Where For Art Thou?

I will tell you where I am... home. I am finally home after being a passenger in the car for about two hours as we drove needlessly around in the Vermont wilderness in the dark in search of money and avoiding black cats. What? Complex? Yes. Ridiculous? Yes. Funny? Yes. At least we all finally found the humor and spent some "quality time" together, or least that is what I am telling myself so I can feel better about it. It all started when I opened my big mouth and told my children that "Brave" and "Avengers" were playing at the drive-in. They were very excited about it and so was I. It seemed like a great idea until my friend told me that "Brave" started at 9:30 (after sundown)and "Avengers" started at 11:00. She said that the movies would not be over until well after 1:30 IN THE MORNING. Parenting dilema #1: Do I make my children happy tonight and cranky tomorrow due to utter exhaustion? What type of parent does this? I engaged them (my reasonable children) in a conversation about the late hour and how they would normally be in bed by the time the movie started. They took it like any other kids and refused to see what I was trying to tell them. They attempted Puss-in-boots faces, negotiating, and finally just simply gave in and said that they understood and did not blame me for saying no to the movie after all. What great kids. My oldest even said he knew that I was just trying to be a good mom and that it was "ok." But then my younger son, at about 9:00 came up and grabbed my hand, "Mom... are we really not going to the movie? Not even the first movie?" Parenting dilema #2: Should I give in? They have been working me hard for hours with the faces and the guilt and now the "innocent" clarification on how the rest of the evening was going to be. What type of parent does this? I completely lost my mind. "Fine!" I threw my hands into the air. "I give in! Let's go. It'll be great... even though both of you are going to be asleep in the car as we go across a mountain to get there! I can't wait to see a movie that starts at 9:30 at night! And then another one after that!" And then they looked up at me and said, "Oh mom... we don't have to go." "What?" I was dumnbfounded. "Oh, we're going! And not only that... we're going to have fun!" Famous last words. We stopped at the ATM on the way through town. My husband reached for his wallet. Nope. No wallet. I had mine. I gave him my debit card and announced the pin. Oops. Wrong pin. I gave him another pin. Nope. Wrong again. And another... ooops. "I have to type it to get it right," I said defensively. The ATM machine was angry at us. We drove over the mountain to go to the movie and decided to go to our bank in Randolph. By now, I knew the pin. I shouted the correct number out. It had come to me when I wasn't under such pressure. We drove through the ATM again. Correct pin number, but by that time the bank thought someone had stolen my card and is trying to get money out of my account. Nope. ATM will not release funds. Too many attempts! It was the right pin number, but the card would not work now. My husband decided we should try another bank instead of our bank. Nope" again. "I have the checkbook!" I announced. "I think we paid them a check before at the drive-in. Let's try that!" Nope. My husband would not give up. "We could go use the debit card in a gas station or store to buy something somewhere and take out extra cash." This time I said no. The closest store/gas station was miles away and I assumed the card would not work. I didn't want it to work by then. To me, the signs were very clear that we were not supposed to go to the movies tonight. Sometimes I have to pay attention. "It is just not meant to be!" I said. My husband and children couldn't quite wrap their minds around it. Suddenly a black cat crossed our path. I shouted to assure myself that my husband would not hit it. I am superstitious. Maybe you are too. I just really don't like when black cats cross in front of me. It feels like an omen of some sort. If we had seen the cat before we left home, I would have insisted that we stay home. "A black cat in our path. That's not good." The kids wanted me to explain why. I tried to lay it all out, the laws of the universe some of us buy into like open ladders and salt over the shoulder etc. I simply passed my ridiculous beliefs onto my children. Not good! We crossed the mountain discussing these important concepts. About halfway up the mountain, another black cat made the trek across the road in front of us. Now, instead of just me, I have the kids joining in on the insanity: "Ah! A black cat!" We all shouted at my husband. We rounded a corner and drove close to the edge of the road where our recent hurricane had taken a guardrail. My son laughed hysterically at the thought of avoiding a black cat and careening over a cliff. We almost made it home without seeing another black cat, but we went through a section in the hollow called "Julie's Ark"- a farm with hundreds of cats (and hundreds of other cute creatures). We were almost to the corner when a black cat darted out and we ALL (including my husband) shouted in response. He tried to argue that the cat was brown, but the rest of the family wouldn't hear of it. "It's black! It's black!" We all shouted. It was bizarre. I have never seen so many cats out and about. There were more cats than other cars... you know, rural Vermont and all. "I just want to go home!" I shouted. "Me too!" Shouted the boys from the back. Ahh. Mission accomplished. My kids wanted to go home. Alls well that ends well. We had some quality time together, and we didn't even have to see the movie.

