Two Thousand Fourteen

I love the clean slate of a new year and the "taking stock" exercise of New Year's Eve. 2013 has offered the usual mixed bag of experiences, with perhaps a few more milestones.

Transitions
My friend and sister of my heart, Mary Jo Jasicki, lost her fight with metastatic kidney cancer on March 2. I had been dreading that day throughout February as Mary Jo's health declined, but felt relieved in the early days after her death, knowing that her suffering had ended. However, grief is very sneaky and I've often found myself feeling sad, especially on what would have been  Mary Jo's 61st birthday on December 26.  Her daughter Hillary gave me an ornament from the family Christmas tree, and the little bird is a poignant reminder of all the fun Mary Jo and I had during the seventeen years of our happy friendship. Oh, how I miss her!

I've now completed  almost nine months of retirement. I'm beginning to "settle into it", able to appreciate the absence of task lists and the daily frustrations of life as a working person. I'm occasionally the same "driven" self, but I also savor the gift of time -- to notice the simple things of life and to embrace new experiences. I've learned to run a lawnmower and do some easy gardening. For the first time ever, I planted summer flowers and fall bulbs, and I catch myself thinking about unfamiliar matters like garden design.

Bob turned 75 in June and we celebrated our thirtieth wedding anniversary later that month. I've lived in beautiful Minnesota almost half my life! Happy years.

Loved my annual junket to southern Ontario in August, where I enjoyed in-person updates with my sister, Marilyn, as well as Stratford and McGill friends. In September, I flew to Ottawa to attend a reunion of friends from my hometown of Temiscaming, Quebec. I felt rejuvenated, amazed that the years melted away in the joy of reminiscing and catching up after nearly half a century. It was one of the year's highlights.

Seeing the USA in our Chevrolet
For the first time last March, we extended our usual week in Florida to fourteen days, and liked the extra week enough to plan on a month in 2014. This will be my first road trip to Florida, drawing on lessons learned during driving vacations of the last decade, most recently in September. Our visit to the Grand Canyon was nothing short of awesome, and I especially enjoyed our return to Colorado, where the mountains deliver not only spectacular views, but also serenity in the fragrant pine forests.

Pretty good health
Bob's knee replacement was very successful and I'm now approaching the four-year anniversary of my first knee replacement in 2011. I'm so happy now to have pain free sleep and knee joint stability that I've never had before. My multiple sclerosis (MS) also seems to be in remission, a hypothesis validated by the results of an MRI in mid-December. Both Bob and I feel pretty good, not just "for our age", but good in general.

Friends and Family
I'm grateful for the family and good friends who make life fun and interesting. I include my long distance friends as I give thanks for the gifts you share with such joy and generosity. I wish you all good things and many rich blessings in the New Year.

Birder Credentials

I spent many years avoiding any association with the odd people who chase through swamps and forests after birds. Everything about birders made me laugh: the sensible shirts tucked into long pants, the sturdy shoes, safari hats, bug spray sticking out out of rucksacks and backpacks. They always seemed to travel with heavy binoculars, complicated cameras and a library of field guides. The total package reminded me of the many eccentrics I know and like, but I was damned sure I wasn't going to be one of them.

And then I picked up photography as a hobby, a few bird pictures found their way into my albums. The first subjects were shore birds in Florida, some of which were snowbirds from Minnesota. One thing led to another, and I signed up for a bird watching walking tour in Ixtapa, Mexico, where I had fallen in love with the sound of the chachalaca bird in the woods surrounding Las Brisas resort, a beautiful remote hotel on the Gulf of Mexico. Then my sister gave me an elaborate bird feeder and the rest is ... history.

The other day I went out after a snowstorm to haul bird food from the garage to the feeder. I was wearing a hat and scarf that concealed much of me, the part that didn't look crazy. I carried a white bucket full of seed and suet in one hand, and a long gardening trowel-like implement in the other. I used the trowels to ease one of the feeders off its hook for refilling.

A fashionably dressed dog walker with a handsome black lab passed by on the far side of the street. As the dog stopped for the usual reason, his companion watched me work at the feeder. I could picture myself, standing in my old jeans and work boots, hair an uncombed mess full of snow. working out of a bucket like a fishwife doing hard time. The pair moved on. I hoped -- vaguely -- that the man didn't know me.

