Stay-cation

It was fun staying home and doing things "in the neighborhood" for a few calm days.

Day 2:

A lovely morning spent at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts.  The current "big" show is Indian art and objects from 1750 - 1950, mostly during the English Raj.  While the "art" was more "illustration" to my way of thinking and didn't really touch me, the objects were divine.

Jewelry like the most extravagant you have ever seen - huge diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls to die for.  Fabrics of the finest silk and cotton, woven in the most intricate of patterns, clothing and objects literally fit for the king - or in this case the maharaja.   No photos allowed, of course.

But in the side exhibit - Silver for the Raj - they did allow photos.

I love the intricate work.  You do use a tea pot like this for your Earl Grey, don't you?

 

Lunch followed in a lovely little cafe at the museum overlooking their pond, full of lotus.

And, what did we learn today?   The long white cotton shirt/dress traditionally worn by Indian men was called a "jama"  and the long, loose, white cotton pants worn underneath were called "pai-jama".  Give you any ideas?

Day 3:

What's a stay-cation without a bit of wine tasting?  right?  So off to one new winery and to one old one.  Met a nice trio from Pittsburgh who were on their way to the Outer Banks for a week with the extended family, but were stopping the same places we were, so we tasted our way thru some eastern Virginia wines together.

A lovely way to spend an afternoon.  And, yes, a few bottles of wine to remind us of a good time.


What did we learn?  As Virginia's wine industry grows, the quality gets better and better.  And, we are happy to help the local economy, when we can!

Day 1:  Yes, there was a day one.  A few hours in the garden and then a bit of reading while Mitchell had some very minor ambulatory surgery.  He is fine and up to making his world-famous gazpacho today.

Wednesday Workday with a Visitor

[Note:  I am officially on vacation for three days, so I think I will let Mitchell do the heavy lifting this "workday" and will share with you his new endeavor. ]

But first, you need to meet my Renaissance Man. 

A man of many talents and interests he has worked for social justice in both organized and personal ways, he has been a professional (and self-employed) artist, he has worked on the national level to encourage drug treatment as an alternative to incarceration for non-violent drug offenders, and he was one of the first website developers for Virginia's state government.  He has always been a teacher/trainer - training judges and lawyers, teaching scuba diving, teaching wood carving, and training choirs.

In retirement he has been the "plant man" in a nearby office complex and worked as a med tech/health educator, and (most importantly to me) taken over much of the day-to-day running of the house and grocery shopping.  Several years older than I, he stands nearly 6 feet tall, weighs in at 200 pounds, and plays a mean game of tennis, despite one replaced knee!  And, he's all mine!

I have left his first love until last, tho.  It's music.  Trained as a professional choral conductor, he has sung with folks whose names you would know and developed outstanding church choirs ... but not for many, many years.

About nine months ago, he bought a folk harp.  [I forgot to tell you that his photo is next to "instant gratification" in the OED.]  He was looking for something to do and thru circumstances happened on a used harp at a good price and decided to see if he could learn to play it.  Nine months later ... he's pretty good.

And, now he is the owner of the lovely new harp at the top of the page.   "Manon" is a French lever harp  - larger than his beginner harp, with more strings, and concert spacing - which is better for his large hands.   It was love at first sight!  She has a richer sound than the sample above and I hope to record her soon.

I'm going back to my vacation, while he practices.

[PS to Elizabeth and James ... he doesn't read this blog.  If you don't tell, he'll never know!]

Happy Mother's Day!

To all the mothers...

and, all the grandmothers and aunts, 

and, especially to all the mothers-to-be.

 And, special good wishes to my sister-in-law, who added three wonderful children to our family and whose lovely daughter graduated from college yesterday!  Hotty totty!

There's No Place Like Home

There's no place like home.  I feel like Dorothy ... it was a lovely week in a little corner of Paradise, but I was so glad to get home to my own bed last night!  Apparently Mitchell was, too.  There is still an occasional snore coming from beyond the bedroom door.

We walked on the beach and watched the kingfishers fish.  We strolled and enjoyed the peace of the marshes.  We ate, we drank, we laughed.  The Colonel and Dora visited us for part of the week and we ate and drank with them.  Laughed a lot with them.  We even slept late and took naps, but still arrived home tired from the road.

We did small business shopping all week.  The best was a shop that sells only olive oils and flavored vinegars - The Oilerie.  You can taste everything before you purchase and then they decant it and seal it like a bottle of wine (no wonder I love that place!) and label it like a wonderful gift - one you give to yourself. 

