Tag: best of 2009 (Page 3 of 3)

best of 09: favorite book

December 5, 2009 / jeanne / 0 Comments

(then)

let’s pretend i’m visiting my son who lives in the mountain time zone so i can post this by the midnight deadline . . .

If the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children. ~ Madeleine L’Engle

just two weeks ago as we exited the vikings boat ride at epcot through the norway gift shop, my eyes (that were riveted on the door that would eventually let us out of the retail maze) happened upon an old, dear friend: a book called Snow Treasure by Marie McSwigan. not so very long ago (if you ignore calendars, numbers, math, and such) this book held my fourth grade self captive. i read that book enough to wear the words right off the page and into my memory. in the story (that’s reportedly true), a group of norwegian children got up every morning, loaded their sleds with gold bullion, then pulled the gold to safety, sneaking it right under the noses of the nazis whose uninvited arrival changed a peaceful village into a land of fear, uncertainty, and oppression.

so delighted was i to be reacquainted with this old friend (who’s had some cover work done, let me tell you), that i adopted all 4 available copies: 1 copy for each of my children to open on christmas and 2 for me (so i’ll have a replacement when i read the words right off the page again).

(now)

#best09

~~~
the story is mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
~~~

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best article of 09: live your obituary into truth

December 4, 2009 / jeanne / 9 Comments

i’m participating in this december blogging challenge, you see, and the object is to write a post every day on the given topic. the assignment du jour is to write about an article read in 2009, something good enough to be clipped and tucked away in the family bible. what immediately came to mind for me is an obituary published earlier this year in the cleveland newspaper, an obituary i found via patti digh, who is a veritable treasure trove of good words and good works.

i love reading the obituaries – not to see if anybody i know has died (contrary to what you may have heard, i’m not THAT old), but because, well, there’s just nothing that delights me more than a well-written obituary. this one is the kind of obituary that needs to be written in youth so there’s time to grow into it, to live it into truth.

p.s. i also love visiting cemeteries, too . . . which i guess you might expect from somebody who reads obituaries for fun. my children learned much about multi-digit math and history and writing from tombstones, and though she’s no longer in need of schooling in the graveyard, my daughter was with me on a recent cemetery walk when i snapped the photo you see here.

(NANCY) LEE HIXSON of Danville, Ohio died at sunrise on June 30, 2009. She was born Nancy Lee Wood in Cleveland on April 17, 1944, baptised at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church, Valley City, Ohio, and confirmed at St. John’s Lutheran Church, Independence Ohio.

In addition to being a teetotaling mother and an indifferent housekeeper, she was a board certified naturopath specializing in poisonous and medicinal plants; but she would like to point out, posthumously, that although it did occur to her, she never spiked anyone’s tea. She often volunteered as an ombudsman to help disadvantaged teens find college funding and early opened her home to many children of poverty, raising several of them to successful, if unwilling, adulthood. She also enjoyed a long life of unmentionable adventures and confessed she had been a rebellious teen-aged library clerk, an untalented college student on scholarship, a run-away Hippie, a stoic Sunday School teacher, a Brownie leader, a Grange lecturer, an expert rifleman, a waitress, a wife once or twice, a welder, an artist, and a writer.

She was in earlier years the president of Rainbow Systems Trucking Company, Peninsula Ohio, and she drove tractor-trailers over-the-road hauling freight commodities to startled customers from Minnesota to Florida. She was the CEO of the Cuyahoga Valley Center of Outdoor Leadership Training (COLT), where she lived in a remote and tiny one-room cabin in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park.

Despite the lack of cabin space and dining table, she often served holiday dinners to friends and relatives and could seat twenty at the bed.

She lived the last twenty-three years at Winter Spring Farm near Danville where she built a private Stonehenge, and planted and helped save from extinction nearly 50 varieties of antique apple trees, many listed in A.J. Downing’s famous orchard guide of 1859 – among them such delicacies as Summer Sweet Pearmain, Sops of Wine, Westfield Seek No Further, and Duchess of Oldenburg. Her homemade cider and wine were reputed to cause sudden stupor. She befriended countless stray dogs, cats, horses, and the occasional goat. She was a nemesis to hunters, and an activist of unpopular, but just, causes. In short, she did all things enthusiastically, but nothing well.