Paisley

The first paisley piece of clothing I ever owned was a pair of oversized men's pajamas from the thrift shop. My mother was not impressed, but I washed them THOROUGHLY and wore them all through my college years to study in the library and eat in the cafeteria. I was known on campus as the girl with the bright red lipstick... But I am sure people also whispered about those pajamas and how they were kind of ridiculous. Eventually the pajamas fell apart and I had to dispose of them in the dumpster behind the dorm... Sad day. To satisfy my paisley fix, I found an oversized paisley "mu-mu" that had giant black buttons with sparkly rhinestones at a yard sale. Again, I wore the dress until it was in shreds and we had to say good-bye. There has really not been much paisley in my life since then. It's been about 25 years, which is very strange because I really do like paisley... A lot. But after a 25 year hiatus with paisley, it is back. I have been talking about my Mid-life crisis to whoever will listen. Yesterday I trapped my friend Dana for a few minutes and I shared the concept of a portable thrift shop in an Airstream. "You could serve milk and Pepsi like Laverne and Shirley." Dana said. "Chocolate cokes," I was charged with enthusiasm, "and vanilla cokes!" I had a vision. I saw myself in a 1950's style aqua paisley apron. Note to self: keep eyes open for an apron like that. Then today I was deluged with paisley. Is it a sign? Of course it is. If you know me, you know I have to take it as one. I talked to my friend Barb, a graphic designer, who has great taste for how things look. She supports my portable store idea too, so I was "picking her brain" for input. "I think it would be nice to see how you would paint it." She said supportively. "I see color, but I want to honor the silver too." Then I added, "What do you see?" "Paisley." There it was again. Paisley! Note to self... The apron has got to be paisley. Aqua... Paisley. Later on today, my friend Java approached me. Now bear in mind, she has the name Java because she was a teen in the 1950's era and it was her nickname due to the fact that she loved coffee. She had her hands behind her back and she pulled out an apron and held it up in front of me. Guess what it looked like! You can see the pattern. It is obvious what pattern and color this apron was because you know that is just how things go for me sometimes. Call it coincidence. Call it intuition. Call it a sign... It doesn't matter. Java was holding an aqua colored paisley apron in her hands. It was actually reversible and had a little pocket on each side. "Pinky promise me that you won't take it if you don't like it. I just thought you might want this for some reason," she barely finished her sentence before I embraced her and tied it around my waist. "It was my mother's." Java was smiling, but she also had tears in her eyes. A gift of love! I didn't have any idea what to say. "I can't believe this! Yesterday I pictured an apron just like this. I put it out there and you show up today with exactly what I wanted? This is amazing." "I don't know why. It had been in storage for... 16 years. I just thought you should have it." "It's your mother. She has spoken. I would be honored to have this apron!" Within 20 minutes, hands shaking, I logged onto the Vermont Small Business Development web-site and signed up for a course in writing a business plan. Java's mother has spoken. Now all that remained on my list of affirmations was a child. Some random kid has to validate my idea. I thought that it happened at recess when a little girl (fairy) approached me with a "magic wand" (stick). "Just say your wish, and I will grant it. Anything!" "I want a 1958 Airstream." I said, knowing that this fairy didn't know what an Airstream was. I am superstitious however, and so it doesn't hurt to have a playground fairy placing wishes into the cosmos. "Tada! Done." If only it were that easy. Kid validation... Check... Nope. The true validation came later when a different little girl walked up to me at baseball practice. "Here!" She smiled as she handed me two pieces of aqua paisley fabric that she had cut off from the bottom of her pants. "You told me you liked this fabric awhile ago. Now you can have it to make a bag." Kids say the darnedest things. And aqua paisley no less... Not a bread crumb trail, but one clearly marked with paisley.

My Mid-Life Crisis/44 year-old style

Is 44 a good time for a mid-life crisis? I don’t know, but I’m having one. More than likely, I am about mid-way through this journey. At this point- in the mid-forties-ish, most of us evaluate our lives. We take a moment and look back on our decisions. We also simultaneously look forward with eagerness while we judge ourselves harshly. Am I satisfied with myself? Mostly. Am I content with where I stand? Never. It’s been great and exciting and rewarding life so far, but I feel a rumbling inside myself and it is not indigestion. It is my inner voice. What is next, Amy? What now? Don’t worry, I won’t leave my husband or anything crazy like that. But I’m going to take a leap of faith, follow the signs, and… well… I shouldn’t tell you everything at once. So, what am I planning? I am going to do what all entrepreneurs do and follow my passion to make a new path. I love to write, express myself through what I wear, and shop for second-hand clothing. So… I am going to make my own clothing store, and I am going to write about all the steps as I take them and share them. You can read about it here. This blog is #1. I will tell you in the blog how this vision came to be. You can follow the story and leave comments or suggestions. I am open to what you have to say because I have never done anything like this before. So… Like all my big events in my life, the whole thing started with my own words. I “put it out there” to the universe a few months ago when I told my husband and a few friends that I thought that we needed a funky second hand clothing/furniture store in our town. I said it often to anyone who would listen and I kind of wanted it to be me. One day The Red Barn opened on School Street and it brought great joy to my heart. Even though it wasn’t me, someone had made it happen and how cool is that? I watched as the owner decorated the space, painting the inside, adding shelving, lighting, and wonderful trinkets and art with a playful flare. One Sunday I approached the door, and though she wasn’t open for business yet, I knocked. Rhoda answered with a smile and let me in. We had never met, but this being the small Vermont town that it is, we had of course heard of each other before. I told her how happy I was that she had done this and that we really needed something like this in our town. I asked her if she was going to sell any clothes. Nope. I took an extra bold step and asked if perhaps she would be willing to rent some space upstairs to me in the summer so I could sell some funky clothes on consignment. “Probably not. I don’t like dealing with clothes. I am way better at the ‘stuff’,” Rhoda said. End of conversation. I left her store feeling sort of secretly happy that clothing wasn’t her thing because it really is mine, and perhaps I can still have the corner of the second-hand market in our little town somehow. Some day. Some way. It’s my passion. Months passed. I still kept searching for the right venue. I am never afraid to pursue things and ask questions and follow trails. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? So, Memorial day weekend, and my first day off in a very long time. My husband was generous and hung at home with the kids while I went to Seasoned Books in town and had breakfast with a friend and talked about all sorts of things like the fact that our town needs to purchase another school bus. We talked about the various uses for a school bus if the school needed to buy a new one and we started “brainstorming” lots of uses.

