Money Makes the World go Around

That Spouse o' Mine and I were driving on a turnpike a couple of weeks ago.  The end was near, and he turned to me and asked, "Do you have any change?"

Did I have any change?  I haven't carried change or any cash to peak of, in many, many months.

Some years ago, - but less than a decade ago, I was talking to my mother-in-law Louise, over tea in her kitchen in Australia.  She was concerned that she had been told that cash money would soon be a thing of the past in Australia, and that only cards would be available for shopping and banking and such.  I poo-poohed that.  No cash?  No bills?  You Aussies are daft.

A few days ago, as I was cleaning the kitchen counter, I spied a nickel by the teapot.  Hmmm.  I have no idea why or how that coin got there in the last 24 hours.  Interesting, and while I pondered what it was doing in our kitchen, my mind wandered, tripping down memory lane to some two+ decades ago, when we had a young daughter in ... probably First Grade.  It was Parent/Teacher Night.  That Spouse o' Mine and I were sitting in the classroom with daughter Gillian's teacher - someone whom I admired for her teaching methods.  She went through Gillian's "report", and then asked if we had any questions.  My go-to for this bit was always, "What are her strengths?  What is her weakness?"

Well.  Sweet Gillian apparently had trouble, age six or whatever, in counting change.  Money.  Cash.  The teacher pointed out that this kid had trouble with word problems involving $$$.  The teacher mentioned that beyond our home and the elementary school lay a mobile home park.  The teacher explained out that the kids who lived there were frequently sent to the corner shop (read: 7-11, Dara's, whatever), to purchase things for their parents.  Those students were street/money-wise, and our six-year-old was not.  The teacher suggested that we allow Gillian to make purchases in the future, to enable her to improve her coinage skills on her First Grade tests.  (My words, not her teacher's; her teacher was pretty awesome.)  I came away from that Parent-Teacher Night feeling a bit askance.

I like money, cash, coinage.  We have a (small) collection of such from around the world.  We keep it in case we need it for our next journey.  But now begs the question: would anyone take our paper slips of proven money?  I am guessing it may be a thing of the past.  Maybe wallpaper for the basement...

November Grey. And White-Headed. White-Tailed, as Well.

Here it is, mid-November.  Grey, with leaves raining down.  I love this season.  The deer are wreaking havoc on our roads.  With rutting season and all, the bucks are fearless in their chase of that perfect doe.  That, and fearful of that bow and rifle.  

All the plants I've hopes to over-winter are now indoors somewhere.  I love that so many rooms in the house are now filled with blooming geraniums.  Lucky me, that they all managed a final big ol' bloom in November.

Yesterday I was driving down the road and a really, REALLY large bird was flying towards my car.  It eclipsed the low afternoon sun, and so I couldn't discern what it was.  It seemed like it could have been a buzzard, but I thought to myself that they have already migrated south for the winter.  (i.e., our roadkill is just...roadkill till April.  No buzzards around to glean dead varmints off our roads this winter.)  Suddenly this seemingly giant bird swooped upwards, and landed on an electrical pole. 

Eagle!

BALD EAGLE!

GIANT-WINGSPANNED BALD EAGLE!

I don't see bald eagles that often, even though we live just a stone's throw from the Kansas River.  So, WOWEE!  I was excited to see one so up-close and wonderful.  

My impulse was to call Dad, and share this experience with him.  He would have thrilled at my report!

But, Dad passed four years ago, and my impulse was just that: 

An impulse, retrieving a wonderful emotion.  A synapse, of neurons communicating with each other.
 
Call it what we may, I had a moment of joy which I shared with my Dad. 

I can hear his voice, thrilling with my report. 

Summer is Signing Off

 We're nearing the end of August.  This is a mark in my calendar which traditionally sees me going for my last, lovely, Twilight Swims at the public pool.  What fun they are!  I swim laps, occasionally looking up to watch kids and not-kids diving off the low dive and high dive.  I catch my breath on the edge of the pool, and eavesdrop on grade school chums playing their games, both swimming and social.  After laps I sit in a chaise and dry off, watching young families frolic in the wading pool and the splash pool. 

I keep those verbs in the present tense, but for this year, those activities are either past tense, or future.  No swimming this summer.  Although the splash parks for toddlers were open, no public pools to swim and dawdle in.

Gardening this summer was a delight, and the reasons were two-fold.  Rural Kansas usually sees winter building up in January, and rearing its blasting head in February, wind coming in March, and by April?  Well.  I have been know to turn on my AC in April.  I am not proud of that confession, but it's true.  There is a point in my body, where, if the heat sets in, it just shuts down activity.  I don't have heat strokes, but I will notice that I will finish a task, and then go sit.  For too long.  But then, I realize the problem, turn on our AC, and soon I am back in productivity.  That. my friends, is my Kansas in April.

This spring, though,was something out of a Pacific Northwest novel.  A long, cool spring with sun which was not too hot, with showers which were not deluges, and with breezes which were not Kansas tornadoes.  It was truly a Spring to embrace.  That, and the pandemic fact that has kept me too close to home for too many months, has made some bang-up gardens in our yard.  The irises, through their own goodwill, set up a great display for weeks.  As did the lilacs.  They were followed by the sunflowers, the mandevilla, the giant hostas (I planted them meany years ago, and finally: they are giant and thriving.)  That Spouse o' Mine and I planted sugar snap peas, tomatoes, corn, okra, patty-pan squash.  And we have been at home, enjoying this toil.  We usually are not home to water or weed, and so our summer gardens are most often meager attempts.   

