That whole nest thing?

Nests. 

I haven't been here in a while. I'm sorry about it. I love to write. Lots of keyboard time in my work. I'm home. Nest4One. It's trying to be spring. A straggling, bedraggled spring full of fear and isolation. #alonetogether. #COVID19 

So, nests, according to Webster's Dictionary are:

• a bed or receptacle prepared by an animal and especially a bird for its eggs and young
• a place or specially modified structure serving as an abode of animals and especially of their immature stages <an ants' nest>
• a receptacle resembling a bird's nest
• a place of rest, retreat, or lodging :  home <grown children who have left the nest>
• den, hangout
• a group of objects made to fit close together or one within another

A place of refuge? Isolation. Celebration. The new normal. 

Empty Nest, Nest4One. I got reminded yesterday that I am diligently looking after things I may not need; likely don't need. Perhaps I don't really want. Things which have to be tended and cared for. It scares me to let things fall apart and waste away. It makes me feel out of control. This week, I know I am not alone. 

A good friend, his Dad passed away. He and his brother are spending the next few days boxing up everything he'd saved and tended (or not) and putting it in storage until they can find time to go through it and see if there is anything of value. Value. It's a word like nest. Value to whom? Nest to what end? Storage Wars? A treasure hunt? 

What would happen to all this stuff if I were not here tomorrow to look after it? Would anyone know what to do with it? Would it have value to anyone but me? It's why I can't bear to go to Estate Sales. They lay out the precious memories of some lovely little old person at $1 or $2 - a series of ascending price tags - in white or yellow or red, without insight or sorrow or memory. Important things at some point in time; to someone. 

And what would I do with it? I'd bring it home so that my children, hopefully years and years from now, can try to decide if it has value or if it was important to me?  

So nests. Home and Homeless. Empty nest. A hangout. A group of objects, one within another. A bird's nest. A receptacle resembling a bird's nest. 

A receptacle. An opportunity. A blessing. So much to give.  

Orchids in January

I'm struggling with the new year, this 2015. The world seems so frightening and out of control - and I don't know what to do. All that (overwhelming) advice on how I should improve myself, my life, my living space, the causes I should join, support or champion, what I should believe. It's exhausting. So this morning a midst the paperwork unfiled and laundry unfolded, walls unpainted, dishes undone, contribution checks unwritten or food not yet delivered to the food bank, and my third cup of coffee, I'm inspired by these tiny flowers. 

All year long I look forward to this moment. I feed and nurture this little orchid, watch 
it's leaves come and go, in hopes that in January when it's cold and gray, this little bit of wonder will grace my window. Welcome 2015!

I have no idea what type of orchid this is. I bought it (sans flowers) at an Orchid show ten years ago. The little pot was overflowing with leaves; stiff, unyielding, in many shades of brown and green. It was warm, humid inside the gallery and smelled like the damp earth from a much anticipated spring - I couldn't resist just a little something. I'd have done in a more expensive, showy plant long before now. I think the guy said it should bloom for 4 or 5 years, more if I'm lucky. Soak the pot once a week for 30 minutes. Keep it out of direct sunlight, la, la, la. It lives in a sunny east facing window. I'm sure it gets too cold in the winter but it seems to love the sun and the constant flow of moisture from the kitchen sink. It doesn't seem to like soaking so I just water it here and there when it seems to want that. Sshhh...don't tell it that so much time has gone by, just in case. 

Every year though, it gives me this moment. The moment when I stop to appreciate that this one year will be different. This little orchid, still incredibly beautiful despite the amount it loses and gains in 360 something days. So, something from Robert Henri. From the "Art Spirit"...

  "Of course, if a man were to plump suddenly 
into the world with the gift of telling the actual truth and acting rightly, he (or she*)
would not fit into our uncertain state, he would certainly be very disturbing - and most
probably we would send him (or her*) to jail.
We haven't arrived yet, and it is foolish to believe that we have. The world is not done.
Evolution is not complete." 

- Robert Henri - 1865-1929

 (*I added this because, well  gender mattered to me here!)

Five things

One: "Waiting on tables isn't so bad." 

Picture it, a charming but meandering sort of soul, who lives in t-shirts and basketball shorts. Whose hair is never brushed but whose bed is always made. That very same soul in dress whites waiting tables at a Governor's Ball. Ya know they never send pictures of that. Trust me.

Attached to THAT! 

On the other hand...

Two: "Hanging off a mooring line is way better."

