at the meal site were speaking french, which was a lot of fun. The people at today's lunch were from VT, NH and Quebec. I was fortunate enough to sit across from an 89 year old man and his wife, who was just a few years younger. This guy told me the greatest stories about his life! He'd been a combat medic in France and Italy during WWII. He'd spend a good deal of time in VA hospitals afterward for "what they now call PTSD." As a boy he'd lived with his family in Island Pond for a time, where his dad had good work with the railroad until the Great Depression. They survived after Dad's layoff in a variety of ways which seemed both admirable and quaint. My new friend worked on Jack Kennedy's campaign and was appointed by that president as postmaster in his small town in northern New England. At the end of the event, as we were saying our goodbyes, he shared some of his childhood history related to domestic violence and talked about the ways he'd been affected. When older people share these stories with me I feel particularly honored and that was certainly the case today. I had less opportunity to converse with his wife, who was truly stunning to look at and having her own lively conversations with her table neighbors. There was something about this couple. They were particularly kind and generous with their spirits and stories. They asked us to come back for lunch again. Canaan is a bit of a drive, but I think I will. I hope they'll be there and I hope they will tell me more.

Sometimes you want one thing but get another

Like when you want to explore downtown St. Paul but the rain and lightening force you to have lunch in a great little neighborhood spot. Check out El Mercado if you're ever in West St. Paul. The chicken soup is one of the best things ever.

The Way It Smells

I love the way it smells. I'm riding my bike and smelling the pine needles and diesel fumes. I ride past the log yard with all that fresh cut pine and you can imagine how good THAT smells. Then there is this August cold front that moves in, just for a day or two, and there is the scent of manure and grass and something else that rides that colder air. And that, of course, smells just like the Fair, which will be here soon. I'm glad my mom taught me, through a wordless passage, how the bread or the cookies smell when they are done. The best smell: the kids' heads. The coffee in the morning, the unarticulable river, the corn-chip-like scent of my good dog... That bread I'm baking, of course. Thank you, Nose.

Neil Rocks the Rock Pile (7th time!)

7.6 miles. Average 12% grade. A rider a few minutes before him was completely disoriented, trying to get back on his bike with no shoes. It was upsetting to see.
Neil is amazing. I'm really, really proud of him. He's the second of the two riders in the clip.

I like summer

I like the way it smells. And how tall all the grass and plants are. I like the vegetables, so ready to eat. I like driving home from a friend's house with the windows down and the music loud and my whole arm out the window. I like the way the heat makes my bones feel. I like letting the kids stay up late. I like sweating. I like margaritas with salt. I like cooking on the grill and fires in the firepit. I like the extra time we get to spend with friends. I miss Camp and not working and being barefoot all the time. And I hate having to wear regular clothes (and a bra) when it is hot. But I like missing winter. And I really like summer.