Then we scanned the town wide yard sale on the green. At the Park House yard sale, I was led by a woman who knows my taste, to a table of great jewelry from the 1970’s so I bought myself some great flare. I also got a lovely outdoor vase for my garden. I lost track of time. The last thing I had to do before heading home was purchase some mulch at the Hardware Store because I wanted to garden on my birthday. Mulch=Happiness. Car loaded, I looked across the street at The Red Barn as I started my car. I am so happy that she has made that work here in our little town, and it is a great location… School Street. School Street… School Clothes… Old School Clothes… It hit me! I could buy a school bus and take all the seats out of it and replace the seats with racks and racks of clothes. I could have a TRAVELING thrift shop. What a concept! Only a few problems surfaced when I thought about it… I don’t have my CDL License and buses are big and buses are expensive and use Diesel. I could kill someone driving around in something so large and I should not be a teacher who kills someone while I am driving around in a bus. But… I am a dreamer so I kept dreaming as I prepared to go home. I had played “hookey” for most of the morning and should head home to see the husband and kids. I looked up School Street to check for traffic. None… as usual… A gust of wind blew. A big gust of wind. I looked at The Red Barn across the street and watched as the wind grabbed a vintage beach umbrella that was set up outside the store. It tumbled across the front of the store and stopped. I was on my way home… but I didn’t like seeing the umbrella tumbling, so I pulled across the street and parked my car, got out, and approached the umbrella. Rhoda came out of the store at the same time. We both grabbed the umbrella top steady it. “Thanks,” She smiled. I let go, and she closed the umbrella, moved it back, and leaned it against the red siding. I had already decided to go inside her store… after all, I had been bargain hunting all day. What’s another 15 minutes of dawdling? Well… life changing… that’s what. It was a recipe for a mid-life crisis decision. It was the weekend I was turning 44 and I had “put it out to the universe”… months before. I was searching for something. Something unusual… I looked around inside her store and bought my son a marble. The antique marbles were 20c so I gave Rhoda a quarter and told her to keep the change. Big spender… We small-talked. I told her my idea. I would get the bus and clean it out. I would call it “Old School Clothes.” “Hey… I have an 1958 Airstream for sale. It needs to be gutted out, but it is able to be moved. You could do fairs and flea markets. I was going to sell hamburgers out of it… but someone is doing that already, so that can’t happen.” My brain latched on to the idea. HMMMM… buy a classic ‘Silver Bullet’ Airstream and open a business inside of it. I have found a vessel… or… more accurately, it found me. And it is not that huge of a financial commitment. It seems crazy. To quote my mother, the wise one who gave birth to me 44 years ago (today), “When did you become so obsessive compulsive?” This was her response when I asked her to come and see the Airstream. She wouldn’t budge because she was in her nightgown. I wanted her to take my picture next to the “Silver Bullet”, and I wanted her opinion about whether I am too much of a dreamer to think I can remodel the inside and turn it into my mid-life crisis dream come true. My mother always tends to point out the negative sides of things, which keeps me tethered to the planet. So I always go to her with my crazy ideas so she can talk me out of them. My response: “Mom, I have always been this obsessive about things.” (Notice I didn’t say compulsive… because I am not.) So… this is where we are right now. I have chatted about the idea with people besides my mother, and no one seems to laugh. People have tilted their heads slightly, but no one has called the authorities to check me into the mental institution. My husband seems to think it would be roomy inside. I could buy it and start cleaning it out this summer. I could perhaps attend a few markets and begin to earn some of the money back that I think I may invest into this crazy idea. But here is the best part of all of it… If things don’t work out as I am seeing them, my family can always just take the blessed Airstream on vacation in the summer. It would be useful to keep up dry in case of rain, which tends to happen around here. Not bad for a mid-life crisis, you know? At least I want to share the rest of my journey with my husband and kids, not trade them in like pieces of consignment clothing. But wait, is there a mark-up value on a man who is wise enough to get me a massage for my birthday? Yes… that’s right… priceless… a man to share the future with as long as he is willing to stay the course. I look forward to seeing him take a maul to the inside of this Airstream after I ask the bank to support my business plan. Man, I have work to do. Stay tuned, dear reader.

