Confessions of a Grandma

Last week I was up early each day, but today I slept until after 8.  What a slug.  Then I completely frittered the rest of the morning away and accomplished nothing of meaning or worth.   It was just as well because I was around for my phone interview with Social Security.  It was on my calendar, but I also like to go out to weed on Monday mornings and I would have forgotten about the scheduled phone call if I had not been so sluggish. I went outside at noon to discover that it was very warm!  I hopped on the lawn mower and got that task taken care of for a couple of weeks.  I will maybe mow once more before I try to figure out how to store the lawn tractor for the winter.  I know that I am not going to try to put it up on blocks and grease the innards of the thing the way Mike did.  He kept track of the hours of use and maintained it on schedule. I suppose I could read the manual that is on his work bench out in the garage.  Dealing with...

On Wednesday night, I joined the two other women in our writing group for a poetry reading by Billy Collins that took place in the Ira Allen Chapel on the University of Vermont campus.  It was a packed house.  If Collins achieves his goal of world domination through poetry, I will able to say, "I was there when." Afterwards we went downtown to The Farmhouse  Tap and Grill for snacks and a beer.  It is October.  One is required to drink a beer in October if one finds oneself in a downtown bar...which I probably haven't done since my college days.  My nephew Alex was there and introduced me to his girlfriend.  ("Leave it to you to know the best looking guy in the place." was the comment from my companions.  Ha! but, yes, my nephew is very good looking.) I can tell you that I needed a night out because the day itself was a living nightmare.  It is a long story that started when I went to pay my Florida utilities bill and discovered that I ...

This was the view out of the bedroom window on Sunday morning: That clear, blue sky certainly invited me to get out for a walk. And the road ahead invited me to keep going. The sunshine was abundant, but its warmth did not penetrate the shade. I am sure some will puzzle over why I leave for Florida. So beautiful... And then I started remembering the last autumn tour of northern Vermont that Mike and I took.  I do have so many wonderful times to remember even as I miss him and hurt and rage over the loss of our future memories that will not be made. It is a process...

Underhill is a small town nestled against our small town of Jericho.  Some years ago the United Church of Underhill started their Harvest Market on the last weekend of September.  There were crafts made by church members, a cookie factory, and a sale in the "Clutter Barn."  It grew.  And grew.  It has become quite the event and an autumn destination. I went early.  They kept on coming. The line for French fries developed way before lunchtime. We left when it became too crowded. It was refreshing to stand and just look at this view from the edge of town.

Last week I went to a nearby Farmers' Market and bought red and golden beets, fennel, and a sweet onion.  I roasted the beets with olive oil and rosemary from my own herb patch and put them in a salad with wheat berries, walnuts, feta, the fennel, and the onion.  Another cooking adventure that fed me for a week. I made a batch of homemade chicken noodle soup with green beans and fresh carrots, too. Variety is important, too, not just convenience. Of course, wouldn't you know it, the day my neighbor popped over to find out what I was having for supper I was having a bowl of cereal.

My garden has been neglected these past couple of months, but it carried on, doing what gardens do and providing me with moments of gratitude for its waiting gifts today. My dining table, in the front window, at my bedside.

Vermont seems to be pulling out all the stops this year and giving us the kind of autumn it is known for--bright colors popping out on the trees, cool nights, and brilliant blue sky. It doesn't seem fair that Mike isn't here to enjoy it...not to mention be here to help me button up the house before winter.  Let me tell you, this grieving thing is just plain hard.  And it hurts. I've heard about the Kubler-Ross stages of grieving.  I wish there were stages, that this could be a step-by-step process.  I wish that I could check off "denial" and "anger"--check, check, check, check--move on to "acceptance" already.  It doesn't seem to work like that.  It is more like a roiling pot of all those emotions burning in the center of me and I never do know which one is going to bubble to the surface or when. And then there are times when I feel okay.  I am doing my normal things--writing or making cards or sewing,  reading or watching something o...