There are lovely galleries and craft shops on Hilton Head, and clothes (of course).  So many wonderful restaurants that the difficult part was choosing just one per night!  And, actually, an excellent outlet mall.  We hit the latter on the way onto the Island last weekend and never went back.  I'll pass on Black Friday, thank you very much!
 

The best part of the week, tho, was exploring an old cemetery where we spent two days documenting the gravestones.   Located overlooking a marsh and deep within a gated community, this is one of the most peaceful places you could hope to visit.  The Colonel got interested in genealogy a number of years ago and spent significant time  tracing his roots.  When he discovered how useful tombstones were to that research, he also got involved in a neat project to document tombstones to help others find information on their family members and ancestors.

Find a Grave is a website where thousands of cemeteries all over the world are documented with photos of individual headstones and as much information as possible is posted about the people buried there.  The Colonel has posted more than 14,000 photos over the past few years.  Which brings us to Talbird Cemetery on Hilton Head.

It is an African American cemetery that dates back to the middle of the 19th century (or earlier) and contains more than 300 gravesites.  It is still in use today.  A gentleman who lives nearby has taken on the project of keeping the cemetery mowed regularly and cleared of undergrowth.  He is also trying to reset and repair toppled and broken stones. 

We spent two days photographing the individual stones, which The Colonel will now post to the website in the hope that others will be able to use that information.  We are now looking for information on two other old cemeteries that we might try to document next year.

We spent two lovely days in the fresh air, but ended up thankful that we could do something [ok, something rather odd] that will be helpful for someone who can't come to South Carolina and do it alone.  A Thanksgiving well spent! 

The Prettiest Day of Summer....

… is the day after a hurricane.  Gone the rain and wind; gone the gray skies; gone the fear – all replaced by a high pressure ridge that brings sun and puffy clouds, the buzz of chainsaws and the chucka-chucka of home generators.  Yes, today is a “glorious day in the Commonwealth”.

Our damage is so minor as to be laughable.  This is the sum total.  Well, I did have to prop up a buddleia and may lose it, but nothing else.  We are without power – along with 400,000 others – so camping on the deck has become the game.  ‘Fridge emptied into coolers and chest freezer packed with newspaper to hold for a couple of days.  We’ll be cooking all the food in the kitchen freezer today – on the grill, of course.

So, that’s my hurricane report.  Since I have so little to tell you – and it’s potentially so much worse elsewhere – I’m including a memoir Mother wrote a few years ago when she was working on her “family memoir”.  It’s a more interesting story.

Trees and Daddy Refused to Bow to Hurricanes

The pine trees along the edges of the golf course fairway were breaking like wooden kitchen matches.  From my place behind the French doors I could look through the screened porch to see and hear them clearly.  With each sharp crack, as the tree trunks whipped by the gale winds weakened and broke, I would jump and look quickly to see the top of the tree either fall to the ground or hang upside down from a stubborn splinter of pinewood.  Tree after tree met its fate that way.  I was ten years old and experiencing my first hurricane, both scared and excited. 

               The first we heard of the approaching storm was when my father came home early from his Norfolk office to tell us to get ready for a `big blow` that seemed to be coming our way.  It had been the talk of Granby Street that day.  There were no early forecasts, as we have today, no probable courses of the storm, no hurricane hunters, no weeks- ahead predictions, just a father coming home early to tell us to get ready for a hurricane.  It was the only alarm we needed.

                

               Mother went first to her emergency shelf in the pantry.  Here she kept the supplies needed for the fairly frequent power outages to be expected in the one-power-line town, Virginia Beach in the 1930`s, where a northeaster or an accident to the line could make the town dark.  Our house lights dimmed when the trolley passed the block.

               Mother was prepared with her prized Sterno camp stove, kitchen matches, extra candles, and kerosene  lamps.  She checked to see if a new can of Sterno was needed before dispatching Daddy off with a canned goods list to go to the store and to the ice house on Norfolk Avenue for a large block of ice to put in a galvanized tub, for extra food storage.  All hands turned out to bring in lawn furniture, bicycles, and anything that might blow around in high wind; a routine preparation then, as it is now.

                                              

But this time there was an urgency to my parents` directions.   We were told to get a pair of shoes with socks, bundle them in a sweater and place them next to the wall in the dining-room on the floor, where we could get them easily, if we had to “get out”.    I did not realize the full meaning of “get out”, but it had an ominous ring and I made my bundle.  Mother was very aware of the huge pine tree about six feet from the north wall of the house which, if it fell, would fall on the house.