Yesterday I headed out on a walk with my camera, hoping to take a few shots of holiday decorations in our Saint Paul neighborhood. I strayed off the sidewalk spotted a handsome red tailed hawk in a tall tree in the grounds of the Saint Paul Seminary School of Divinity. I moved closer through the deep snow to see if I could get a better shot, and was soon the only figure in the middle of the woodsy property, watching the hawk fly off.

I traipsed through the snowy woods to Mississippi River Boulevard, but had to walk on the side of the road because I was afraid of falling head first in the snow if I attempted to climb the snowbank over to the path. I moved along as energetically as I could, well aware that I very much fit the birder profile: practical clothes, darkened transition lenses, camera case around my neck, camera in one hand.

I got to the path through the parking lot off Summit, and was soon gazing upward at what seemed to be a winter robin in a nearby tree. A young woman in a short red skirt and black jacket went by and looked quickly at me before she sped off on her walk. I felt just a little embarrassed.

Merry Christmas to All

Generations are numbered: children (2); grandchildren (3); great grandchildren: (4).

1.       Scott Hennessey  (2) and his granddaughter, Lanaya (4) who will be a kindergartner next fall.

2.       Mary Norman (2) visited in September from Fresno. We had lunch at McGovern’s on the patio.

3.       Jim Muñoz at Grand Old Day in June. We went to the parade with Jim and Sonia’s family, a little nervous because it was Bob’s first major outing after successful knee replacement surgery at the end of April. We had a great time!

4.       Sonia Muñoz (2) at McGovern’s, during Mary Norman’s visit.

5.       Bob and I spent a few weeks in Florida last March. My camera was on the end of a picnic table and I ran around to get myself in the time delayed shot. We’ll be back in St. Pete Beach for the entire month of March 2014.

6.       Bob and his three sons (2), John, Scott, and Chris. This photo was taken at the Nauti Hawg in Diamond Bluff last October. The beach was lined with vintage HydroStream boats.

7.       Trudy and John Hennessey (2) at my favorite restaurant, Luci Ancora for a celebration of my 63^rd birthday on August 10.

8.       Mary Norman (2) with her son Tyler (3), in Los Angeles for Tyler’s 17^th birthday weekend.

9.       Minou, our little Russian Blue cat, the real boss of the house.

10.   Chris Hennessey (2) on a late season St. Croix boat run. John Hennessey (2) is in the background.

11.   Ben Serwe and Dana Muñoz (3) will be married in Madison in July 2014. This picture was taken at Grand Old Day in June.

12.   Janet Schlichting (2) with her dad on Janet’s birthday in July. We had a great visit and very enjoyable lunch.

13.   Chris Hennessey (2) with his aunt, Marilyn Marshall, during Marilyn’s December visit to Minnesota.

14.   Scott Hennessey’s partner, Meggan Kerkenbush, with Kait Hennessey (3) and her twins, Kameron and Kamillah (4).

15.   We celebrated three big milestones in 2013, my April retirement from the State of Minnesota after 23 years, Bob’s 75^th birthday and our 30^th wedding anniversary. This early summer shot was taken outside Axel’s in Mendota Heights: Scott Hennessey (2), Meggan Kerkenbush, Trudy Hennessey, Mitchell Hennessey (3), John Hennessey (2), Adam Hennessey (3), Bob Hennessey.

16.   Adam Hennessey (3) drove Chris’ HydroStream on a chilly October afternoon on the St. Croix.

17.   During my sister Marilyn’s visit, we jumpstarted the holidays with a little family gathering. Will Kaphing (4) is pictured here with his mom and dad, Angie Muñoz-Kaphing (3) and Mike Kaphing.

18.   Kaitlyn Hennessey’s son Marcus (4) with John Hennessey (2) and Mitchell Hennessey (3).

19.   Tiffany Schlichting (4) with her grandparents, Mark and Janet Schlichting (2), on Mille Lacs.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Bob and Catherine

2013 Hennessey Christmas Tree

The Hennessey Christmas Tree

Since we bought an artificial tree about a decade ago, the tree looks similar every year, with its perfect shape and evenly spaced lights. The ornaments are pretty much the same too, though I add a few each Christmas, and lose a couple to breakage. The ritual itself -- this year a four-hour marathon during the Vikings-Bears football game -- becomes a little more emotional with the passage of time.



Bernard and Bianca from Rescuers Down Under

The ornament collection is eclectic. I've occasionally been tempted to do a "theme" tree (a color, or type of ornament) but I would miss my favorites too much: the handmade ones created by one of Bob's children before we were married, Chris' little boy creations, Santas, cats (especially the pretty Siamese from Katie Marshall several decades ago), colored glass balls bought at a pharmacy in 1983, an Avon wreath given to me by Bob's late sister Donna, the Griswold Family Christmas cardboard circle, sparkly Christmas barrettes that I discarded after I saw Catherine wearing one on National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, end-of-season items bought for 10% of their original inflated price.

