Pleasures of Ordinary Life

 

I am so thankful that years ago, especially when digital cameras came out, that I took time to capture photo images of my ordinary life. When you hear the words ordinary life you might think it describes a ho hum, boring existence. 

This poem helped me realize there are many pleasures in living an ordinary life. I didn't get that PhD I dreamed of, I never purchased a fancy car, I have never traveled abroad, I don't own expensive jewelry.

I haven't published my writing, learned a foreign language, or filled a closet with a hundred pair of shoes, but guess what? I have lived a sweet, sweet ordinary life.

The Pleasures of Ordinary Life

I've had my share of necessary losses, Of dreams I know no longer can come true. I'm done now with the whys and the becauses. It's time to make things good, not just make do. It's time to stop complaining and pursue The pleasures of an ordinary life. I used to rail against my compromises. I yearned for the wild music, the swift race. But happiness arrived in new disguises: Sun lighting a child's hair. A friend's embrace. Slow dancing in a safe and quiet place. The pleasures of an ordinary life. I'll have no trumpets, triumphs, trails of glory. It seems the woman I've turned out to be Is not the heroine of some grand story. But I have learned to find the poetry In what my hands can touch, my eyes can see. The pleasures of an ordinary life. Young fantasies of magic and of mystery Are over. But they really can't compete With all we've built together: A long history. Connections that help render us complete. Ties that hold and heal us. And the sweet, Sweet pleasures of an ordinary life. Judith Viorst

Woman Who Loves Gardening

 

I wrote this poem in June of 2007. Reading it again today brought back memories of gardening with Everett at Martin Creek. Enjoy!

Woman Who Loves Gardening

I have dirty nails

and rarely paint them, living out

my long growing season in the flower garden, trellises

giving view to clematis, climbing Peace

where aromatic flowers

grow in profusion.

I pull the weeds

in the early morning

gritting my teeth

wiping sweat from my brow

and listening

to footsteps of my husband

coming in range to help.

Sun makes my face red;

each sniff with my nose

leaves lily pollen behind.

When I rest it’s the beauty

that causes anxiety to shake loose

from a woman in need

of a quiet place to retreat.

Christy Woolum

June 20,2007

Sunshine Mine Disaster: May 2, 1972, a post from the archives

As we near the 50th anniversary of this terrible tragedy, I revisited a post I wrote a while back.

May 2nd, 1972.
There are dates in our lives we never forget. For those of us that grew up in the Silver Valley of northern Idaho none of us will forget May 2nd, 1972. That day a fire broke out in the Sunshine Mine and 91 miners were killed from the toxic smoke of that blaze. I revisited the mining memorial when I was home spring break. A person from the valley can stand and read the information at the memorial and walk around studying the names of the miners surrounding the bronze statue, but even after all these years, it just doesn’t sink in. It was too big, too much to take in. I was seventeen years old when we heard the news of the fire. I lived across the street from a nursing home that became a temporary morgue. We saw hearses from funeral homes as far away as Grangeville and Cottonwood. I kept studying the pictures in the paper of those that had deceased and it still didn’t sink in. It was a dark time . Recently my niece and two friends wrote an original play and performed it for an Idaho History Day competition. When I watched them perform the play depicting the events of that first day of the mine disaster I was once again brought to tears. This outstanding performance earned them a trip to the state competition and then to the nationals. I am pleased that my niece and her team will retell the story of the Sunshine Mine Disaster in Washington, D.C. in June. It is a story that we need to remember.
My prayers today are with everyone impacted that day in May in 1972.

The Cataldo Mission: A Single Photograph

 

Have you ever been at the right place at the right time with your camera or phone and captured a  perfect picture? Weren't you happy that you took that single, special photo? I take lots of photos so I have had this experience happen often. 

This poem describes so much about the above picture. This image is the inside of the Mission of the Sacred Heart, or Cataldo Mission, a historical landmark in Cataldo, Idaho.  I was at the right place at the right time.  If you have been to this mission, you understand exactly what I am talking about. If you haven't been to this sacred spot it is a "living tale beyond words" . I enlarged this photo and it is hanging in my SheShed.

A single photograph

—portrait of the moment—
is an inexhaustible epic,
a living tale beyond words
superior to a hundred volumes
written and fixed. 

A photograph
is consciousness painting,
the instant’s art that opens
on the unbounded vistas
of the inner life. 


-Daisaku Ikeda

Ten Things I Could Do When I Can't Garden

 

Ready for a road trip

The weather is cold. A few days ago there was snow. I can't dig in the soil yet. What can I do instead?

Ten Things I Could Do When I Can't Garden

1.Thumb through my collection of old garden magazines and plan a new low-maintenance garden.

2. Clean the fireplace.

3. Try to locate the slip of paper that had the list of lilies I planted last October.

4. Think about organizing the garage... the key word is think.

5. Browse paint colors at the hardware store. You always need paint samples laying around.

6. Take a friend/sister/Riley road trip.

7. Think about washing the windows.

8. Binge watch every show someone has recommended to me (I think the list is about twenty shows).

9. While I am binging I can organize every pet record belonging to every pet I have ever owned and figure out what to keep and what to throw away.

