Author: wvfurandroot

Morning Walk

/ wvfurandroot / 9 Comments
 
Babette walking point.

Babette walking point.

Inexplicably, I woke up at 4:20 a.m. today – wide-awake and ready-to-go.  Morning is my least favorite time of day; I never wake up ready for anything other than coffee; and 4:20 a.m. is traditionally nothing but painful.  I have to admit that ready-to-go with nowhere-to-go can be quite pleasing.  Choosing what to do is much nicer than trudging out of bed with the day’s agenda already set.

 

I went through a pot of coffee and watched my patio go from lamp-lit, newly-fallen snow to dawn-lit snow.  The urge to grab the camera, a puppy, a coat and boots was irresistible.  I’ve long wanted to get photos of the old barn in the snow – not having to work today made it an especially good day to accomplish that goal as did the unusual circumstance of being alert in the dreamscape of a cloudy dawn on new-fallen snow.

 

Babette, the grande dame of the three puppies, was chosen.  I figured her heavy coat would protect her from the cold.  She’s a sweet little thing that rarely gets her fair share of attention, because the other two puppies are far more demanding.  I’m sure Babette thinks of them as incorrigible and obnoxious brats, which is a pretty fair analysis.

 

Babette and I headed out.  She headed down the road to my parents’ house and was quite confused when I called her back.  She then assumed we were getting in the car and waited patiently for me by the driver’s door.  I confused her again when I headed to the back of the house, but she readily joined me.

Old Barn

Old Barn

 

We visit the old barn now and again during the other seasons; but usually when I think to do it in the winter I’ve picked a day when it’s too icy, too muddy, or  too cold.  As soon as Babette figured out where we were going, she ran out front to protect me from marauding deer, renegade squirrels and the assorted wildlife residing in my little piece of the world.  She’s little, but she’s feisty.  If not for me, she’d be the alpha bitch of our pack.

 

We didn’t see any critters other than some soaring hawks.  The new snow wasn’t heavy enough to wrap us in that delicious silence of heavy snow, but it was so early that we were treated to a landscape still hushed by the moon.

 

moon

Morning Moon

The old barn used to be accompanied by a small house.  Both were abandoned more than forty years ago.  The house burnt to the ground shortly after I moved here; and the ensuing decades have obliterated all signs of it.  Wild rose, grapevine, oak saplings, and shrub pine have taken its place. 

 

A few years ago, my dad was finally able to buy the land the barn occupies.  He tells me the barn is unsafe and needs to be torn down, but I don’t think he wants it gone anymore than I do. It has beautiful lines even as those lines move more and more towards the ground they used to rise above.  In this morning’s light, the weathered barn board, gray dawn, and white snow were soul soothing.   I’m no photographer and my camera is a relatively simple point and shoot, so I wasn’t able to capture the magic of it all.  Except for some flashes of color here and there, it was like falling into a black & white photo of a love affair with time. 

 

Another saggy grande dame.

Another saggy grande dame.

Babette and I continued our walk.  We found the lower pond frozen except for one small part.  We found tree stumps disappearing with the days and barbed wire merging with the thorns and brambles of wild plants left wild.  She and I peered very closely at things.  She because cataracts are forming and focus is getting hard; me because focus is always hard – my aging eyes having nothing to do with it.

 

Yesterday, I was sharing my favorite Youtube videos of West Virginia with some folks.  I commented at the time that sometimes I forget how much I love this place until I look at some of the images.  This morning had a similar effect.  This time of year, I don’t spend a lot of time outside; and I tend to forget that winter brings its own charms to both my landscape and my soul.  I may have to invest in heavy gear to keep my always-cold self comfortable.  I thoroughly enjoyed my walk.

 

Babette is curled up on her favorite pillow, deep in sleep.  Naps on lazy winter days are a hobby of mine.  It’s time for one, I think.  I have, after all, been up since 4:20 a.m.

Fine in ’09

/ wvfurandroot / 3 Comments
It's all about balance.

It's all about balance.

“Great in ‘08” didn’t turn out so good, but approaching it with a positive attitude probably didn’t do any harm. Still, I’m glad to be done with it.

“Fine in ‘09” has been a disaster from the get-go. With 11 days into it, I’d like to be able to say that I’ve hit rock bottom and it can only get better from here, but that’s not likely to be true.

So it seems, I’m faced with the choice of wallowing in despair or finding the good to hang onto like the proverbial life raft.

That metaphor reminds of the book Life of Pi – do I tell myself the “real” story or do I create an alternate reality that will keep me afloat. It’s an interesting dilemma.

I think there’s a third option – selective choice. If I pick out the bits of the real story that don’t accelerate my heart rate and focus on those, perhaps I can salvage “Fine in ’09” with a fixed goal of “Total Zen in 2010.”  It’s all about balance.  The vertigo, I’m convinced, will subside if I focus on the good.