A Passing Glimpse

Today was officially our last summer day, so I wanted to have a “do nothing” day. We finished school shopping this week with new backpacks, lunchboxes, shoes, and outfits. We were on the go all summer between summer camps, soccer, trips to hotels and amusement parks, camping, train rides and swimming lessons. I think we had only one day all summer when we never left the house. This morning I was ready for a “do nothing” day. Do nothing? Yeah, right… with three kids in the house, we were all climbing the walls by about 10:00 am.
So I packed lunches in their old lunchboxes, and by early afternoon, we had set out to “walk” our favorite trail, The Robert Frost “Interpretive Trail” in Ripton, Vermont. Some of Mr. Frost’s poems are posted along the way where walkers can pause, read, and reflect on the words written by the famous poet. Now, notice I said walkers can pause etc. Have you ever gone on a hike with children? They (at least mine) don’t move at a walking pace. They run, skip, hop, jump… but they don’t walk. Ever.
They ran ahead and shouted, “Mom! We’ll wait for you at the bridge,” or “Mom! I’m going off the path and I’ll meet you at the next corner.” That sort of thing.
While I walked, and sometimes I paused, read, and reflected on the words of several poems. Like this poem:
I often see flowers from a passing car
That are gone before I can tell what they are.

I want to get out of the train and go back
To see what they were beside the track.

I name all the flowers I am sure they weren't;
Not fireweed loving where woods have burnt--

Not bluebells gracing a tunnel mouth--
Not lupine living on sand and drouth.

Was something brushed across my mind
That no one on earth will ever find?

Heaven gives it glimpses only to those
Not in position to look too close.
This poem makes me think back to the first time I took my kids to the Robert Frost trail. My older son stayed within ten feet of me and my younger son held my hand. The idea of a third child, especially a foster daughter, had never crossed my mind. And we swiftly walked the mile loop, NEVER stopping to read a single poem. It was as if I was in the train car that Robert Frost referred to in his poem, and my children, the engineers, were driving it at full speed. That’s how it is. All parents say it, “Don’t blink because they grow up so fast!” Robert Frost said, “Heaven gives its glimpses only to those not in a position to look too close.” Do they mean the same thing? I think so.
All of Robert Frost’s poems talk of nature and are symbols of life and death. This particular poem reminds a lot of the last official day of summer. It was a great day, from which I can’t really pick my favorite moment. Was it when the kids ate their lunch in the arms of a giant pine tree? Was it when we all made fairy houses in the forest on the side of a steep hill to protect the fairies from impending Hurricane Irene? Was it when the kids crossed the brook barefoot? Was it picking wild blueberries and mulberries and staining our fingers and lips? I don’t know. They were all moments I can try to grab and hold in my heart, but Mr. Frost called them “glimpses.” He was right… the fall comes and then the winter comes and soon everything is covered in snow and then we are all older.
In the car, my younger son said to me, “Mom. Today’s your last day of summer vacation as a 43 year old.”
My, he’s tuned in. And it’s his last one as an eight year old.
Ahh! I could cry. I want to grab my kids and hug them and tell them to stop growing, but that’s not the way it’s supposed to be. Maybe instead of getting all sentimental, we can enjoy the last bit of today by watching a bad kid’s movie together. I’ll guess I’ll pop the corn.