After moving to Danville, she bravely suffered with a severe and disabling disorder and a ten-year battle with lymphoma that ultimately took her life. She was often confined to the home where she continued to tirelessly volunteer and donate her limited resources to needy teens in the area, always cheered by their small and large achievements.

Sympathy and big donations may be extended at this time.

She was predeceased by her father Dwight Edward Wood of the Ohio pioneer Wood family of Byhalia, who died in the Columbus Jail having been accused of a dreadful crime, and by her second father Ted A. Cznadel of Danville who adopted her, loved her and raised her despite it all. She is survived by her dearly beloved son, her heart and soul and every breath, Christopher Daniel Hixson of Akron, (a sterling citizen who rose above his murky childhood with a scandalous mother), and by his loving partner Mitchell Kahan. She is also survived by her mother, the opinionated and stubborn Ann Gall Cznadel; by her brother the Rev. Dr. Thomas R. Sluberski, a Lutheran minister and professor, most recently of Rio de Janeiro; by her gentle, ecological brother Gregory T. Cznadel, a quality manager of Cleveland; by her talented sister Linda R. Cznadel Hauck, a librarian from sea to shining sea, of San Luis Obispo; by her genius nephew and godson Matthew Hauck of Minneapolis; and the other half of her heart, her patient friend and backstairs lover of thirty years, David Paul Bleifus who resides at the farm.

Ms. Hixson traced her lineage directly through eleven generations to Governor William Bradford of the ship Mayflower and the Plimouth Colony, and was in the process of membership to The Mayflower Society. She was a long-time card carrying member of the ACLU, the Democratic Party, and of MENSA.

The family wishes to thank Dr. Gene Morris for his care, understanding and sense of humor through it all; Dr. Paul Masci of Cleveland Clinic Wooster; and Dr. Skip Radwany and the nursing staff of the Palliative Care Center at Summa for their compassion as Lee shuffled off this mortal coil. Cremation has taken place. Immediate family and friends will gather at Stonehenge on a sunny summer day to celebrate her life. Interment is in the family plot at Brinkhaven Hilltop Cemetery in Brinkhaven, Ohio, where she will await an eventual and probable slide down the cliff to the Mohican River below. In lieu of flowers, please pray for the Constitution of the United States. “Now Voyager depart, (much, much for thee is yet in store)…” – Walt Whitman

#best09

~~~
the story is mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
~~~

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#best09

restaurant

December 2, 2009 / jeanne / 8 Comments

he was stuck in the medical pinball machine, bouncing from one doctor to another. the weekly appointments became social outings, my mother inviting a friend or two to join us for the ride to the doctor’s office then lunch on the way home.

on this particular day, i chose a pizza restaurant they’d never been to before. mother, her friend miss eleanor, daddy – they were all excited at the prospect, but when we pulled into the parking lot, daddy changed his mind and grouchily voiced his reluctance. he just wanted to go home, he declared. “well, mother and miss eleanor are hungry,” i told him. “they had a light breakfast in anticipation, so we’re going to stop.”

“well, i’m staying in the car,” he huffed.

“fine,” i said as i wheeled into the sunniest parking space and rolled the windows down about half way.

“how many?” the hostess asked as we entered the restaurant.