Your CHILD aka Grown ASS man, hanging off the side of a 120,000 ton ship from a string. Five stories above the dock. Mooring line in hand and waiting to drop, so that lines can be tied. A ship stays where it's at. Somehow it didn't occur to me that "in this day and age" such huge vessels would still rely on a few pieces of string. OK, really big string, but string none the less. Makes me dizzy just thinking about it.

Three: "I will never do dishes again." 

Hahahaha! Two weeks in the Galley aboard ship was enough. Yea, good luck with that.


Four: "They say, that next to water, there's only one thing
a seaman should never run out of - and everyone keeps a secret stash." 

Wait for it. You know what it is, don't you? Yep. Ketchup. Really? Yep. Hard to fathom that there's a whole world of meat eating, ketchup guzzling folks who work a 24 hour clock and keep a night kitchen. Ya know, you don't have to refrigerate ketchup. Sigh.

"We had a three star, Michelin Chef...Filet Mignon and Lobster Tails for Thanksgiving. He taught me how to put melted butter on my egg sandwiches." A stronger person than I would have asked if he'd enjoyed that with ketchup.

Heinz that is. No other will do, even in the night kitchen,   

Five: "I was thinking I could work 9 months of the year...
 and ski for the rest."

If there's an FAQ for a Merchant Marine it has to be, "how did you find that?" Out of college and trying to figure out what to do with himself, Bran decided to travel. He started looking for ways to travel on the cheap and discovered that some commercial vessels take on passengers. Not luxury, but it would get him there. At some point he started wondering about how he could work his way around the world. He spent the last four months aboard a bulk carrier moving coal and iron ore across the Great Lakes. There are seasons for vessels and cargo and Able Bodied Seamen (and women).

The truck is back in the driveway for a few weeks, but I don't have to do it by myself. It's January 3. I have no idea what this year will be but I hope you're optimistic, excited even for what it might bring. Maybe even hoping to ski for three months.

Happy New Year.

The 100

"Can We Talk?"

Have you ever had that feeling that the resonant sound of noise and people who have visited your home is echoing in the stillness after they've gone? A burst of laughter or a question still hanging in the air? Turning sharply in response to a noise that isn't there but the energy of it is almost palpable? Hearing noises that I've never heard before simply because there was so much going on all the time. Letting the music play or the television chatter in another room to avoid listening or thinking too hard? 

Do you know in your heart that that sweet, charming little old man who occupied your house before you, is sitting in the garden enjoying the rhododendron blooms?  Calling to you perhaps to join him on a summer evening. I'm not crazy. It happens all the time. It doesn't frighten me, startles me sometimes. I wonder does it happen to you - this sudden space to hear your own breathing in the wee hours of the morning when the world is sleeping? 

But I'm also asking if you might consider participating in a sort of collective wisdom. It strikes me that instead of asking myself into the silence I could ask you. I think I'll call you, 
"The 100" What? A Nest4One Community of Practice if you will. Imagine we have the time to set beach chairs out in the sand and laugh at ourselves. 

I think there's stuff to share. I think I wouldn't be the only beneficiary of your wisdom. I just want counsel first from the people I know and trust. Who will give me the skinny on what to expect and insight into what to avoid. Not about the noises (well maybe). About the little everyday things that I thought would be easier 4 one, but are not. The myriad of things I suddenly know absolutely nothing about! 

So how would it work? Well, here's what I'm thinking. I'll float an idea or a question via email hoping to get your thoughts, ideas, feedback, you name it. Then I'll craft stories and publish the collective thoughts here. You'll get the credit (unless you don't want it) but it might just be the seed of a story and a dialogue, a conversation from a good idea we've shared. 

Question is, do you want to be, are you willing to be part of the 100? Expect that email in the next day or so. It will look something like this...or that and thank you. I'm really fortunate to have so many creative and interesting people in my life.

To Market with Alvin & Dinner 4 One

Secret #1 is to have a friend like Alvin. Someone you can text at 7 am on a Saturday morning to see whether or not he or she feels like braving the crowds or the weather to find something wonderful to eat or drink! And Alvin shares. Even more important. You know, buy a quart of something and split it. 

First we found coffee and a spot in the sun to enjoy it. Almost too warm. We sat down
at a table with a couple from Avon, NY. Margaret and Sam venture into the city to visit the Rochester Public Market on Saturday mornings to find deals and enjoy the mayhem. And mayhem it is. Friends, couples, families with dogs and kids and strollers. Market baskets bumping into each other as we jockey for position in front of one vendor or another. 