Iceberg Lettuce

As a kindergarten teacher, I have to teach my students how to rhyme. Seriously! Rhyming is not a skill that comes naturally to a child, and whether or not a child can rhyme is graded on the report card. I ask each kid questions like, “Does the word frog rhyme with the word dog?” Now bear in mind, I have probably just pulled the little darling away from something fun in the classroom like “dress-up” or “block corner” and I have to force him/her to stand next to me and answer a bunch of questions. Leaving no child behind, you know? Some kids are very honest. They look up and say “I don’t care!” Other kids will stare at me blankly and shrug. A few others will answer “yes” or “no.” You see, knowing if something rhymes is a predictor of future reading ability. When I teach this concept, I try to make it fun. I randomly fit rhyming into conversation all day long. I say things like, “Sit in your chair… Claire.” (No one is actually named Claire). Or I say “Get back in line… Calvin Klein!” (No Calvin Klein either). It gets a little pathetic when I do it at home though. My husband knows to ignore me when I start talking like Dr. Suess on crack. Here’s my token phrase… “Don’t panic. We’re not on the Titanic.” I’ll say it to a student who is frustrated over a lost glue stick cap or a broken crayon because nothing could possibly be as bad as being on the Titanic and hitting an iceberg. It’s a good phrase. I take complete credit for it. I made it up. And I actually used it on myself… last night. Do you know what prompted it? Well, a piece of Iceberg Lettuce… what else? A tiny piece of green iceberg lettuce almost made me cry last night.
I know, you’re thinking it is JUST A GARNISH. Why did a piece of lettuce set you off?
Well, I will begin at the beginning… or I will try.
First of all, I have to explain why I am so fragile right now. Lettuce put it this way (ha ha), it has been one “hell of a winter!” We keep getting smacked with snow, and many of us are ready for spring. We have gone skiing, sledding, snowshoeing, and of course we have braved the elements shoveling and scraping. Enough is enough already. We’re almost through our wood supply and we had our WORST STORM THIS YEAR ON MARCH 7th! It actually was a record snowfall! AHHHH! Over two feet of snow piled up on the roof again. Many people think March is a spring month; not in Vermont! To have that Maple Syrup we are all so proud of, we have to have freezing nights and warm days and during those warm days, the snow melts and slides off roofs.
Remember that little detail.
The other thing that gets rough is that the snow has to get plowed and piled somewhere. We’re running out of room for it right now in our community. I struggle opening the doors to our car because the snow is piled up on the sides of the driveway. I feel like I live on top of a toboggon run.
A Honda Element is not the easiest car to exit in a narrow situation on a hill. The doors open in an unusual manner. The front door opens like a regular door (to the right), and the back door opens to the left. The front door has to be open so that the back door can open. I like it that way, because my kids are trapped in the car until I open the door to let them out. But then I have to grab my stuff, open their door, stand and wait for them to hop out with their stuff. And then they often bump the door, which smacks shut and knocks something out of my hands.
Here is a list of what I am usually carrying:
My Blag (purse)
My backpack
My laptop
My luncbox
Invariably something else too
I can hear you shouting, “DOWNSIZE!” “Carry Less!” or “Take two trips moron!”
Right. I live on this steep, steep, steep, hill and I don’t want to take two trips. I just want to get home and put my stuff down and put the busy day behind me.
And besides, during March in Vermont, people try not to make any important decisions. At this point in the year, everyone gets a little antsy with “Cabin Fever”, so it’s just not a good time to change daily routines, jobs, or marriages. So although I should perhaps downsize and put my wallet in my backpack or something simple like that, I simply can’t shift gears right now. Nothing changes in March. Wait until April. I’m trying to be a good Vermonter, stay the course, and be patient. Grass will appear again and then I can think clearly. I’m sure of it. I’ll make changes to my routine then (and not my job or my marriage if all goes well).