“three now,” i said, “but there’ll be a fourth one in a wheelchair joining us in about 15 minutes.” mother and miss eleanor, now onto my plan, chuckled nervously.

we sat down, ordered our drinks, and perused the menu. they were amused but cautious, too, not knowing how daddy would respond to not getting his way. he was, after all, The Sick One, and even the driver takes second seat to The Sick One. sick one wants to listen to a particular radio station, driver must relinquish control of the dial. the sick one is too cold, the thermostat is adjusted to accommodate, even if the driver gets warm and drowsy. the sick one doesn’t want to stop for lunch, well, usually, the driver would go straight home.

about 15 minutes later, i removed a chair from the table to make room, excused myself, and went out to check. as i rounded the corner, he opened his door as though he thought i’d never come back for him, and we all ate pizza at a restaurant that still reigns as one of the family favorites.

my daddy died 9 years ago today, and i miss him more this year than ever before. 2 nights ago i sat watching my favorite television show, the closer. (southern gal rides into l.a., assumes a management-level position, sweetly and silently endures the ridicule, then goes right on to confidently solve the case in slightly less than 40 minutes every single week. i mean, really, what’s not to love?) anyway, monday night’s rerun was the christmas show, and when brenda lee’s daddy went into the bedroom to console her about something – when he sat there on the bed beside her and talked to her as her daddy – well, i’m not too proud to tell you that i was green-eyed, flat-out jealous of a television character.

daddy fell the day after thanksgiving that year, and ever the patient advocate, i stayed with him at the hospital day and night. as doctors talked of releasing him for in-house rehabilitation by mid-week, i followed my intuition and called the woman – my little elf – who was creating leather bound copies of the book i’d secretly written about daddy. “hello, karen, this is jeanne, and, well, i know you probably haven’t even had time to open my box yet and i know the books aren’t due back till 12/22ish, and i know this might be an outrageous request, but, well, see here’s the thing: i hear voices and they are telling me that i have to get those books back pronto.”

this remarkable woman who will always be high on my list of sheroes didn’t whine or complain or even exhale loudly. she simply said, “i can have one book to you by this-coming saturday and the rest to you on the following monday.”

he only spoke twice that week: once to tell me he was ready for this to be over, and once to tell me how his brother gene (who was killed at age 18) was wrestling with him and wouldn’t “let him in”. with his eyes closed, daddy described everything and everybody he was seeing, and when finally he came to some kind of agreement with uncle gene, a palpable peace filled the room. as daddy rested quietly for the first time in days, and as i sat soaking it all in, staff members (even the ones who had been so darn grouchy less than an hour before) gravitated to the room and talked softly, telling me about themselves and their woes. the room was a magnet for those in angst.

when daddy’s bells and whistles went off around 8:30 that saturday morning, i called the family. as we gathered around daddy’s bed, my husband and son arrived with the fed ex box. i unwrapped the package, bid everybody an early merry christmas (promising them their very own copy on monday), and began to read.

we started reading daddy’s book around 1:15 that afternoon, taking turns reading, laughing, crying, remembering. there were stories he’d told me, letters i’d solicited from friends and former employees – some he hadn’t heard from in decades – and stories and character sketches others told me about my daddy when i interviewed them. we read and we read and we read, closing the cover on daddy’s book around 10 minutes till 5; closing the cover on daddy’s life 5 minutes later.

the ancient rabbis ask “who is rich” then answer their own question by saying “whoever delights in their portion.” i had my daddy for a scant 72 years, but oh, how i do delight in my portion. rest in peace, daddy. rest in peace.

#best09

~~~
the story is mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
~~~

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magic

December 1, 2009 / jeanne / 7 Comments

i am a planner of the first order, a list maker extraordinaire. some call me bossy, others call me a control freak, but none call me unprepared.

two weeks ago, we met my husband’s brother and his wife in the atlanta airport and the four of us trekked down to orlando where we picked up my 50-year old developmentally delayed sister-in-law nancy, and took her to visit the mouse. we don’t see this brother/wife duo more than once or twice a year, and given that traveling together has wrecked more than one friendship, and since we’re so different (both as individuals and as couples), and because nancy is more than a little on the high maintenance side of things, i think you’ll understand why i was the teensiest bit concerned about how this adventure might go down in the family history book.

talk about your unintended consequences . . . i was out of town the three weeks immediately preceding this little adventure, which meant i headed to orlando completely unfettered. no need for a packing list, i just took whatever clothes happened to be clean. no need to list things we might possibly need for nancy, we’d just take the rental car out and fetch anything we lacked. as for the list of conversation kindling, well shoot, i completely forgot about making that.

