The Best of the Mohicans

My husband and I have reached the stage in our marriage where we don’t always exchange gifts for our anniversary.   The behavior that would have sent me into a tailspin thirty years ago, forgetting our anniversary, now passes without much reaction and absolutely no punishment. 

In the early years of our marriage the sin of forgetting our anniversary has been known to be acknowledged with a thank you card.   Inside a heart-felt note, and the bill for whatever I bought to “celebrate” our special day, was my personal way of reminding him it’s probably cheaper to remember than to forget.

 

All that’s behind us now, and it’s not that we don’t acknowledge the date and take a moment to wonder where the years have gone….we do.    But we don’t dig out the traditional list of gifts for anniversaries and try to find something to fit.   Actually, it’s a good thing we don’t, because we just had our 49^th and there is no traditional gift for the 49^th anniversary!  The list goes from the 45^th year (sapphire), to the 50^th (gold) and then on to the 60^th (diamond).   Maybe it’s because not a lot of people make it to those anniversaries, or maybe it’s because you probably don’t need anything by the time you’ve reached these milestones.

Earlier this year I did a story for Heart of Ohio Magazine on The Mohicans, a resort down around Loudonville that has some beautiful cottages, two amazing tree houses and The Grand Barn event center where they hold weddings and other events.    Larry wanted to see the places, so he tagged along.  The whole time I fired questions at our guide for the day, my husband walked around shaking his head and saying “wow”.    He made it clear he was impressed and smitten with the whole property, and it’s not something he usually does.

So….as the date for our anniversary rolled around, I thought about how much he liked the tree houses and decided that would be a great surprise for him.  We would spend a night in the tree house.  He really loved the red one that had been on a TV show after we went to do the interview on site, so that’s the one I chose.

When the date arrived we packed up a few things to take along, stopped at Kentucky Fried Chicken for two dinners (we really have our elegant moments, don’t we?) and headed to The Mohicans.

When we arrived we dropped off our paperwork, got our instructions and headed to the tree house.  It was a chilly evening, but the sun down promised to be spectacular and the woods were newly leafed and aromatic. Climbing the hill with our bags and, most importantly, our extra crispy chicken, we were anxious to get settled in. 

     

Once we got inside we could appreciate looking out into the woods and listening to the….quiet.  The coffee table in the sitting area boasted a bottle of wine and a lavish cheese and fruit plate,

compliments of our three thought kids.  Well, one is thoughtful and the other two are great financial contributors to anything she comes up with; you know who you are.

     

As darkness fell we experienced the deepest, most enveloping silence either of us could ever remember. The velvety darkness wrapped us in an unearthly quiet that was only broken by the occasional rustle of leaves from the floor of the woods below us.   It was wonderful.

When it was time for bed we climbed the ladder into the loft, snuggled into bed and drifted off to sleep.  The comforting quiet and the smell of freshly hewn wood worked like a sleeping pill; morning arrived almost as soon as I closed my eyes.

   

With Friday morning's sun-washed arrival came the challenge of getting back down the ladder.   I have to admit to being height challenged…anything higher than a one inch heel on my shoe will send me into panic mode.  Larry patiently assisted with my decent, and I will forgive him for his comments, derisive laughter

and other general torment by our next anniversary, I’m pretty sure.

Watching the sunrise with a cup of coffee on the deck was amazing, while indoors the sunlight through the stained glass, east-facing window left patterns on the walls that bathed the room with color.









 As I admired the light display I happened to notice a little notebook left for comments. 

Inside I read accounts from other occupants of the little red tree house.  One entry from January described the blissful quiet and the snug feeling of tranquility; every entry spoke of the beauty of that particular season and the wish to return to the embrace of this little house.  Larry and I would second that.

I don’t really have a bucket list, but if spending the night in a tree house had been on my list I’m not sure I’d cross it off….more likely I’d encase it in parenthesis and plan to do it all over again.  It just proves you’re never too old to have a happy childhood.

Thanks to The Mohicans we had a memorable wedding anniversary.  If you Google The Mohicans Treehouse you can see the project for yourself.   It has the Larry and Diana Coon stamp of approval.

                                                                         

                                                          Life is Good

When No One Calls

We’ve all heard the old adage “you learn something new every day”….probably even said it a time or two.   Last night an unexpected phone call taught me a valuable lesson that I will strive to remember from now on.

I crawled into bed early last evening after having one of those days that just seemed to suck the life force from your body.   I was exhausted, so when the phone rang at around ten thirty I’d already been sleeping for about an hour.

The phone is on my husband’s side of the bed, and I listened as he tried to connect with the person on the other end of the line.  His, “hello?….hello?...hello?” went without acknowledgement and he turned to me with a puzzled expression.