Besides, I always feel as if I need all these vessels with me. I’m a mom and I’m busy with many commitments. If I didn’t have my backpack, Blag or lunchbox, I would need something from inside one of them for some undeniable reason. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but I just like to be prepared. Besides, I only have to bring the laptop back and forth every other day. The tech guy told me it has to show up at school every “coupla days to stay anti-virused.” The tech guy doesn’t live on my hill.
So, last night, I got of the car, opened the back door for the boys, and gathered ALL my things to prepare to climb the mushy summit. Although it had been snowing in the morning, it was now sleeting and the snow underfoot was slippery slush. The kids climbed out. Earlier, we had gone to the library, so there was also a giant “Where’s Waldo” book that had to go up the hill too. We had gone out to eat (a rare thing) so I was carrying take-out food for my husband in one of those flimsy Styrofoam containers. Now, you can see where this is going, can’t you?
Foreshadowing: slippery slush and snow-piled roofs that melt and slide onto paths and decks
I put my coat, hat, and mittens on and took a deep breath. I am a roadie. I am a woman. Hear me roar. The kids climbed ahead of me. It was pretty dark. We hadn’t left any lights on that morning, but we followed the tobaggon path past the snowman and onto the steps.
My son warned me, “There’s alotta snow on the deck, mom.”
“It must’ve come off the roof today.” I grunted.
“Why?” He yelled. I was well behind him.
Fast. Intense. Wants to know information. How dare he at 8:00 pm on a school night? I don’t have the energy for answering questions on a Thursday while carrying way too much uphill in slush!
He is that kind of kid. He wants an entire explanation of “why” the snow would come off the roof and I have to give it to him right then and there. He doesn’t care that I am causing myself to slip a disk because I am acting like a Grand Canyon pack mule. He is carrying enough of his own stuff to worry about helping me anyway.
“It melted.”
“Why?”
“It was over thirty-two degrees today. The snow warmed up and slid off.”
“Oh.”
By this point I was at the top of the slushy steps and I paused to catch my breath and prepare to step onto the giant mound of snow that was blocking what should be my path to my door. He had already made it to the door.
I took one giant step and one little step. Upon completion of my little step, I suddenly realized I had stepped on the tail of my own long winter coat. Everything in my hands and on my arms went flying as my exhausted brain tried to process the situation.
Now. If you are ever in this situation, (I know, you’re thinking “I never will be because I don’t live the way you do”) here is what happens: you’re brain will instantly make a decision on what to save. My priorities were my husband’s dinner and the laptop.
Well, things didn’t really go as planned. EVERYTHING went flying! It landed on the soft snow (the lap top is fine) I managed to snag one thing: a small piece of iceberg lettuce. Mid-air. Seriously.
My one son, bless his little heart, said. “Mom, are you okay?”
My other son, bless his heart, said, “Will we have time to watch tv tonight?”
I answered both of them at once, “Don’t worry about me boys, I’m fine!” Under my breath I said to myself, “Don’t panic. You’re not on the Titanic.” I could’ve laughed or cried at that point, either one would’ve been appropriate. I did what I had to do. I got up, brushed myself off, grabbed what I could find in the dark and went inside.
I don’t think I stayed awake too long after that. It had been a long day.
But this morning, I looked out the window to see my neighbor shoveling our toboggan run (driveway). It took me a second to realize that he was shoveling the driveway because the snow had come off his roof and completely covered the driveway. This meant that until the snow was removed, I could not get to work.
Ah… Friday. I made the necessary phone calls and got ready for work. “Oh well,” I thought to myself out loud, “I have no control over the situation. Don’t panic… We’re not on the Titanic.” I reminded myself.
We weren’t actually that late after all. My neighbor actually shoveled the entire thing pretty quickly. We left the house. I had forgotten that there was a giant mound of snow on the deck that we had to climb over. I took a deep breath of cold Vermont morning air and climbed the pile and descended the steps.
Then suddenly I saw something GREEN! I was a little confused at first. For a second, I thought it was grass. I thought it was spring. Silly me. It was just a misplaced piece of lettuce from last night. Iceberg lettuce. Garnish.
Ah… Friday. The end of the work week… and one day closer to spring. We’re almost there.
“Iceberg dead ahead!” I said to no one in particular.