The smells are incredible. 

Secret #2 is to take those few minutes and share a table or counter with other
market goers. Chat about the weather, the news, our neighborhoods and most important what looks good that day at the market. Margaret and I got into a debate about wasting food when cooking for yourself or for two. Long since retired she pointed out that they don't eat as much as they used to. I had no idea. Watching my folks I guess I should have realized but I didn't. How does one person or two buy in the quantities available at a farmer's market and not have too much? How much can be made into soup or canned
or frozen. All three of which take time; lots and lots of time. The one thing none of us
seem to have. We laughed about spending Sundays making soup or chopping vegetables with friends and a bottle or two of wine. An idea worthy of consideration! 

Secret #3 we decided, was NOT planning ahead. The key to a successful Saturday morning was a bare bones shopping list. The rest to be decided by what looks good or what's in abundance or in season or ready to be eaten or can wait until later in the week. Be open to the possibilities. Try something you're not sure about. It's July. So strawberries are done, blueberries are making their first appearances along with corn and other veggies. Flowers are everywhere. My favorite part. I bought a CSA membership last year because they had an "all u can pick" flower garden. Too much food but I had flowers all over the house from June until October. I didn't do it this year in hopes that it will be better to enjoy the market every couple of weeks instead.

Secret #4 is taking the time to make Saturday or Sunday evening dinner. Triano's had these really nice 6 oz filet mignon for $5.99 a piece. The raspberries are beautiful for a little bit longer. Small World bakery had freshly made Country Multigrain Bread. A leisurely dinner and a bottle of Pinot Noir. Marinated (Wegmans basting oil, salt & pepper) filet, the first of the local yellow squash I grilled. An arugula salad with raspberries, feta, walnuts and balsamic vinagrette. Oh and I grilled a slice or two of that bread too. Just enough for one with leftover squash for a sandwich on Sunday afternoon. This could work! 

Five Days: I agreed to do what?

Truth be told, it's July 3rd (you likely know that already). It’s the start of a long holiday weekend for many of us. The birth of our country. Independence Day.  That's just about 18 days from dropping Bran off in Maryland. I've been settling in, sleeping less than I'd like (I think the house and kitty are mourning his absence and being extra noisy at night). Must be something I ate. Shift it off to the kitty I think. Yes, that works. It is sort of true.  

I'm clever like that. 

I've been getting a clearer picture of what life will be like for the next couple of years. It's not as if I don't understand it's permanent but I promised to help out with his "stuff" until he gets enough of a handle on things to either send for it or sell it. Take your pick. Somehow I agreed to keep the truck running - drive it, make sure it gets inspected, fix what breaks, update the software on his computer (aka, take it out for a spin every week too) and make sure his bills get paid.

Wait a minute. Where was I when I agreed to all that? 

What was I thinking?  

It's like being asked a question while I'm on the phone. You know that moment - when you hear yourself say yes, because you just weren't paying enough attention to what you were being asked and truth be told, just didn’t want to be bothered to figure it out. "Mom, can I - fill in the blank?"

Kids are sly like that. 

I love this photo. I've used it again and again as a training visual. I've a fantasy that I look like that. That I smile when I talk. Make everyone feel we're all gentle and pretty and everything is all right. Let's call her Grace. See those perfect teeth? Her nails? Hot diggity dam.  

HEY, I was BUSY! Meeting deadlines, in the training room, trying to find time to paint (deadlines there too), worrying and obsessing over all the little details that go into helping a "grown ass man" get enough of the right type and color socks and underwear to go off to camp. What? It's Boot Camp. Still counts. I'm not sure he'd given it that much thought either. Too immersed in his excitement and dreaming of the places that he'll get to go see. I don't blame him either.  

So the first week I parked the truck on the "inside" and used my car. Means I can't use the garage. I hate that. Not clever at all. So what's my alternative? Week two I switched the cars back and forth. What a pain in the ass! This week I parked the car in the garage and I'm driving the truck. Barreling along in that 1995 Dodge Dakota he loves so much, radio blaring, wind in my hair. Wind in my hair? Forget it. The air conditioning works great. Next week I'll park the truck in the garage (yes, well we'll have to see how that goes) and I'll drive the car. Same problem though. What a pain in the you know what! There's a whole other blog to be written about me and my feelings around parking outside when it's raining or snowing or too hot. This is not a good solution. I'll just have to keep thinking. Research my storage options at night. 