“Who is it,” I asked?   I was instantly convinced someone was dead, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know just who that might be.

“I don’t have any idea,” my husband said.  He handed me the telephone.

I listened intently to the conversation going on at the other end; it wasn’t long before I realized I was eavesdropping on someone’s discussion!  I also loudly tried to get their attention, then strained to identify one of the two or three voices as the women talked.   I thought I had it…then decided it couldn’t be that person.   Listening more closely I figured it was another person…but the voice was just not close enough to the phone to be sure.   Who in the world is this?

Finally I stopped trying to figure out “whom” and listened for a second to “what”, and that’s when I realized they were talking about ME!

I am guilty of not taking the high road; I listened for a moment as one woman talked to the others about Heart of Ohio Magazine, which she was obviously showing them.  They must have been in front of a computer, because they went on to visit my (this) blog.  While they were commenting about the article I wrote about the drift wood tree, I finally realized I was listening to one of our neighbors.   It was a relief to figure out who it was….but a total mystery how we came to be connected by telephone.

I only listened a couple of minutes more and, still unable to gain their attention, I hung up.   The conversation I heard was as complimentary as if I’d been sitting in the room giving them no other option.  It was very kind.

After scratching our heads at the mystery of it all, my husband and I settled back down to sleep.  I lay there in the dark for a bit thinking that our neighbors, whom I’ve always considered to be very nice and genuine people, were just as nice when they didn’t know (I) someone was listening as they are when speaking to people face to face.   I have to admit I was a bit uncomfortable wondering if I would fare as well in the same situation. 

I don’t have the slightest idea how we became technically linked last evening.  Maybe it was a call arranged by a higher power, I can’t really say.  I only know what started as an accidental dialing actually became a learning experience.

How easy it is to say unkind things cloaked in the guise of “it’s just my sense of humor”.    It’s easy to slip into the mode of being judgmental and critical and forget that kindness is the better option…..always. 

Think about it for just a second, and be honest with yourself. How would you be perceived if someone overheard you talking to others about them?   I took stock and made a mental note that I want to be able to pass the test presented by an unknown person in the room listening.   All too often the main source of protein in my diet has come from putting my over-sized foot in my mouth.   I’m going to work on that.

Okay, I’m going to work on being a kinder, gentler person….but, just in case you think I’m going to completely lose my sense of humor, hear this:   I am going to mercilessly tease my neighbors about the phone call and enjoy every second of it at our next breakfast meeting.   I have not told them about my eavesdropping experience, but when they read this they’ll know who they are.

It’s great to have good neighbors….it’s also great to realize they’re actually as good as you thought they were.

                                                      Life is Good

  

I Think That I Shall Never See.....

I'm one of those people who has to have a "project" going all the time.  Whether it's writing, painting something, redecorating, refinishing or a sewing project....I generally have something in the works to keep my hands busy.

My latest idea got it's start in a shop in Florida that I always visit when we are in the area.  The whole store is a collection of booths filled with antiques, collectibles and new items that are artfully arranged to distract the shopper from the fact that not one item in the whole place is either necessary or useful.  In other words....it's my favorite shop.

Every year there seems to be a new craft trend in this place; this year was no exception.  It seemed to me the word was passed that the shell to use in 2014 was the oyster shell.  As we browsed the store my sister-in-law, Sue, and I saw oyster shell lamp shades and mirror frames and decorated trays. They filled basket, glass cylinders and bowls.  Personally I didn't find them to be a very attractive shell, but it was evident they met the criteria every artist/crafter looks for; my bet is they are plentiful and cheap.

We had been browsing for a while and, just as we were about to decide there wasn't anything very interesting, we came upon a display that included a driftwood tree.  It was probably three or four feet tall, it sat in the middle of a rustic wooden table.  The "branches" were gnarled wood that had been burnished by wind and water, the base was a wooden stump with the bark still attached.  I liked it immediately and started mentally cataloging the things that would be required to reproduce one like it....I'd found my next project!


Although patience isn't something I'm know for, I knew this was a project that would have to wait till spring.  It seemed to take forever,  but eventually the winter passed and Lake Erie thawed.  We returned to open our lake place only to find that the frenzied water had generously decided to deposit an amazing array of driftwood on the beach.    Sue and I scoured the beaches for a couple of weekends, and finally the pile of driftwood had grown big enough to lay out two trees.   We were fortunate enough to find two big chunks of wood with holes already drilled completely through them that served as the perfect bases.  We bought two copper rods, and proceeded to lay out the trees in the grass.

Luckily we're married to two good sports who own drills.  Sue and I measured and marked the pieces, the fellas drilled them and helped thread them on the rods.  The whole project took about two hours from start to finish, and we are now the proud owners of two driftwood trees.  Hers is about five feet tall, just a little shorter than my seven foot finished product.