Frozen Open and Snowed Out (Wine Not)

This blog is an attempt to fully understand myself and admit that I actually am a high-maintenance person. I have been in denial for about 30 years about who I truly am. I’m sorry. Please forgive my rant.
I always talk about how small our town is… I just figured out why… people don’t live here because about this time of year, it gets difficult! Very difficult!
I’ve decided Rochester, Vermont isn’t a real place. This snowy land is a snow globe on some bored child’s dresser. He shakes it at night before bed, and we citizens of this post card town wake up to lovely flakes flittering from the cloudy sky every morning. I believe it to be true. It is unreal how much snow we have as part of daily life here for MOST of the year. I’m looking out the window now. It’s coming down now AGAIN. As I watch, it’s dancing and covering my car in its daily layer of powdered sugar.
Normally doors are frozen shut and people get snowed in. Not us. It was worse this week for us… it was a tough week.
Last Saturday, we left our snowy mountain valley to go to the big city of Burlington, Vermont. Just as we drove about a mile north of our town, tiny snowflakes started to dance in the sky. “It’s just snow showers,” my husband and I reassured each other. It snows every day.
It does. We’ll be fine… ha… ha… please insert a wicked laugh here…
Snow is a four letter word. Don’t get me wrong. It’s pretty and can be fun too. But after it piles up for months, where do we put it all? How do we deal as the paths become narrower?
There are people who actually make a living removing snow around here. They shovel walks, plow driveways, and push snow off of people’s roofs. It took ten men eight hours to remove the snow from the top of the school this week. That made for a wonderful learning environment in kindergarten as the snow blower went back and forth on top of us. I wondered if it would fall on us. In hind sight, I should have hired one of those men from the roof at school to clear the roof over our deck at home. But I’ll get to that soon…
People who don’t know snow think there is only one type. This particular snow was the best snow for a snowball fight. It was just the right consistency. A person (like me for example) could grab a bunch and crush it instantly into a ball with minimal effort. It didn’t hurt to be hit by one of these snowballs. They were easy to make and even easier to throw. In fact, I hit both my kids and my husband in the head, and they laughed about it and in turn hit me in the head. Good snow! Great fun! The battle we had lasted at least twenty minutes. We were soaked and laughing by the end. Our dinner post snowball fight was warm and delicious. On the way to the restaurant, my oldest son kept hitting us with snowballs.
We of course realized last Saturday, that this wasn’t just snow showers at all; we couldn’t read the snow covered street signs. I couldn’t see to drive as the snow fell off the car roof and obstructed my view. It was a serious snowstorm. We didn’t expect that the weather was going to be so treacherous. The snow changed texture as the air changed temperature. A few hours after the snowball fight and dinner, we were driving home no faster than 35 miles per hour on Route 89 in icy conditions. We took our time.
Along the way, we actually saw “snow lightning”. It exists! I have never seen it! Have you? Its bright blue light reflected off the snow and lit up the mountains as we crawled along. It was actually lovely when it flashed. I felt honored in a way. I’ll always cling to that visual memory because it was gorgeous and dramatic. Apparently, some people live their entire lives and never see “snow lightning”. Cool, huh? Yep.
Until it changes to a different consistency again… which in Vermont can happen every ten minutes or so…
We arrived home at about midnight and our driveway hadn’t been plowed yet. The snow had certainly changed. It was now soft on the inside and crunchy on the surface. Each step we took toward the house UPHILL, our feet sunk and stuck about a foot in. The kids were disoriented because they had fallen asleep in the car and had to be led to bed. Insert sigh here…
Upon entering the house, it seemed cold, but I thought it was because we were damp from the storm.
Nope.
We had run out of oil in our furnace. Oops. Insert another sigh here…
Now, to our defense, our furnace is in the basement and the bulkhead to the basement is covered with snow. We are supposed to check the level of the oil and let the company know when it is time to come and fill it. Oops. And trust me, I just don’t think of things like that. I probably should, but there are so many other things to think about, you know? And we can heat the house with our wood-stove. And we’re not calling them to bring oil on the weekend. Too expensive! We’ll call on Monday… famous last words…
So to recap the week, we went without heat and hot water for FIVE NIGHTS AND FOUR days, my husband dealt with his second flat tire, struggled to close his car door because it was frozen OPEN, and we shoveled our way INTO the house (the snow slid off the mudroom roof onto the deck one day). Yes. Winter is bliss.
We (my husband) called on Monday to have the guys come with the Texas Tea… black Gold… oil… They couldn’t come. They were busy. They never came on Tuesday… ahhhh… we finally got our water back and our furnace primed and flushed out (or whatever) on Thursday.
And I NEED HOT WATER TO BE A GRATEFUL AND PLEASANT PERSON… can you tell? High-maintenance. Yep- that’s me.
Each day through the week, I felt grimier because I hadn’t showered… Snow is good… I chanted… snow is good. But I felt cranky…
On Tuesday, I took my class snowshoeing for the first time. Snow is good…
As the days wore on, my hair clung to itself… snow is good…
As my skin began to feel slimy, I watched the many sleds flying down the hill behind the school and kids shrieking with joy. Snow is good…
As the week wore on, I felt pretty haggard. My friend Claudia stopped her car in the parking lot and rolled down her window.
“Hey!” She smiled cheerfully.
“Hello.” I half grumbled.
“You look nice.” She said sweetly.
“What?” I snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore. I spilled it all right there and then. I couldn’t possibly look nice! I hadn’t bathed in days.
She invited me to use her bathtub that night. “We have hot wata!” She said in her New York accent. Now she has a HUGE antique claw foot tub; I have wanted to take a bath in that thing since I first saw it a year ago at her daughter’s birthday party. Okay, I’m weird… but have you ever taken a bath in a HUGE antique claw foot tub? Has your friend Claudia ever given you a glass of white wine to sip casually as you soaked in her HUGE antique claw foot tub? Winter is bliss…
Try it sometime. Especially after you haven’t felt hot water against your skin for days… snow is good… hot water is good… my glass of wine was half-full and life suddenly got better as it emptied.
See, as I sat there in the hot water at Claudia’s house and reflected on my week, I realized something. We adults forget how fun snow can be because we have to work so hard to maintain things. We have to shovel it and move it off bulk-heads and scrape it from our car windows. We have to scrape it from roofs or snow will collapse on pathways and break the roof rake (yep), and give chickens warm water every morning. We have to stack the firewood in preparation and stoke the fire to warm our Vermont homes. We have to drive slowly and carefully. I realized that my body was probably aching a little bit. No wonder I was cranky. A hot bath soothes the muscles too.
I closed my eyes and relived our family snowball fight. I remembered how nicely the snow packed in my gloved hands. I thought of my class and their little smiles as we crossed the deep white stuff for the first time in our snowshoes without sinking to our hips. I thought of the “snow lightning”. Certainly I wouldn’t have seen “snow lightning” without snow, right? Snow is good… in fact, it’s great!
So now I’ve come to admit it… I am a high-maintenance woman. I ask a whole lot. I need a HUGE antique claw foot bath tub filled with steaming hot water and a glass of white wine. After my skin had turned red, I pulled the drain and listened to the gurgle. The drain took all my troubles away. Ahhh…
Sorry… I am who I am. I need hot water. Now I’m ready for another week. And now it’s just five more weeks until spring, according to the damn groundhog. Oh, but that would be in Pennsylvania. In Vermont, we have to double it, because mud season has to come first, you know? Stay tuned…