               Our house was three blocks back from the ocean front at the beginning of the Princess Anne Country Club golf course, surrounded by a heavy pine forest beside the first fairway.   Only the immediate area around the house had been cleared, at my Mother`s request because she treasured her pine trees.  We had no worries about a flood that far back from the ocean, but the trees were another question.

               Before the wind and rain began, there was a strange yellow color to the atmosphere, and a calm before the winds began to increase and the rain came in torrents.  We had our last hot meal, glued to the radio before the power failed.  When the lights were replaced with lanterns and candles and the radio silent, my father announced that he was going to bed.                                              

              

               I don`t recall when the eye of the storm passed over us, but I do remember how strange the sudden calm felt.  It lasted a while before the winds came back full force but from a different direction.   Now the rain attacked the windows on another side of the house.  It was back to the rolled towel dams again.

               Finally, when it all stopped, we ventured out to assess the damage.  There were nine trees down and across the power line from corner to corner of the block beside our house.  Not one of them came from our yard.  We had not lost a single tree.  Mother`s fondness for those tall pines had paid off in an unexpected way.           

They grew so thick and close together that they protected each other from whipping in the extreme gale, and did not break.  Even the large one beside the house was still intact, minus a few branches and a lot of needles; still standing guardian over the house.

Later, my father discovered that the house had been skewed off its foundation by about 6 inches on one corner.  We children found that we could place a marble on the floor of an upstairs corner bedroom and it would roll unaided to the opposite one, downhill all the way.  We tested it many times.

Walking down to the oceanfront, stepping carefully around the downed power lines, we found a devastation we could hardly believe.  The beach sand had washed inland, covering Atlantic Avenue and washing as far as Pacific Avenue and the railroad tracks.  It covered the private yards in between, including the fragrant bed of petunias Mrs. Parker planted each year that usually scented our walk to the ocean.

In place of the last line of dunes before the beach, there was a bank of clay to the breaker line.  Walking on the clay was a slippery adventure to reach the Cavalier Beach Club two blocks away.  There we saw a destroyed dance floor, sand in piles everywhere, and a new sand dune where the bandstand had been.  On top was the piano tilted at a precarious angle.  The houses on the oceanfront had suffered some damage and all had sand covering the first floor.  The waves had been breaking against their front doors.

The next month there was a second, less severe hurricane that followed the path of the first one.  My family again followed the same routine of preparation, and once again, we lost no trees.  Mother said it was because she lived right.  Daddy said it was because he slept through that one, too.

                                                                                          Nell Webb Midgett

A Mis-Spent Vacation

Here it is hump day of my week's vacation and I haven't crossed anything from my "to do" list.  I had such plans - to work in the garden, to do a few projects around the house, to do a bit of shopping - you know, all those things that busy women push aside for "later", but later never comes.

It has been nice to sleep a little later in the mornings, not to rush home from jazzercize, and I have managed to not check my business email or return business phone calls.  (The down side of working from home, is that you are always "on duty" and too easy to reach.) But, so far, no garden time, no shopping and until this afternoon no projects.

Today I made Tomato Jam!  I've been using the abundance of stone fruits and berries this summer for jams and decided to try something a little different today - a jam of Roma tomatoes with sugar, spices, line juice and red pepper flakes.  Easy to make (no peeling of the tomatoes) but my first real canning in a water bath in years.  I found the recipe at a fun blog called Food in Jars. 

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The cooking was a snap.  I just stirred it occasionally while it simmered down to about one third of the original volume.  It took about two hours, but I think I could have simmered hotter and faster.  Then into jars, twenty minutes in the water bath and voila!  

So, all's well now at our house.  Mitchell is home from his little overnight at the hospital and feeling a little punk.  About three weeks and he should be back to normal.  Guess he will be my project for the next couple of days and I'll worry about shopping next week.  

But we do have jam.

For Better or for Not-so-Good

Marriage is a wonderful state.  That feeling of belonging wholeheartedly to another.  The sense of completeness that being together brings.  The safety of being part of a whole.  The joy of celebrating the other's birthday and enjoying it more than your own.

But the Not-so-Good days come, too.  The morning spent waiting to hear that the cancer has not spread.  The hours spent working on a seed order for the garden, while waiting for the surgery to be done.  The upbeat emails sent to friends, all the while worried that it is taking longer than they said.  [Turns out they were an hour late starting, but no one thought to mention that.]