I always look forward to Rescuers Down Under characters Bernard and Bianca, a long ago Burger King premium, and Rudolph and Clarice, Montgomery Ward's freebies with the purchase of Rudolph the Reindeer books oh so many ears ago. By the time I get this far, I'm usually feeling nostalgic and teary, especially if I've knocked back a glass or two of wine. This year, because of the football game, I was enjoying a Coors Light rather than wine, but the sense of sentimental proximity to the people associated with the ornaments.



Mary Jo's bird tops the tree this year

Rudolph and Clarice

I leave the treetop ornament for the very end. I don't have a "real" topper, so it changes every year -- a flower, a star, or an angel worthy of promotion to the top. This Christmas, the treetop is a little bird that once graced the tree of my good friend, Mary Jo Jasicki, who died last March. Mary Jo's daughter Hillary gave me the ornament about a month ago, knowing that her mother and I shared a love for birds.

Little Minou recognizes the tree and likes to rest under the branches. The year is unfolding as it should.



Chiropractic for Unbelievers

All my life I thought chiropractors were quacks. However, a few years ago I developed worsening upper back and shoulder pain on my left side after I changed jobs. For some reason, the position of the chair, work surface, keyboard and mouse seemed to combine to create a painful workstation and, soon, non-stop cramping from below my left shoulder all the way up to my ear.

On Good Friday 2012, I sat in church listening to the reading of the Passion, in so much pain that I absent mindedly picked up the Easter bulleting. An ad for Caron Chropractic caught my attention. I endured a painful Easter weekend and called the office on Monday. I could have had an appointment the same day, but my schedule was such that I had to wait until a few days later. I felt immediate relief after my first session and returned twice. Since then, I've returned for an "adjustment' three times, most recently for two sessions in October. Each appointment follows the same pattern.

Electrical Stimulation I think of the first treatment as the "electrocution phase" -- what the clinics calls electrical stimulation -- administered in a dimly lighted room with three or four treatment tables.  Electrodes dipped in gel are placed on two affected points. In my case, one is under my left shoulder blade and the other is high on my neck. I lie on a padded table, with a pillowed support under my knees. The assistant fires up the current. and I let her know when it's strong enough. I like it good, strong and hot. I love hot electrical vibrations outlining my shoulder blade, like a strong, narrow shower spray. I'm always sorry when the current stops and I have to get up from the table.

Adjustment The adjustment is done in a private treatment room on a chiropractic table. I lie on my stomach and  the chiropractor uses a combination of manual adjustments and gravity, as sections of the table drop away, by design. I find the adjustment somewhat painful, but it feels as though the right parts in my back are moving. I then lie on my back and my neck is twisted, somewhat noisily. The neck twists feel good but I'm soon sitting on the side of the table.

Activator This is the hammer phase, using the activator technique. The chiropractor uses the activator device to administer rapidly delivered blows to the affected area, causing cramps and muscle spasms to resolve. The literature on this one is mixed, but I like the pounding and feel very relaxed afterward.

I suspect that the success of chiropractic treatment is highest for ailments like mine, caused by repetitive stress and long hours of sitting or working in the same position. I would be less inclined to submit to an adjustment if I had denegerative disk disease or osteoporosis. For me, though, chiropractic care is a great addition to my health care arsenal.

Delayed Humor

Now that I'm retired, I clean a little every day rather than in a marathon session on Friday evening or Saturday morning. Last Sunday, I decided to touch up the upstairs bathroom before my shower.

A minute or so into my session, I grabbed the can of cleanser and the bottom immediately popped out. Most of a large ("20% more, free") can landed in a little green mountain between the toilet and the vanity. The rest sprayed on toilet, in the sink, on my nightie and  in my hair. The air was full of a light green dust and I soon smelled chlorine as I inhaled some of the residue.

There was so much to clean up that I immediately picked up a couple of handfuls and dumped them in the toilet, sink and bathtub. I swept most of the rest of it up into a large paper bag, and was working on the stubborn little deposits in various cracks when Bob arrived to survey the damage.