He has designs for restoring the truck and taking it with him someday. I'll bet that's not such a chore when you work on those ships. Did you know that close to 90% of the worlds' goods travel by sea? I didn't. Never gave it much thought. I'm sensing a theme here. How many of the things I do are not being done with my full heart and mind? How much have I missed? How will I catch up? 

A poem or a rhyme – an image of Horton the Who comes to mind, but it’s not I suspect, a moment to rest or to dig in my heels, so instead it's a rhyme and a poem from that heart. 

From “All the Places You’ll Go”

 "You’ll get mixed up of course,

As you already know.

You’ll get mixed up

With many strange birds as you go.

So be sure when you step.

Step with care and great tact

And remember that life’s

A great balancing act.

Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.

And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?

Yes, You will indeed!

(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)

KID, YOU’LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!"

So, thank you Dr. Seuss. I loved reading your stories aloud every night. The Cat in the Hat, Green Eggs and Ham, I am grateful he thought to include me, I am.

Six Days

Quiet. 

Puzzles and Rainbows.

Thunder is rolling somewhere far away. The last of the rain is working its way from leaf to the ground. The birds, singing to the raindrops and a bright red cardinal, chirping at me through the open door keep the world from feeling absolutely still. Waiting for something. I don't know what. The fan is running but I've gotten so I don't hear that anymore. The AC kicking in. My grassy green meadow is heavy with green and the deep dark smell of wet earth in the summertime. 

Ace is gone. He is somewhere 32,000 feet in the sky; most likely napping instead of worrying about making his connection, which is good. Headed home to the puppies and the work that’s been building since he arrived. Air conditioners that won’t run because grass has gotten into the intake valve or bent props from obstacles that could not be avoided. Anxious Captains of boats that have been lifting and swaying, alone and still in the warm waters of south Florida.

Far more than 24 hours has zoomed by. It’s not Six Days. It’s MINUS 11. What was I thinking when I decided documenting this each day was a good idea? It's sort of like deciding that you're going to put a new message on your voice mail every morning. You know, “Good morning, this is Pat, today is…” I did that for a while. Good for customers perhaps, but very hard to keep up. I suspect it was my attempt to slow down the march of days... 

At Six days I was in the training room. Too busy to worry or obsess.  Answering questions. Sharing everything I can think might be relevant, might help them get the most from their investment of time and energy. Except this. They have no idea what's happening outside these rooms. And I have no idea about them. I'll get snippets here and there. Traveling stories or the relative comfort of their room and the food. I’ll stay focused and deliver.

At Five days I was in the training room too. A good day, busy playing hide and seek with the enhanced feature sets always found in beta software. At Four days, packing and sorting and running out for last minute items. Dinner on the water. 

A CELEBRATION! A request from Bran at the start to his sea-going journey. At Three days? Time spent in the car. 345 miles. A family event – the best and easiest way to be sure he got to see his Grandparents before he left – and they get to see him. Dad turns 90 in October and best case scenario, Bran won’t be back until the fall of 2015. Day two? Was at rest. New Hampshire is beautiful in June. The mosquitoes are fierce but there are moments. No wonder they live there. The isolation would make me nuts. 

At Day One? In the car. 528 miles and 12 hours, through three major cities. Unavoidable perhaps, but FORGET Google Maps! It's 7:30 pm. The only restaurant for miles and miles closes at 8. Just in time, fish tacos and sunset. 

Day Zero. Is there such a thing? Ground Zero. No, that's a bad metaphor in my mind. How about the first day, Day One in an ascending value stream? Zero was somewhere between 11:59 and 12:01. Yes, Bran - Day One. Up, packed and ready by 8. Can’t drag him out of his early morning coma for the most part. Except on Day One. We have time. Doesn’t matter. He cannot rest. Breakfast is attempted and discarded.

It’s a beautiful spot. A young man, a leader (I’m not sure how that translates to rank) who has already told me how special Bran must be to be participating in an international program with 400 applicants each month, 25 acceptances, just 12 or so in each class. Navy blue t-shirts and jeans – their uniform for the next three months. Black steel toed shoes and socks in the hot sun. It was over in an instant. His bags out of the car and gone. I'd been afraid of that. He’d left his sunglasses. I got to run in. He was annoyed, but grateful. 

I cannot imagine being the mother of a soldier. This is hard enough. My heart goes out to each and every one of you. Proud and fearful. I am grateful. 

439 miles and home.