Yes, marriage is definitely worth all the time and effort we put into it, but when the other half if "in sickness" it's not quite as nice.

Celebration!

I love it when a plan comes together - especially when it brings friends and family together to celebrate a significant birthday.  Elizabeth and CJ arrived Friday afternoon to help with final set up and logistics, while Abby and her husband came early to deliver folding chairs.  (It is a huge help to have a friend who throws big parties and who owns 40+ chairs!)

The carport makes a nice shaded space to eat, while the deck and yard are good for congregating.  The weather mostly cooperated.  We set up early in the morning, only to have rain roll thru at 11:00.  Quick, bring everything inside.  Rain again at 2:00 and back inside.  Finally at 4:00 when we had to make a go-or-no-go decision the skies cleared and we moved outside for good.  The rest of the evening was warm and lovely - perfect for an outside gathering.

Tables covered in bright colors - turquoise, yellow and green with orange napkins, yellow cups and Gerbera daisies in hot colors. 

Games in the yard for young and old. 

I love the way that a game can provide the common denominator that helps bring people together.  My college friend re-discovering that she knows a former co-worker of Mitchell's.  Or, our Hispanic neighbors patiently letting my boss practice his college Spanish on them.  Sadly, his joke didn't make it in translation.  Mitchell's tennis partner and his friend from South Africa discovering a common interest, and extended family meeting a wide variety of our friends, two children and a puppy.

 

Dinner of pulled pork (from his favorite BBQ restaurant), baked beans (my step-mom's best recipe) and coleslaw followed by a homemade pineapple upside down cake for the birthday boy.  All favorites chosen by the honoree. 

Apparently our guests cannot read, tho.  He had eschewed gifts, [Don't you love that word.  I think I have never used it before!] but many came anyway - mostly drinkable and readable - so he will have many reminders of a fun day and evening.

The youngest helped to feed the fish in the pond and played corn toss, but ended up - as kids do these days - with the electronics they brought along, playing until bed time while the adults talked.

Overall, a great day for everyone - even the cook!  Wish you could have been with us, too.

Sunday was a bit on the rainy side, but a delicious and easy breakfast of Jane's Boozy Baked French Toast got us off to a good start and all remnants of the festivities soon disappeared.  

A Memorial Garden

Usually on Memorial Day I thank as many of the vets in my life as I can remember for their service, and today I am no less thankful than other years.

I am spreading my thoughts farther afield this year to our parents, grandparents, brothers, sisters, friends, spouses, and - God forbid - our children who have died, leaving holes in our lives. I've always seen life as a sort of tapestry that we weave day by day - adding and subtracting as our lives change. The people and events are woven in, but change over time, as our tapestry brings warmth to the walls of our castle. Simplistic, perhaps, but it works for me. [Or did I mix up the story of Homer's wife somehow - weaving and reweaving?]


Another thing that works for me is memory plants in my garden. It started when Dad died several years ago. That spring I planted a mahonia. He had loved them and had several in his yard. Every time we visited he offered me a "baby" that I always declined. Then when he was dead, I suddenly found myself thinking of him and planting the mahonia. That same spring the mother of my childhood BFF died and I planted the Miss Kim lilac in her memory. She had done a lovely watercolor for us as a wedding gift - of lilacs. Somehow it seemed like the thing to do. Then I realized that one of the first things I put in this garden was a miniature rose from my Aunt's yard. And, voila! I had a memory garden.

I am very lucky that there are so few plants in my garden. Last fall when Mother died my tennis teammates gave me a lovely pink sasanqua that I added and next weekend I will plant a yellow/white rose (a Knock Out) in memory of her husband Ralph. He knew horses, not plants, but was always willing to help in her greenhouse. Ralph was the kind of guy who thought that if watering weekly was good, then watering daily must be seven times as good! But, he had the most sunny disposition I have ever known and I think this rose will be a great reminder. There are a few other people for whom I wish to plant a reminder as soon as I decide on the right choice.

Just as the the flowers in one's garden bring joy to the day, visiting specific plants that remind me of a loved one can bring the wholeness of the garden tapestry into my heart. On Memorial Day I think I will visit my friends and family ... outside. Love to you all.

10 Things My Mother Taught Me

1. To value family traditions and to pass things on to the next generation - like good family stories, old photos, and the recipe for Grannie's Christmas eggnog. Also the family silver.

2. To plant iris - never too deep, never too shallow and not until July. It seems to work that way.

3. To drink tea - hot or cold, with lemon or cream (never both!) and not all those herb beverages - real English tea - Earl Gray, English (or Irish) breakfast, darjeeling, or assam.