I’ve been persuaded that adopting [gee, I hate how trendy and icky this sounds] “an attitude of gratitude” is better than the other choices. So … Selective Choice it is. I do have much to appreciate. I have been blessed in many ways. Things really could be worse.

Winston Churchill said, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” Every time I quote that, I’m stuck with the ear worm of “Onward Christian Soldiers.” So, if I’ve now planted that song in your head, you have my sincere apology. But, “Count your Blessings” – things could be worse.

Stuff

/ wvfurandroot / 8 Comments
Cobalt blue glass
in the morning sun makes me happy.

It’s slow going, but I’m on a mission to transform the barn from a repository of all the stuff I’ve ever owned to just stuff I love.

I’m never going to be a minimalist – cultural artifacts interest me far too much and I’m far too sentimental.  I shocked myself when I began giving away and tossing stuff I’ve schlepped from house to house, city to city, and state to state during the nomadic period of my misspent youth.   Out went the ugly side table I’ve hung onto from the early it-doesn’t-matter-how-ugly-it-is-if-it’s-cheap-enough days of home decorating.  I’ve moved that thing 11 times because I might need it someday.  Out went the jello molds.  I don’t even like jello.  Out went the bedspread that made me frown every time I crawled into bed.  Out went the George Foreman grill that my son, now known as Chef Boy ‘R Mine, would be embarrassed about.  He gave it to me for Christmas one year.  I didn’t use it but kept it for sentimental reasons.   Now that he’s into haute cuisine, I was able to keep the memory and KO George without hurt feelings.  I did keep, and still treasure, the old Campbell’s soup can transformed into a pencil holder through the application of bits of tissue paper, glitter, and glue by Chef Boy ‘R Mine when he was a first-grader.
 
The hurt feeling thing’s a complicated issue.  We’ve all got that stuff hanging around that we don’t like, don’t want, don’t use, but can’t get rid of because Great Aunt Gertrude will ask, on her next visit, “Where’s the plastic canvas needlepoint tissue holder I gave you last year?”  I don’t have an answer to that except to say that I’m getting old enough now that the Great Aunt Gertrudes of my life are so old that visits involve my going to a personal care facility or seances.  As for friends and their gifts, we’ve all seemed to reach this developmental stage at roughly the same time.  And I do think it’s a developmental stage – at least for women.  It seems to begin when the kids (or husbands) start leaving home.  After a suitable mourning (or celebratory) period, we put our hands on our hips, survey the kingdom, and announce to ourselves “Well, that can go.”   Sometimes it begins when we trip over the stupid cement goose that’s still decorated for Easter on the Fourth of July for the 85th time that day.  (Not that I’ve ever owned a cement goose, but I know people.)  I have a friend who every time someone brings something into her house, she makes them take something out.  (I tried to take the candelabra that hangs over her dining room table, but evidently, not everything in her house is up for grabs.)
 
Once I got going on giving and pitching, I decided to continue until every single thing in my 2400 sq. ft. of home was here because I love it or use it.  I was making great progress until I hit the Closets-I-Am-Afraid-Of.
 
When the barn was being remodeled, we built a closet 16 x 8 to compensate for not having an attic, basement or barn.  We knew it was woefully inadequate from the start, but it was better than nothing.  When that filled up, the coat/furnace closet was doubled in size.  By the time that filled up, I had hit the developmental stage.  I tackled the smaller coat closet early on, but a lot of the crap went into the other closet.  I am now terrified to even open the door.
 
I can’t progress much further until I conquer this fear.  There’s stuff in this house scattered about that I need or use, but am tired of tripping over that could go into that closet if the circa 1970 fan, algebra notebooks, broken lamps, cross stitch patterns, deflated basketball, threadbare sheets, egregious holiday ornaments, transistor radio, and other sheer junk was removed – not to mention the stuff that Has-Promise-And-I-Can-Do-Something-To-Which-Will-Involve-Great-Quantities-Of-Time-And-Effort-And-Money-That-I’m-Never-Going-To-Actually-Do.  And that’s just the crap i can see.  I haven’t seen the back of the closet since 1992.
 
If I ever do conquer that closet, I can start on the books – hundreds and hundreds of books.  I still have not one, but two copies of my high school trig textbook as well as tomes that I wouldn’t read a second time even on a dare.

Places of Great and Good Interest

/ wvfurandroot / 4 Comments

Tiaras should be standard issue.

Wednesday evening I was standing in line at the gas station when a little girl, about 5, tapped me on my butt. I turned around and she asked me where I was going as if putting gas in the car was a sign I was going to some place of great and good interest. I told her I wasn’t going anywhere exciting right then, but that Thursday night I was going to a pajama party.