thursday found us at the magic kingdom where there were no crowds – i’m not kidding – which meant no lines. no crowds + no lists = no stressing over how to fit everything in. that night when nancy became ill, her two brothers were able to help her right into the ladies restroom, empty because even the teensiest bladders will magically wait patiently during magnificent fireworks displays. and when i decided we needed a wheelchair to get nancy back to the hotel, like magic, the first aid station happened to be right next door to the ladies restroom we inhabited.

friday found us at epcot where we strolled leisurely about, happening upon the italian players just as they needed someone who looked just like my husband to play romeo in their version of romeo and, well, edna; walking into japan just as the drummers flamboyantly waved their drumsticks in the air; arriving at our table in the moroccan restaurant just as the belly dancer took the floor. though we were not shopping as we made our way through the norway gift shop after exiting the viking boats, i spotted copies of my favorite 4th grade book called snow treasure. and when i approached the register with a heart racing with the happiness at being reunited with a long-lost friend, i was the only customer and thus able to pay and get outside before donn and carole even knew we were no longer right behind them. and as if all that isn’t enough, we happened upon mexico just in time to watch the sun set over the water as we sipped our margaritas – the spell broken only when nancy surprised us all by uncharacteristically saying “nothing wrong with me.”

despite the lack of planning of what to talk about, the only lull in conversation was when we slept, and even though i had no packing list to go by, i wore clean underwear every. single. day.

it was a magical five days, yes it was. not overly tiring, no cross words were uttered, and we didn’t leave a single thing in the room when we checked out.

now some might say it’s the camel who spat on me not once but several times who’s responsible for the magic. others might credit the mouse and his creator. had she been there, my mother-in-law would say i was holding my nose just right. but really, i’m thinking that the magic we enjoyed on this five-day adventure has to do more with me letting go.

quoting liz emmett mattox, patti digh writes “those who look and expect to see magic will find it everywhere.” with my nose not constantly hovering over various lists, i spied magic all around me. with hands not responsible for marking things off, i preserved magical memories that i’m finding far more satisfying than any list ever made.

#best09

~~~
the story is mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
~~~

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releasing

November 27, 2009 / jeanne / 0 Comments

i used to feel most invisible around the holidays, humming the song “cellophane man” from the musical chicago as i scurried about at warp speed. weeks or months ahead, i’d study magazines, take classes, make lists. wanting everything to look amazing, sound pleasant, taste scrumptious, and feel enjoyable. i wanted my family to oooh and aaah over the holiday trappings and traditions, and not just on that particular day – oh no. i wanted to hear rave reviews for months and months after The Big Day. they did pay the occasional compliment, but not nearly enough to satisfy me that they truly appreciated – or even noticed, for that matter – my efforts and energy.

with each passing year, i seem to be shedding the desire to impress (some would use the word “control”). i sold the turkey pan at a garage sale year ago. candles surrounded by treasures found on walks make what i now call stunning centerpieces. and i save money and space by avoiding magazines like the plague. i plan the big rocks, as stephen covey calls them, letting the chips fall where they fall.

are the holidays happier? more enjoyable? more memorable? i can’t say for sure, but i will tell you that some of the family legends recently added to our archives are entertaining and hilarious tales of amazing improvisation and resourcefulness. i can tell you that though i still sleep well at night during red letter events, it’s from tiredness, not bone-level exhaustion. and today, when they went for a walk up the falls and turned to smile and wave at me as i sat by the window watching, i felt incredibly loved and visible and fortunate.

thanksgiving 2009 wrap-up

November 27, 2009 / jeanne / 2 Comments

we got off to ~~a rough~~ an interesting start on thanksgiving 2009, but as we they sit here watching football, i know we pulled it out just fine. oh, the table wasn’t worthy of a single snapshot, and the food was served in the midst of countertop clutter, and the family balked when i lit candles and turned down the lights, but it was still a very nice thanksgiving.

mimosas help move us through the day with a kitchen full of folks, each of whom has their own cooking style. i prefer to clean as i go while others prefer cooking now/cleaning later and still others say if they cook, somebody else can clean by golly.