4. To swim. A strong swimmer herself, she saved my life once in the ocean and made it her mission to be sure that I would not need her the next time.

5. "It's only hair." And, no matter how bad the cut or curl, it will grow out! I've needed that one a lot recently.

6. Grammar matters. She was right about that. In this world where good grammar is going the way of Fat Sam, there are still plenty of us hanging onto the old rules, and trying to keep the world a more pleasant place for conversation... and writing.

7. To cook - well, not so well. Mother was an unadventurous cook and kept things simple. Spaghetti was a pretty fancy meal for her. Someday I want to take some classes and become more adventurous and move outside my small comfort zone.

8. To upholster. She would strip a chair down and dive into re-doing it without anything but guts. "It's all in the process," she'd say. "Just start at the back and work to the front, then work your way back." She was right. It works.

9. To wear good (by that she meant "not holey") underwear. You might be in an accident and wouldn't want the folks at the emergency room to see you had on old, worn underwear. I choose to interpret that to include lace as much as possible.

10. To always have some money put away. Mother (like her mother) was adamant about this. I've had a bank account since I was 10 and always a little put aside. She always made sure I had at least one nice piece of jewelry.... in case I needed to sell it for quick cash.

What did your mother teach you?

A very happy Mother's Day to all!

Country Boy

He was born on the waters of eastern North Carolina, raising horses and cattle and letting them roam the outer banks to feed in the summers. Having moved to the "big city" he worked his dad's dairy farm and spent all his spare time on the beach. His family lived off the land during the Great Depression.

He and Mother first fell in love when she was fourteen - what was my Grandmother thinking to let her date a 16-year old with a driver's license? Life and war intervened and they went their separate ways - each marrying too young, but raising five children between them before divorce left them alone again.

There are too many stories to tell of his younger days. As a merchant sailor he helped break the ice floes to open up the port of Murmansk during WWII and to save the lives of untold numbers of people. Fifty years later the Russian government sent him an honest-to-goodness medal for that. He cherished it and showed it to anyone who would look. Later he joined the Air Force and learned to repair diesel engines - a skill he would later use on fancy European cars.

He was a partyer and a drinker; the teller of outrageous stories. He knew - or was known by - everyone in town, and not always in a good way. In retirement he lived on his beloved trawler - the last of a long line of boats he had sailed. He docked her at friends' piers or in marinas, but was never far from her.

And then he married Mother. In their seventies, they rekindled their love and decided to take the chance. A decade of love and companionship followed and they seemed to relish their time together - until dementia began to rob him of reality. Gone was her love, her companion, the one who shared her memories, the man who had made her laugh off and on for 70 years. The man who never knew she had gone before him.

After six years in a nursing home, he will join her one last time today - lying side by side forever. We were happy to have him in our family - even for a short time. Rest in peace.

Tuesday's Child

A child of the depression, she was too young to remember the good days before the crash. While her sisters longed for the closets full of party dresses of better days, to her the depression meant moving to live full time in the beach house and having her beloved daddy home after school every day. She loved to walk downtown with him, even when it took hours for him to stop and speak to everyone in town. She walked and fished and swam in a village of 1,200 in the winters and where she knew everyone, too. She went to the only elementary school and the only high school.

Her sisters went to work right out of high school, and re-designed their clothes so that she never went without. They all saved money so that she could go to college, when all of them had longed to. Even so, she grew up a saver - measuring every purchase in terms of value for dollar. It became a lifelong habit.

She was a bobby soxer, who danced away summer nights at the beach club to the strains of the biggest of the big bands - Dorsey, Miller and the rest. She fell in love with Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett.

At 21 she married that good looking Marine from the next block and embarked on the twin adventures of marriage and motherhood. She left her beloved beach to follow her Marine to Boston and then to Ocracoke, North Carolina. Living with three other couples on the second floor of a "native" home, she cooked in the chicken coop and taught young wives from California to make "southern" fried chicken - but not from those in the coop!

She was 23 when her first child was born - a daughter she could cherish, fight with, and train to be an independent woman like her mother. A son followed, whom she taught to iron his own shirts.

In her forties she left the marriage and started a monogramming company. In a few years she was the business manager of a large medical practice - a niche that suited her perfectly and where she stayed for 25 years. In her spare time, she took drawing lessons and was soon painting in oil, watercolors and pastels. Her portraits of children became sought after around town and a favorite endeavor. She sold quite a few.

