I am not one to stay inside. The weather on the mountain has been a bit harsh lately. When the ground is slick with snow and ice I have to stay on the porch with my new hips. The decking out there still has streaks from my pacing with my walker during my months of convalescing.
When the storms come from the north, I can pace out on the porch and not get wet. Weather from the west is a different story. The wind blasts across that porch like a freight train. If you get near the railing at the western end you feel like you could almost be lifted off your feet.
During some of the snowstorms this winter, I actually sat on the porch in my coat and watched in silent wonder. That did not happen during this last winter blast that rattled the screens and made me thankful for the brick walls. My neighbors lose siding during these hell benders. They call me ‘ The Third Little Pig.’
This morning the weather has finally settled and I felt the need to go out. The porch in front of the door and to the east was still covered in snow. No problem. I now have a racy red Valentine shovel delivered to me by Mr. Flower. Don’t judge ladies. He also brought flowers and chocolate. LADIES, he has had forty years of training, so curb your envy.
MEN just because you covet every tool does not mean your sweetie wants a vacuum cleaner for Mother’s Day. Yes, you got away with that with your adoring mama, but do not try to pull that two-for gift crap on your wife. If she needs a vacuum cleaner let her pick it out. What do you know about it? She’s not surprising you with a weed-eater.
I digress.
This morning hauled my Valentine shovel out to that porch and cut me a walking path heading west.
Now I can pace on half the porch when the ceiling gets on my nerves. I am grateful for this gift. My other snow shovel was a bent wimp. The flowers will fade and the chocolates will be eaten, but my love shovel will endure!
I went to the place that my Daddy wanted his ashes spread yesterday. I took my lunch there and ate in my car. I got out and took some photos. It is peaceful, private and conveniently located near their house. Daddy was always thoughtful like that.
Daddy’s chosen resting place.
The plan was for the whole family to gather at this location. We were instructed to play his favorite hymn sung by his favorite soprano. Mama negotiated the length of her speech, three minutes max per Daddy. Then we were to take turns silently sprinkling his ashes. I found a blue heart dish with three circles just for this part.
This ceremony has not occurred yet. It has been hard to get all of us on the mountain at once. When we finally all got there, the weather was bad. I had nightmares of Daddy trying to sleep in snow. So we postponed the event until spring. Then Mama died. There went three minutes of the ceremony.
Now we have two urns full of ashes. Daddy’s is bluebird blue and Mama’s is pink, of course. Mama claimed she wanted to be sprinkled with her sister’s ashes at a different, less convenient, location. Did she mean this, or was it the dementia talking?
My daughter, Rose, gave me a pep talk about letting the ashes go last night. They wanted to be set free and sprinkled in nature she said. I know they liked this idea. I do too, on beautiful, sunny days.
For now, I will sit quietly with the blue and pink urns while I remember my parents. I am not ready to let the ashes go.
Pink and blue. What would you do?
What will we do with the urns then? Store them to wait for the next dearly departed. That’s as creepy as keeping a coffin at the ready in your garage. Yes, we know someone who got a good deal on one!
I do not know when I will be ready to let the ashes go. I will continue to visit the spot to acclimate myself. My sister will have to make the call on Mama’s sprinkle site. She haunts me enough already. I don’t need anymore guilt with her name on it.
I missed Winterfest here because of a snowstorm. By the time the ice on my road had melted enough for me to get downtown, only the giant demo ice sculpture in the park’s gazebo was left. I saw it shining in the sun as I got out of my car.
Ice bird after melting.
The gorgeous upper wing looked like glass. The big bird was surrounded by water from its melting. I stood with a young mother admiring what was left when she asked, “What kind of bird is that?”
Big wing, small beak
The details of the wing made it look strong with long feathers like an eagle in flight, but the beak was thin and pointed. The head looked more like that of a dove. The beak was not the hooked, flesh-tearing shape of a raptor.
Pointed head and beak like a doves.
So after days of melting in the warmth of the afternoon sun, this bird had its details softened. The wings still looked big and strong like an eagle’s, but the beak looked thin like the dove of peace without the olive branch.
This hybrid ice bird made me ponder America at this point. Can we be both strong like our national bird the bald eagle and still be a symbol for peace like a dove?
What will it take for this country to morph into something both strong and peaceful? I hope we figure that out.
FLOWER
The link below is from the town’s facebook page so you can see other sculptures including a smaller version of the bird in question.
I am skeptical about everything. I collect information carefully and take notes and pictures. I did these things when a video popped up about a new treatment for dementia, Alzheimers and Parkinson’s disease.
Dementia will likely be my fate, Parkinson’s is my friend’s. I desperately search for anything that might interfer with the progression Parkinson’s symptoms and memory loss.
We slowly lost parts of our mother over many years. It was heartbreaking to watch. I do not want to drain my family’s energy and resources by becoming a burden. We have worked really hard for what we have.
The video included two famous doctors that I respect. It also included a mention of indigenous population with high dementia incidences in Guam. Two famous actors were interviewed who claimed they had been helped by the supplement.
The cause of supposed memory decline was caused by numerous pollutants, especially cadmium chloride. Cadmium is a toxic metal. The video claimed the metal could be removed by a special honey and damage restored by an herb. Too good to be true!
Then a white and purple bottle appeared. I took a screen shot of it. Thank goodness I did this. I tried to save the video, but it disappeared. I sent it to my sister.
I searched for the bottle on the internet. The purple and white bottles looked slightly different than the photo I took. The fake FDA sticker strategically covered the brand name.