we still honor the 20-minute rule, a little something i conjured up many years ago in a foot-stomp moment: eat as fast as you want, i tell them, but you are gonna’ sit at this table for 20 minutes because I JUST SPENT THREE DAYS COOKING AND A DAY AT THE GROCERY STORE BEFORE THAT.

long ago i, like so many others, ended every day noting at least 5 things on my gratitude list, and you know, the more i was grateful for, the more i had to be grateful for. that practice, like anything else i’ve done consistently, taught me to see, to think in a certain way. over the years, i’ve tried all sorts of ways to enkindle conversation about gratitude as we sit around the overflowing table on the fourth thursday of november, but this year i waved the white flag and just left each to his/her own way of saying thank you.

once, on a family trip, my son wandered off by himself for some alone time. when we reunited later that afternoon, he came bearing a gift for me: a handblown glass stylus, inkwell, and stand. it is gorgeous and it is delicate – far too delicate to sit ready in a house with curious cats that leap with abandon – so until 2 weeks ago, it sat in my closet. it was the first thing i saw when i opened the closet door, and i vowed that when we were once again catless, i was bringing it out into the open.

then mother and i went to vancouver 2 weeks ago, and on granville island, i bought 2 bottles of vegetable-based ink and ever since, i’ve started each day penning thank you notes with my handblown glass stylus. i dip the nib in the inkwell and delight in the sound and feel of it scratching along the paper. once at least 3 notes are finished, the dog and i walk them to the mailbox.

so why am i not afraid for the stylus’ life even though we still provide shelter for 2 cats? because, my friends, i have discovered a little something called museum mount – a clear, slightly sticky gel that holds everything tightly in its designated place. yes, thanks to that little jar of museum mount, i can look forward to penning those daily thank you notes with my glass pen far into the future, cats be damned.

but now, as we close out thanksgiving 2009, i’ll publicly revert to noting 5 things for which i am monstrously thankful:

* children who enjoy, defend, and, when necessary, support each other.
* a low-maintenance, high-companionable dog.
* a mother who is still interested in all sorts of things, who never uses age as an excuse, and who is not too set in her ways to stay up past midnight and sleep till nearly noon.
* a husband who willingly changes out switchplate and outlet covers even though he thinks what we already have is perfectly fine.
* friends – those i see in person and those i see digitally – who tickle, support, inspire, and encourage.

oh, oh, oh: and museum mount. yes siree, i sure am thankful for museum mount.

the key to thanksgiving 2009

November 26, 2009 / jeanne / 0 Comments

chapter 1:
we leave late . . . which puts us driving on the mountainous roads of western nc through the dense, opaque clouds. 2 cats fight the entire time (loudly and physically) while 1 cat practices his carsickness in my lap. and on my arms. and, when all other appendates seem to be covered, on my chest.

chapter 2:
we arrive at the house only to find ourselves locked out. my key that always lives in the car console is m.i.a., and the fella’ doing work on the outside of the house has apparently taken the (singular, as in the only) spare key home with him. or something.

chapter 3:
the garage door opens, thanks to the cooperation of that programmable thingie in my car, so we shepherd dog and cats into the garage and position a big box in front of the cat door because, at the risk of sounding inhospitable, i’m thinking i don’t want the cats to be inside without canine or human supervision. (surely you’ve heard what the cats will do when the mice are away.)

chapter 4:
we head into town where we are delighted to find the dollar store open and a rack of clothes for sale on the sidewalk. alison and mother have their clothes, but i have nothing save the ones that now smell of eau de cat vomit. i pick up clothes, deodorant, and a toothbrush . . . plus a couple of christmas trees for the front door, 31 reindeer ears, a few presents, holiday greeting cards, dog food, a gallon of water (since the water is turned off at the house), a blanket large enough for all the cats and then some, a bed for the dog, and some dog food (already have cat food). just the essentials, you know.

chapter 5:
we walk to the restaurant and inhale food while they mop the floor under our feed, refill condiments and wish we would eat faster.