Following in the tradition of women in her family, she loved to dig her hands in the dirt and produce lovely flowers. Eventually her interest turned to orchids and she built a greenhouse to house the hundreds of specimens she grew. Even when she downsized, she found room for a few hardy cymbidiums and cattleyas to live on her balcony.

In retirement she returned to her beach and married one of the "beach boys" - no, not them. Together they shared their golden years until dementia robbed them of his memory. In her last decade she joined a writing group and flourished. Short stories and essays led to writing a family memoir and an historical novel based on a true family story. She wrote hundreds of manuscripts - not all finished.

Thursday she will join her sisters one last time - on equal footing in her own clothes, not hand-me-downs. She leaves a legacy of independence, creativity and genuine enjoyment of life for her daughter and granddaughters. She will be missed.

Monday's Child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace.

Jean, George, Pat, Helen, Margaret, Agnes, Anne, and Nell

Vernal Equinox

The moon coming up over the ocean and the sun setting on the sound. What could be more lovely? or peaceful? And not just once, but six evenings in a row. Such is vacation.

Long walks on the beach in the early morning - sand so wet that it tugs at my feet and makes my quads and abs ache. Might have something to do with my overall fitness. Such is vacation.

Many good books read sitting on the breezy porch with Mitchell. Such is vacation.

Good friends, good food, good [ok, great] wine. Such is vacation.

Lots of naps, sleeping late, time for reflection. Such is also vacation.

After six weeks on a roller coaster - at work, but mostly at home - a week at the Outer Banks of North Carolina was just what the doctor ordered. Time to decompress from the hard days of packing up Mother's apartment, visiting her in the hospital, moving her to a nursing home, making decisions that I do not want to have to make. Wow! I needed a vacation. Altho there are worse days to come, I feel refreshed and more ready to deal with them as they arrive.

What is it about the roar of the waves breaking and the rustle of leaves as the wind is passing by that carries off our cares and woes? How is it that getting a little closer to nature makes us whole again. Is it the getting closer to our inner dolphin? More likely, it's six days without access to email!

And, why did I forget my camera?

The Gift of Time

My senior year in college was the last time that Bro and I lived less than 500 miles apart. Although we attended the same college that year and saw a good bit of each other, his career soon led him to Georgia, while I have remained a confirmed Virginian. We love each other dearly, but we have not spent enough time together as adults to be close friends. So, it has meant a lot to me that he has pulled up stakes the past two weekends to come help out with closing Mother's apartment and preparing to move her to a nursing home.

Three weeks ago it looked like she would be returning to her apartment - perhaps with more "assistance" [as they say in the elder health care racket] - but that is not to be. Both her mental and physical state have declined rapidly and we are now looking for suitable nursing homes in both states so that one of us can be close enough to keep a good watch on her in the coming months. We will soon have to choose where and when to move her. Which leads us to cleaning out, sorting thru, and packing up what she's collected and saved in 80+ years of life. And, Bro has pitched in and been here to help with it all.

Last weekend he arrived prepared to move her to an assisted living space, but when it became obvious that she needs more care than that, he was right there to help. He was totally supportive of making the decisions as quickly as we needed to and moving on to implement all the details. This weekend he brought his wife and teenage children who helped pack and tote, and worked hard getting GrandNell's apartment ready to show. Mitchell and the World's Best Nephew carried out 50 loads of trash and filled the storage unit with packed boxes, while the World's Best Niece helped me sort thru clothing and linens and packed most of those boxes. My sister-in-law sorted out what gets donated to Goodwill and what we should try to sell first.

They visited with Mother and shared old family stories while sitting out on a sunny post-Earl afternoon. Bro and I shared remembrances, looked in amazement at the things she had saved - like every letter either of us ever wrote to her. Bro's stack was two; mine much larger! We found photos that we had never seen before and brought home four cartons to be sorted on cold winter nights! We found my grandfather's fez and my great grandmother's wedding shoes. Mom's rolling pin and the metal measuring cup that was used for two generations' worth of Christmas cookies. Her baby dress and mine. All of the handmade gifts she received from two young children... and so much more.

We talked for hours about what to do and when and how. We shared our thoughts and feelings and we got to know each other all over again. I suspect that we will see more of each other in the coming months because wherever Mother moves, one of us will be traveling a bit more often to see her. But, in a strange way this health crisis has given us all the gift of time spent together sharing and a new adult friendship. Not a terrible outcome at all.