10. Grab a blanket, pillows, lights, books, coffee, and Riley and go to a blanket fort until spring really comes.

Sounds of Melting Snow

On Easter Sunday my garden beds were once again covered with snow.

 

In March I loved the sound of melting snow. I dreamed of bright tulips blooming soon. I walked around the yard to look for little leaves emerging. I moved my hands through the dirt to see if the compost and older soil had enriched together over the winter. I sighed when I saw the weeds that forgot to die. 

Mother Nature wasn't ready for me to move outside and garden. The weather kept returning to winter, the temperature kept dropping below zero, and I often woke up to snow. I am waiting a bit impatiently for  the first faint scent of spring again.

I first posted this poem in April of 2019. I read it again tonight and it reminded me how much my sister has given me, especially in the last few years. My dear sweet husband Everett got sick and spent a lot of time in the hospital. After four weeks of working to get better, he closed his eyes, said good-bye and went to heaven. My sister was there for me. She was there while he was in the hospital, She was there to take care of Riley. She made me meals. Tasks emerged as I adjusted to life alone. She helped me move furniture, plant seeds, got me out of the house, made me laugh, and listened to me as I shared my sorrow. Along with others she made his Celebration of Life just what I wanted.She was my sunshine when I was surrounded by the dark. I am blessed to have my sister Carol.

My Sister, My Friend

Leann Stiegman

To me you are an angel in disguise.
Full of intuition, you are intelligent and wise.
Always giving and helping through good times and bad.
You are the best friend I've ever had.
If I had one wish, it would surely be
To give you as much as you've given to me.
Though I've put our relationship through some cloudy days,
You've been my sunshine in so many ways.
Through trials and tests, right by me you stood,
And you gave me your hand whenever you could.
Thank you so much, my sister, my friend.
My gratitude for you has no end.

The Silver Lining in the Snow

 

Signs of spring have been emerging in my flower beds for weeks. I have already made a bouquet with the small mini daffodils. They are the flowers that bloom first whether it is cold or warm, sunny or snowy. Above is what I brought in today to keep them out of the snow. 

The grape hyacinths spread all year and when spring arrives the bright purple blooms pop up all over the front flower beds and the raised beds in the backyard. They aren't picky about the weather.

The earlies tulips bloomed a few days ago. When snow began to to fall yesterday,and then again today I went out and picked the tulips to make sure they would survive. 

The weeds I needed to pull are back under the snow. The freezing temperatures are allowing me to stay inside and finish some projects not completed during the winter. I can now build a fire again in the fireplace. 

All silver linings. Yes, I wish it was warmer. Yes, I wish I could dig in the dirt. It is okay. I still have bouquets, I have color popping out from the snow. I have a nice fire burning in the house. 

Now Riley is having a hard time finding silver linings. He is tired of getting snowed on and coming home wet. He wants to run in the sunshine.

Grayson is tired of it also. We had a long talk tonight and I tired to explain unpredictable spring weather. He was very puzzled. I guess I have to admit I am a bit puzzled also.

An Easter Flower Gift

 

An Easter Flower Gift

O DEAREST bloom the seasons know, Flowers of the Resurrection blow,   Our hope and faith restore; And through the bitterness of death And loss and sorrow, breathe a breath         5   Of life forevermore!   The thought of Love Immortal blends With fond remembrances of friends;   In you, O sacred flowers, By human love made doubly sweet,         10 The heavenly and the earthly meet,   The heart of Christ and ours! -John Greenleaf Whittier

A Kitchen Memory

 There are so many memories I have of my mother  in this kitchen. I remember her standing  there frying bacon, stirring potato soup, heating up Campbell's soup, putting an apple pie in the oven, and always cleaning the drip pans under the burners when she was done. 

A Kitchen Memory

My mother is peeling an apple over the sink,
her two deft hands effortless and intent.
The skin comes away in the shape of a corkscrew,
red and white by turns, with a shimmer of rose
where the blade in its turn cuts close: a blush,
called out of hiding like a second skin.
Now the apple fattens in her hand;
the last scrap of parings falls away;
and she halves and sections the white grainy meat,
picks up another apple, brushes back
the dark hair at her temple with the knife hand.
The only sound is the fan stirring the heat.
- Roy Scheele

The last line of this poem didn't happen in our kitchen. Mom didn't have a fan stirring the heat. She just baked, fried, and scrambled no matter how hot the temperature  was.  Every single time.

Remember Me

The poem today is dedicated to my husband Everett. I can hear him reading the lines in my mind . He was my vase for the bouquets I created. When I wanted to photograph one, a bouquet turned out better if he held them in his hands. I miss my favorite vase JEJ every day.

Remember Me

by Anthony Dowson

Speak of me as you have always done.
Remember the good times, laughter, and fun.

Share the happy memories we've made.
Do not let them wither or fade.