I have been spending alot of time in one of the chairs we call ‘Daddy’s Chair’ by the window in my parents’ bedroom on the mountain. More snow came last night. I watched a firetruck and ambulance drive by with lights on. There was a car slid off the slick pavement in the curve up the road. I could see the flashing red lights through the snow and passing cloud. It was getting dark.
Traffic lined up in the white and darkness waiting to pass. The emergency vehicles finally left, but the line of traffic stayed. Two big dump trucks went around the line, on the wrong side of the road in the dark. They must have had a mission involving the mishap.
I kept leaving the window to do chores and coming back to check the line of stopped cars and trucks. Some turned around and left. Others pulled up to wait. This went on for over two hours.
I washed dishes. They were waiting. I took a shower. Still waiting. I read a chapter. Still out there. Were they cold? Hungry? Tired? Probably yes to all three.
On the community website folks ask about the safety of those involved. No complaints or whining. Just concern and sharing information. Communicating while patiently waiting.
I saw it all from my daddy’s chair by the window. His morning lookout. Daddy would sit here to drink coffee in the mornings. My sis and I would sneak in with our own cups and sit on the edge of our parents’ bed. Sometimes our poor mom would still be in bed and have to scooch over to make room for us.
We would discuss what Daddy had seen out the window and what he hoped the day would bring. We would catch up on the neighborhood news. Swap stories and quietly laugh as others slept.
I thought about those times as I kept coming back to that chair to peek out the window into the darkness, hoping not to see a row of lights still stranded out in the cold.
My being here on the mountain keeps my parents near me. Especially when I sit in my Daddy’s chair by the window.
I could have headed south before the storms. Back to my other home where someone else would haul the wood and build the fires. But what would I gain from that, being comfortable and cared for like a cat?
The fiery beast.
I was raised to be smart and strong. But mishaps have happened. I feel I have lost those attributes. I have things to prove to myself. Even now…Especially now.
This collosal storm has raged for days. I have studied the ice, snow, wind and rain. This has not been a relaxing experience, but a necessary one. I belong in the world, not protected from it.
The first wave of snow was heavy and dense. It glistened as it blew and clung to the trees. The temperatures dropped and the wind picked up. By that second white afternoon, I felt I must prepare for power outages. Water was stored in every bathroom and the kitchen.
I rolled out the kerosene heater on its cart and lit it to be sure it worked. I got out flashlights and candles. There must be heat and light.
All pipes in the basement were safe except the one climbing up the front wall which supplies an outside spigot. That pipe was double-wrapped with paper bags and packing materials.
Packing materials for insulating pipe against outer wall.
A fire was layed in the beast of a woodstove my father bought used from some mountain folk down a dirt road. I remember we thought he was unwise to buy that giant rusty box. My daddy always saw the veiled possibilities in things.
Rusty box stove that Daddy refurbished.
I hauled in seven more wheel barrow loads of firewood into the basement. I placed the wood in lawn chairs, so I would not need to lift heavy pieces from the floor. I had been saving cardboard and scrap paper to start fires with. Such is my habit of burning or recycling as much as possible.
Will this be enough wood?
I was exhausted by about 3:00. I felt the tipping point of the ice-loaded trees was eminent. I opened my bedroom blinds and got under a blanket to wait for the sound of snapping trees.
Too much ice.
Sounds started slowly and softly. The wind picked up and pattering noises got louder and faster. This was not the loud crackings that I had expected.
I got up and looked out. Instead of limbs falling, the ice on the trees was slipping off the branches and crashing to the ground. A rain was loosening the ice’s grip on the limbs. The thuds and plops went on for hours. Rain had arrived just as the ice had gotten too heavy for the trees.
This miracle rain had saved the trees and the power lines. Now the grass was a mat of hard-frozen ice with sprinkles of shiny ice shards on top.
The next snow came at dark and continued through the night. This snow was like fine glitter that did not cling to things. It sparkled and blew like fairy dust filling the sky and making dunes in the low places and against any barriers to the wind.
Snow left in the lee.
The snow and winds filled the skies for another day. The winds roared like a train that next night. Snow blew through the screens and filled the space against the windows.
Laundry room window with packed snow.Layers of snow behind the screen door. Snow dune behind it on the porch.
Dunes drifted from place to place. Their shapes and textures changed throughout the day. Holes in mounds seemed to form for no reason. Points jutted out of piles as if the wind had been blocked like a lee behind a stone, but no stone was visible.
Sculpted snow dunes and icicles at picnic table.
The wind is still blowing tonight. I am sure the dunes will be different in the morning. The sun should shine tomorrow. Some ice may melt.
A snow drift covers the road . The red stake marks my driveway.
What did I learn? I learned where the wind follows the contours of our property. I saw how it split around our house and strengthened as it headed down the slopes. I now know how the water flows and where the snow drifts and where the ice melts last.
I had to prove that I am capable of taking care of this house and myself. I will no longer let fear tell me what to do. I need to rely on myself.
I am glad that I did not lose power. I am grateful that my driveway and road are somewhat clear again. I will adapt to any changes that happen. I appreciate assistance but do not expect it.
My family predicted I would be lonely on the mountain. My husband insisted on checking on me during a lull between storms. I enjoyed his company but worried about his driving in the snow. We want everyone safe but there will always be risks. Worry and fear are not anyone’s friends.
Snow dune moving this way all day long.
I was raised to be smart and strong, but mishaps happened and I forgot who I was for a bit.
I had to stay on the mountain with myself to remember.
floweralley 