Ass Over Tea Kettle

Any day that starts with a tea kettle frozen to the top step outside the door is bound to be interesting, especially if there is no way to open the door. Today was one of those days.
HOW did the tea kettle come to be frozen, you ask? Because, among other things on his “honey do” list yesterday (like call in “frozen” to work), my husband did me favor and gave the chickens their morning water. He then set the tea kettle down outside the kitchen door and walked to our neighbor’s house to borrow a blow torch.
Yes, I did say blow torch.
See, in addition to our washing machine seizing up, our pipes were frozen in the living room (3 problems.) Most people would consider using a blow dryer on the pipes, but I don’t use such modern appliances such as cell phones and blow dryers.
It was a Manic Monday. It was 20 degrees below zero, so we had a two-hour school delay because children couldn’t be outside. Bus drivers needed the heat of the sun to start buses. Teachers couldn’t warm their brains enough to teach reading and writing and arithmetic. Car batteries struggled to turn over. My iPod couldn’t register any sign of life until I brought it inside for an hour.
And we have chickens? I can’t imagine being a chicken right now. How do they stay warm? It must be intolerable. You’re probably thinking “They’re animals”, right? They have adapted to the cold with glycerin in their feet and their thick downy feathers. Well, that may be true but they aren’t laying eggs right now. They are free-loading, but I can’t say I blame them. There just isn’t enough light in the course of a day for a chicken to consider the urge to drop an egg.
The appliance man who came to fix the washing machine told me that when his chickens stop laying eggs, his family eats more chicken soup. I don’t have the heart to kill them because they don’t lay eggs in the winter. It’s not their fault it’s wintertime.
Though not a chicken, I am an animal too. I’ll prove it. As soon as I realized I couldn’t open the kitchen door this morning, I think I may have growled… at my husband in an animal-like fashion.
It sounded something like this: (when you read the following, please make sure to sound angry)
“When you give the chickens water, please make sure to put the tea kettle back on the stove! I got stuck to the step. I can’t open the door.” Now you’re thinking I should be grateful that he did me a favor the day before, and I should focus on what is right and not wrong… preserve my relationship… but I couldn’t OPEN THE DOOR TO GET OUT.
I tried to reach my hand out the door far enough to pull on the handle. I wasn’t strong enough. I tried to pour hot water onto the step and then pull on the handle. I still wasn’t strong enough. I finally decided to go out the OTHER door with a pot of water and go AROUND the house to the chickens. I figured I could kick the tea kettle off the step on my way back inside after I gave them water. I was in a huge hurry because mornings are rushed with packing lunches, getting kids dressed, breakfast, chickens, and of course there’s the added stress of opening the mud room door that gets stuck in the winter because of the frost heave that forms under the deck. I had to put the pot of water down and yank on the door handle with all my might to open that door to get out. Claustrophobia anyone?
So there I was stomping (like a brat) out the other door with a pot of hot water, but I quite didn’t make it as far as the chicken house. There was a bit of ice coating the stairs (that were already covered with snow), so of course I fell (ass over pot of water in this case.) A string of profanity flew from my mouth that probably woke up the neighborhood, or at least my neighbor who was scraping his windshield.
“Son of a %#NFKGHD&SUSFKF!@*(&&^55sdfhiugivbjbgg*&&%#%#%9082327!”
The pot flew into the air and the water landed on me. I couldn’t believe the water didn’t freeze in mid-air and smack me on the head like I had seen it do on the internet.
I stood up and shook like a hosed-down dog and stomped to the door with the pot in my hand. I pushed my way through the frost heave and slammed the door (so it would stay shut of course.)
Now the expression on my husband’s face was priceless. He wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. He needed to figure out how to respond without laughing because he knew I was not in the mood… and of course there wouldn’t be time to stop and laugh in the morning. I’m sure you have gathered our mornings are rushed.
“Are you okay?”
“No. I fell down the #$*&^$^$$&^% stairs. I’m taking a shower.”
“How ‘bout I take care of the chickens this morning?”
Good answer. “That would be great.” Water and fury dripped from my lips, “When you’re on your way back in, could you please get the tea pot from the back steps?”
My kids probably didn’t notice the incident, but after my shower, I paid them both 50 cents because I swore (twice, 25 cents per swear), and apologized for my animal-like behavior. They didn’t care. In fact, Desmond went to school and shared the story with his class during sharing time. By mid-morning his teacher asked me if I was okay since I had fallen down the stairs.
When I took the car to the shop in town to get the oil changed that day, I was convinced that Mike (the mechanic- yeah- I know “Mike and the Mechanics”) would ask me if I was okay after falling down the stairs. I’m sure he knew. Like I said, my neighbor saw me when he was scraping his windshield.
As the day progressed, I became able to laugh and see the humor in what had happened. I fell “on my ass over the tea kettle” and how many people can claim that? My husband and I exchanged laughs about it via email and later on that night we sat down to dinner.
We always say what we are grateful for before we start to eat. We hold hands and take turns and say what we are happy to have in our lives. When my oldest son shared, he said his token “I’m glad we’re not slaves,” AND he said, “I’m glad my parents are not split up.”
Full stop. Think about that.
He’s right. He should be grateful his parents are not split up because there are only three sets of parents in his class who are still married. It is something to be grateful for.
So now it’s time for what I’m grateful for. I am grateful to be married. I’m grateful my husband helps around the house – inside and out-. And believe it or not, I am grateful that I live where it’s cold, because if you want to preserve something you always should put it in the freezer.