I'll be with you in the summer's sun
And when the winter's chill has come.

I'll be the voice that whispers in the breeze.
I'm peaceful now, put your mind at ease.

I've rested my eyes and gone to sleep,
But memories we've shared are yours to keep.

Sometimes our final days may be a test,
But remember me when I was at my best.

Although things may not be the same,
Don't be afraid to use my name.

Let your sorrow last for just a while.
Comfort each other and try to smile.

I've lived a life filled with joy and fun.
Live on now, make me proud of what you'll become.

I Found the Lost Kitchen and the Woman from Freedom

A couple of years ago I discovered Erin French. Erin runs a restaurant in Freedom, Maine from late spring to fall each year.  She had to make some very creative adjustments during the pandemic. Joanna and Chip Gaines learned about her and their network has produced two seasons of an amazing show called "Finding Freedom" for the Magnolia Network on Discovery+. I first learned about her in an article online, discovered her cookbook, stumbled upon her series, then purchased her memoir. She is resilient, creative, and very hard working. 

She isn't a trained chef. She grew up learning to cook at her dad's diner in Freedom. She is a recovering addict and decided she needed to move forward and do what she did best... cook. It is working. She surrounds herself in her restaurant with a staff of woman friends that have no formal chef training. Her mom was put in charge of the wine. Her husband builds fires, creates cabins, and a bit of everything else. She sources all her food, flowers, pottery, and whatever else from local farms, fishermen, potters, and other local artisans.

She has inspired me so much. Last week I saw her on Ina Garten's new show "Be My Guest" and she shared her experiences and prepared one of her favorite recipes, Dad's Meatloaf. It was a popular item on the menu at his diner. Last night I prepared this recipe for our weekly Family Dinner. It was so delicious. I couldn't pick wildflowers from a Maine field or have fresh herbs from a local farmstand, but the meatloaf was enough for me. 

https://www.findthelostkitchen.com

You can just google her name and spend hours learning about this woman and all she has done for her workers, family, and the people of Freedom, Maine. It is a good story. Check out her series, find her on social media, find her cookbook, or read her memoir. You will find them all worth your time. The restaurant serves dinner four days a week. Since it is so popular they have a unique reservation system. You mail in a postcard in early spring and it is a luck-of-the-draw.

“I wanted to serve; I wanted to entertain and host; I wanted to take in strangers and feed them my love on a plate. As a woman, I felt a most innate joy in caring for people. Something that felt so natural to me, something that I craved to do.”
― Erin French, Finding Freedom: A Cook's Story; Remaking a Life from Scratch

My goal in the next few years is to send in a postcard in the spring, hope to get drawn out, and go see this special place. I have always wanted to go to Maine.

Here is the link to the meatloaf recipe:

https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/dads-meatloaf-12434737

Happy Sibling Day to My Sibs, " We Came Together"

Easter at 516

This poem is a perfect choice for National Sibling Day. It reminds me of when families get together and share stories.  The line I love is "it pulls around us like a drawstring, that time, when we come together." This often happens with us now when we get together for our weekly family dinner. Also, enjoy a collection of sibling photos. 

Eagle watching at Beauty Bay

All

all he would have to say is,

remember the time I came home

with a beard and Dad didn’t know me,

and we would all laugh,

Mom would say, just by your voice,

I knew your voice, and my sister

would say, the dog kept barking, and

I would say, that was the

summer I got a camera.

it pulls around us

like a drawstring, that time,

when we come together,

awkward and older,

our frayed conversations

trying to thread some memory

of each other,

one of us will only have to say,

remember the time you came home

from the bush with your beard,

and we were all easy again

with each other,

some will say how

Mom knew his voice, someone

will remember how the dog barked, I

will remember my new camera,

and we are a family again,

young and laughing on the front porch.

-Leona Gom 

At Grandma Woolum's yard with CheeChee

With us we remember the time Bill took Carol down the escalator at The Crescent in Northtown in her stroller.

We remember the time Uncle Jack jumped out from behind the couch in our living room.

We remember when Carol decided to shave and when she decided to cut her bangs.

We remember Dad spending eight hours in the kitchen making Tom and Jerry batter before Christmas and we were banned from the room.

We remember the time Bill and I were cleaning the garage and he cut his foot on a broken pop bottle.

We remember when Carol was born and we hiked up the trail to the hospital so we could see her in the nursery .

dinner at Carol's

We remember how we came together . 

We came together with Mom to help Dad during his last weeks of life. 

We came together when Mom had cancer. 

We came together with Mom when Bill had meningitis. 

We came together to cheer and support Carol many times when she performed on the stage. 

together at Auntie Lila's funeral

We came together during the last part of Mom's life when she needed more help. 

We came together when Mom transitioned to the rehab place across the street and did all we could to make her last time on earth as comfortable as possible.  

We came together when my husband Everett died. 

We had words that always made us laugh when posing for a picture. Here I believe we said, "Uncle D".

 

"it pulls around us like a drawstring, that time, when we came together."