She thought about for awhile and after putting her hands on her hips, she said to me, “Well, don’t forget your tiara.” Bless her heart. How did she know I have a tiara?

I love that some little girls think tiaras are standard issue. I love that this little girl isn’t afraid to ask questions. And I was knocked out by her glittery tennis shoes and Dora Explorer backpack with the Girl’s Rule bumper sticker obscuring Dora’s feet. That child is going to go to places of great interest, I hope.

I did go to a pajama party Thursday night. The Obama Pajama Party was held at the Java Joint in Huntington and hosted by the enthusiastic Democrats I hang out with. The plans were to watch Obama accept the nomination on a large screen with like-minded people wearing pajamas. When I agreed to attend, my mind wasn’t included in “like-minded.”

I am a registered Independent and always have been. I’ve never been able to articulate it with any skill, but there’s something about the party system that pushes all my buttons. I can riff for hours, with little provocation, as to why I think political parties are one of the great evils. In more practical terms, I don’t agree in entirety with either of the two major parties’ platforms. I’ve already got so many labels slapped on me that I don’t need another one that allows people to jump to conclusions about my values, my actions, my thoughts, my experiences. Because of my lack of party affiliation, I have not been able to vote in the Democratic primary in West Virginia. The Republicans welcomed me, but not the Democrats – until this year. Apparently, whatever was rattling around in my mind became of interest.

The Republicans disqualified themselves from my consideration for their violations of trust and decency along with their constitutional outrages.  I did watch their debates just in case.  I didn’t hear anything to change my mind.

I’ve been threatening to sell my unused wide-eyed-political-candidate-enthusiasm on E-Bay. I have never voted for a candidate; I have always voted for the lesser of two evils. The first election I could vote in came after the Nixon scandal, after the Iran hostage crisis, after the horrors in Central America, and after the Big Daddy of them all, the Vietnam War. These things can make a person jaded about politics in America and skeptical of anyone who wants to be a part of it. I’ve often said that I cannot in good conscience vote for anyone who wants the job of president.

As it turns out, I had a brand new pair of pajamas recently acquired while on vacation in the Boston area. (Yeah, we hillbillies get around and find the taking-off-the-shoes-thing at the airport right accommodating.) My pajamas, marvels of sartorial art, make for a lovely ensemble with their vibrant redness emblazoned with Drama Queen in white. I had planned to wear them with my nearly knee-high fuzzy, rainbow boot-slippers, but I had never given the tiara a thought. 

A friend of mine, upon learning I had no tiara, sent me one. And it’s a beauty. I can’t remember exactly what it was that she said, but she was incredulous I didn’t own one. Tiaras should be standard issue.

Drama Queens for Obama

I found myself in a coffee shop wearing Drama Queen pajamas, fuzzy slippers, and a tiara. I had feared I would be the only person in pajamas, but I was assured this would not be true. I was, however, the only person in something that really looked like pajamas not to mention the only person in a tiara. I’m really glad I decided against the boa. Magnet. Every camera, digital and video, ended up pointed at me at some point in the evening. Trying to watch a big screen television while wearing a tiara and bifocals in public while also trying to read DNC bloggers on the laptop with television camera lights and camera flashes in one’s eyes is a misery I would only wish upon a few.

And it got worse. In preparation for this pajama party, I had watched some of the convention. I had read and read and read about the issues, the schisms, the rumors and the PUMAs. Since I had not ever really thought Obama was a serious contender, I hadn’t spent much time learning about him. I didn’t think he was not a contender because we, the collective we, are racist, but because we, the collective we, can’t see the forest for the trees when it comes to Muslims. The truth be damned, there are still far too many people in this country convinced that man is a Muslim, which for so many of them equates to terrorist.

I enjoyed every segment of the convention I had time to watch, but this last event just rocked. I was pretty much glued to the screen, especially after Obama began speaking, because my inner-cynic demanded I pick apart every word; find the flaws in his reasoning and the gaping holes in his plans. The cynic was quieted and I was spellbound.

Those “like-minded” people were chanting, fussing at me to put my tiara on, putting my campaign sign in my hand so I could wave it for the cameras, hollering at me to go sit here, go sit there, stand up, and on and on. I’m trying to listen to this guy. I’m trying to watch the celebratory finale. Eventually, I wrapped the campaign sign in the tiara and put the tiara on my head in hopes they’d let me listen. While I’ll never be wide-eyed and without criticism, I can vote FOR this man. I am pleased to vote for this man. I might campaign for him.

I will not change my party affiliation, though. Anybody can join me in my newly-formed Drama Queens for Obama even if you don’t have a tiara, aren’t a Drama Queen, and have wide-eyed, non-critical enthusiasm.

And if anyone knows that little girl, you tell her I’m doing my part to make sure she always goes to places of great and good interest.