Our first grandchild - a granddaughter, Anika (rhymes with Monica) arrived the first of this month.  Every day is a new day in her growth and changes.  Each day, we all see some new familiar familial expressions on her slumbering face, her just-nursed smile, her serious studying of whomever is holding her.  What a time to come into the world.  Her Mom & Dad hold her, snuggle her, carry her as any parents do.  We grands, the aunties, the uncles, wash hands and cradle her wearing masks.  Our family is blessed to have a baby and she is blessed to have a home and a family.  All the other is the wake of this year, this pandemic year, and we will look beyond it.

Today is my sweet mother's birthday.  And, too, her mother's birthday.  My grandmother, Gram, passed thirty years ago.  My sweet Mom, three years ago.  So many thoughts.

But those will be notes for another day...         

Covid Adjustments

 Now in month whatever of COVID-19, it still sees me haunting one grocery store every 10-14 days, and my fave, the Asian Mart MHK (who deliver curbside, if that's a want.) 

So I was running low on rubber bands.  I sought and and found a bag at my local grocer.  I put that on the grocery list. I was running low-to-none.  (Wow.  Seriously?).  Today I reached in to fetch a couple of rubber bands out of my kitchen Junk Drawer.  (Doesn't  everyone have one?)  They are all tan.  Tan rubber bands.  All sizes, but all tan. 

And this is what spoiled my moment.

I don't want tan rubberbands on everything.  I want color-coded, sized, rubberbands.

I am so molly-coddled.  This brief epiphany showed me my self-indulgence in a small way. 



   

2020 Patchwork:

Talk about a patchwork quilt.  2020 has been stark.

Where can one begin? 

Our daughter calling us on Christmas Day, six days before 2020.  She is with child!  Pregnant!  Preggers!  We did not have this blessing on our radar, at all, at all. 

Forward to whatever: January, February?  Pandemic, moving towards us.  Take cover, hunker down, socially distance, lockdown, masks, N95, Covid-19...

All of it: exhausting.
Mainly, mentally. 
My friends!  Coffee. lunches, church circles, quilting group, book club, neighborhood!
My physical activities!  Rec Center, swimming, cycling.

And the grandchild?  Due in seven weeks.  We wait for the Covid-19 numbers and for the parents' Okie-Dokie.  We will wait if needed.  I asked that we see baby before she becomes a teenager.   

March of the Iris

Rituals, Prayers, and Coping

Here we are, in Holy week.  Our regular annual routine of Holy Week, Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter are not happening as we annually plan.
And I think that's OK.

Tradition in church and family is so powerful and wonderful.  But, too, I think that  sometimes when a routine is set and becomes tradition, complacency treads in, like Carl Sandberg's Fog, on little cat feet.  We know the routine.  We know the ritual, the words, the songs.  We know our Easter food menus and times and dates with family.  And now THIS year, we've all been upended in our daily routines, and in our Christian church practices.  Christians all around the world are experiencing this.  We can cope.  We can adapt.  We can embrace scripture and our own prayers.  We can sing the songs that are in our hearts.

Jews around the world will celebrate Passover this week.  Theirs will be much the same as our week of celebration: Different.

 Muslims, soon, will begin their month of Ramadan.  Too, their holy month will certainly be upended. 

 And so all we people, all around the world, will adapt and cope as our religious celebrations are altered for the time being.  And again, I think that's OK.  What is important is our faith systems, our prayers, and our loving one another.

 The term “Maundy” comes from the Latin “mandatum”; it is from the verb that means “to order” or command. After Jesus and the disciples finished the Last Supper and walked toward Gethsemane, Jesus taught them a new commandment:
“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another” (John 13:34). 

Many, many years ago, I taught my young children to meditate themselves to sleep.  Recently, I embraced an additional, new edit for Spring, 2020:

When our kids were little, if they said they could not sleep, I taught them my personal coping skill.  We are a large family.  I start at the tippy-top of the familial ladder .
So: I start with my oldest brother, his wife, their two children and their daughter-in-law.  I can't just say, "God bless Jerry." I have to explain to God why I love Jerry, what I appreciate about him, what his concerns might be.  And then, I move on to his wife, Stephanie.  Then their kids.  Then, my three other brothers, their wives, their kids, their grandkids, and each and everyone's gifts and concerns.  I guarantee, one does not make it through the whole list of 48 before falling asleep. And so: the next night, I must begin where I left off, so that no one misses a turn.

I took this a step further a few weeks ago, one sleepless morning at 3:00am,("omigoodness! PANDEMIC?!!") with our tiny little (I call it a village) place out here in the middle of nowhere, Wabaunsee.  I prayed for everyone I know, starting from 7 miles away, to our neighbors a football field away.  (This sounds like an awful lot of people, but, really: it's rural Kansas: not that many people.)  And I soon went back to bed and fast asleep.

So there are some thoughts from my vantage point, Holy Week, 2020.