chapter 6:
back to the dollar store where i purchase some black thermal pants and a mini-dress to wear over them as pajamas since both mother and alison draw the line at me sleeping naked.

chapter 7:
back to the house to feed the animals and tuck them into bed. as alison and i unload the car, mother slips behind the wheel, prepared to honk and flash (the lights) should cats even look like they’re thinking of running out of the garage. they don’t – just the sound of the door is enough to send them into cabinets, thank goodness. we put out the food and water, spread out the blanks, fluff up the dog’s bed, and leave.

chapter 8:
when mother exits the car at the front door to the hotel that we hope has one more empty room, out falls the fork that she “lost” at the waffle house where we stopped for a bite on the way to n.c. eons ago. don’t ask.

chapter 9:
we turn on television in time to see donnie osmond announced the winner of dancing with the stars then showers and smirnoffs all around (with me in pole position) followed by soft snoring and sweet dreams.

chapter 10:
after the free breakfast, we load the car and head back to the house. seeing the neighbor’s car, we stop and i ask if he knows the whereabouts of his friend who did some work on our house. turns out it’s a case of EX-friends due to the unfortunate fact that workerbee stopped paying rent to neighbor (a.k.a. landlord) which led to the eviction of workerbee. so, no, neighbor doesn’t know whereabouts of workerbee but grabs his tools and vows that he won’t leave till we’re inside our house.

chapter 11:
neighbor can’t find a spare key in keybox open either. doors all locked. windows all locked. he’s checking the last door when i notice that workerbee left a trapdoor open that leads to under the house (i immediately picture me trying to wake a family of bears and ask them to pretty please find another place to hibernate) and i hatch a hail-mary idea: “what if we can get inside by going under the house?” i explain that there are 2 closetesque doors in j’underneath (my n.c. studio) that open to – surprise – the big rock on which our house sits. (it’s eerie and captivating all at once.) the way i figure it, he’s just got to take the hinge off the smaller trapdoor (the larger, open door is a deadend – i already know that), crawl in, and find his way over to one of the 2 surprise doors. it works, and before you know it, i’m standing inside asking how can i ever repay him for breaking and entering.

chapter 12:
the key is now permanently attached to my person, and 4 duplicates are on their way up with hubbie. the animals roam contentedly (if not always peaceably). groceries are put up. yesterday’s clothes are washed, and now – at 3:11 a.m. on thanksgiving day – i prop my eyelids open waiting for hubbie and son to arrive and make the dinner table complete. let the overeating begin . . .

compassion: the new black

October 4, 2009 / jeanne / 16 Comments

communing with nature has countless powerful benefits – more self-control, increased working memory, lower levels of stress, better moods, decreased blood pressure to name a few – but a new study conducted by psychologists at the university of rochester shows that being exposed to animals just might actually make us more compassionate.

to test prosocial behaviors such as compassion and generosity, 370 different subjects were exposed to either natural settings (calm lakes, wooded forests, vast deserts) or man-made environments (cityscapes, skyscrapers, highways). in two of the experiments, a person was given a $5 prize and told they could share it with a stranger who would then be given an additional $5, though there was no guarantee that the second person would return any of the winnings. researchers found that subjects exposed to nature were significantly more likely to open their wallets and that increased exposure to nature led to an increased willingness to share with strangers.

results of the study led to a cornucopia of hypotheses, of course, but perhaps the “why” is not important. perhaps there are many “why’s” with no single correct answer. perhaps the evident correlation is enough to start thoughtful, meaningful conversations with ourselves and others. perhaps the results touch us in some inexplicable way that leads to a change in our behavior that ultimately makes us better people – and perhaps that is enough in and of itself.

to the ancient greek philosophers, that was the goal of life: to be the very best person you could be. it’s a quest that continues to this very day. we spend money on self-help books, workshops, seminars, schools, often overlooking the vast lessons all around us . . .

Watch CBS News Videos Online

~~~
information on the study from The Frontal Cortex by josh lehrer. video from cbs.