I've decided I might like one of these on the deck at home, so I went back to scour the beach for enough pieces to create a much smaller version.

There's something satisfying about making something out of nothing with your own two hands.   The season is off to a good start with leisurely beach combing for sea glass and driftwood.  Who knows what treasures you might find in between those lovely sunrises and spectacular sunsets?  Summer at the lake...
                                                   

                                                   Life is Good



 



 

Have a Good Day

I believe it’s only human nature to think whatever time of life you’re in has got to be the toughest road you’ve ever traveled.  I know I feel that way a lot of the time these days.

For more years than I can remember I have been helping my parents cope with their health problems.  First my dad; the last years of his life were very challenging for him.  Pop dealt with the pain and confusion as well as anyone possibly could, but the last thirteen months of his life were spent in a nursing home that we tried to make as much like home as possible.  He had the care he needed and the companionship he deserved.  There was never a day he didn’t have at least one (and usually more) family member there; I know that made all the difference in the world to him.

The after effects of a major anesthetic left my father with terrifying hallucinations for weeks after his surgery.  For what seemed like forever he saw insects crawling from his pores, and he refused to eat because his mind conjured up an autopsy in progress across the hall from his hospital room.  He was convinced everything they brought him to eat was the product of that awful vision.  We carried his food to him from the outside until that particular horror subsided.    

Now we face my mother’s declining health.  She is physically frail and seems to grow more and more confused as the days go by.  Even the simplest things present a challenge and require repeated explanation.  The past is vivid, the future frightening and the present beyond her understanding much of the time.  

Mom and I have officially switched roles; now I am the one urging her to eat her vegetables and to take a nap.  I am the mean care giver who has removed her from her home and taken away her car.  I dispense her medications and monitor her liquid intake.  In other words, I’m the ‘bad guy’.  It’s a painful role I regret ever having to play.

The challenges we now face with my mother are unrelenting.  Her short term memory and paranoia worsen as the days slip by.   Physically and mentally challenged, she feels stranded and lost and alone.  The deficits in her day to day life seem to be things I cannot replace no matter how hard I try, and the presence of a loving family, while precious to her, still cannot make up for all that she has lost.  She is inconsolable in her unhappiness…and I don’t blame her.

Given the fact that I’m an only child I know it could be much worse.  I am supported by loving children and a husband who, according to my mom, has reached the status of sainthood.  They prop me up when I need it, and Larry serves as the buffer between two strong female wills that  sometimes clash.  We just do it one day at a time.

Watching my parent’s I’ve become increasingly curious about the aging process in the brain.  When I was a young girl I remember my great grandfather sitting on his front porch, fishing pole in hand, as he waited for his brother to arrive to take him to their favorite fishing hole.  I must have been ten or twelve, but I still remember the way my relatives shook their head and mumbled to one another about poor Poppy’s ‘hardening of the arteries’.    In fact his brother had been dead for many years, but if you questioned him the next day he would recount what a gorgeous summer day it had been and about the fish he and his brother caught. 

   

I wondered then, as I wonder now, why that made everyone so sad.  His mind transported him to another time when he was younger, stronger and happy; time he spent with a brother whose company he enjoyed.  This time travel left behind the boredom and depression of being a very old man and restored him to a more active time in his life.  As a child I thought that was a win-win, and nothing I’ve seen since has changed my mind.

The experience I’ve gained from watching and/or caring for loved ones as they’re grown older leaves me with just one question…how do we summon happy hallucinations like my great grandfather experienced?  He is the only person I can remember who actually seemed happy in his deepening dementia.  Was he a happier person to begin with?  Was there a chemical in his brain that bridged the gap to connect him to happy memories instead of forcing him to  live in a horror movie?  Where is that switch…how do we access it?

Maybe it’s just a selfish wish, but if I knew how to resurrect those happy days in my mother’s mind I would do it in a second.  I would welcome the chance to see her waiting for a beloved brother, or her own gentle parents or a good friend, instead of aimlessly walking  around her apartment searching for things she’s convinced have been stolen by a stranger.   How wonderful  if she could smile at the sound of a footstep in the hall that she believes is my dad coming to take her to dinner, instead of seeing her frightened that every noise is the approach of a violent intruder.

Perhaps the most frustrating part is that I know whatever I learn from this experience will probably be lost in my own electrical storm that seems to be dementia.  I likely will be unable to remember how difficult this time has been for me, even though I would do anything to keep from putting my own children through the experience.   My hope is that the mental “trap door” my great grandfather possessed might exist somewhere in a corner of my own mind.   If so, I may someday be a very old woman sitting on the porch waiting for my husband to pick me up so we can head to the lake to enjoy a day of kayaking.

                                               Life is Good