By this time I was whimpering, but my tears turned to sobs when he very sensibly got out the vacuum cleaner and easily removed any evidence of cleanser. Why hadn't I thought of that? I looked in the mirror and cried some more at the disheveled, crazy looking woman with tears running down her  dusty face.  Then I finished the cleaning job I'd begun forty-five minutes before, rinsed the cleaner off my feet and took a shower.

Bob's attempts at humor were rejected and we went on, more or less happily, with our day. This morning I did laugh a little when I opened a brand new can of cleanser, with a very solid bottom.

AARP Discount: Senior Driving Course

I have always avoided carrying my AARP membership card, not wanting it to appear with any prominence when I open my wallet. But what the hell, I'm never reluctant to "ask for the discount", so I put the card in my wallet. I used it on Wednesday when I showed up for my AARP senior driving class at the West Seventh Community Center.

Bob took the class when he was first eligible a number of years ago, but I was never willing to take a day off work, even for a 55+ discount. I recently learned that I could do the class online, but I though an "in person" class would be preferable: I am strong on knowledge but weak on real understanding.

I expected my classmates to be old ladies with thick glasses, and was somewhat surprised that many were younger than I am. And while I did indeed know a lot of the material, most students -- men and women -- obviously did a lot more driving that I do. And they're not afraid of freeways and unfamiliar routes either. So I did feel a little deflated after the first day.

I learned a lot more than expected: how to adjust my mirrors to compensate for the blind spot, the 3-second rule that hadn't made much sense before and, most useful to me, road signs. I hadn't realized that signs and color and shape coded (duh). There's a standard for road symbols in the United States and many of these are actually universal. Minnesota signs conform to the standards, and MNDOT has some easy to understand guidelines.

I've been trying to apply what I've learned, and find that I'm more aware of my surroundings. The real test will be to deliberately put myself in a challenging situation, like the exit from Highway 36 to Fairview in Roseville, where Bob so easily moved over to the far left lane, swiftly and in complete safety.

Embarrassed to admit that after thirty years, I realize that since I know how to get to Rosedale, I could be able to get anywhere in the city of Roseville. Double duh!

October Ritual

Bob backs the Corvette into the barn

The annual trip to storage in Isanti has been on my mind most of the week, knowing that I would be driving the Corvette for the first time and should practice a little, but no. I've been quite content to be the passenger, free to take pictures and enjoy the ride.

Bob got the boat and Vette ready yesterday and all I had to do this morning was drive the vehicle out of the garage. One of my main problems is that even after twenty years of making this same trip twice a year, I still can't remember the route, so I have to keep Bob in view to avoid getting hopelessly lost. I felt a little better today, though, in spite of the intermittent rain.

The first challenge is to get on busy I-94 about a mile from our house. Even at 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday, that damn freeway is full of cars going  ... where? The freeway entrance is followed by a quick exit to Highway 280, where traffic from the right merges fast and furious. The rain was increasing in intensity by the time we crossed the border into Roseville, and I felt so tempted to simply turn around and go home. Try again on a better day. That, however, was not an option and besides, I was getting used to the feel of the Corvette.

Fortunately, I had instructions in operating the windshield wipers because I really needed them. As the sky darkened, I expected my lights to go on, but they didn't, so I fumbled for the switch which was, thankfully, right next to the steering wheel.  By the time we turned off on County Road 7 near Andover, I was riding in luxurious comfort. That little car drives beautifully in every respect.

We glided into Anderson Berry Farm before 9:30 a.m. Bob parked the boat and then the Vette. After all these years, our relationship with the owners is relaxed and friendly. Storage day every October is reminder that winter is crowding in as yet another year flies by.

A few months from now, maybe during a winter thaw, Bob will start counting the weeks till the toys come home.

Promise of Spring

Hoping for one hundred beautiful tulips and daffodils in 2014
 

I've never been a gardener. In fact, apart from a few avocado bulbs planted in my kitchen 40 years ago, I'd never tried to grow anything until last summer, when Bob was recovering from surgery and unable to do his usual work in the garden. I filled six planters and two small flower beds under Bob's direction last spring, fully expecting failure in my modest, tentative efforts.

I was surprised when the flowers not only grew but flourished. I began to think, not for the first time, about trying my luck with a few spring bulbs. My sister Marilyn, an experienced and accomplished gardener, gave me a few simple directions for daffodils and tulips, that I would plant deep enough to avoid disturbance by the squirrels that own our property.

The first part of October was like summer, but the weather was a little chilly yesterday so I finally bought the bulbs, knowing that winter could begin anytime and I'd better get the job done. This morning, I set out my supplies and tools: the 56 tulips and 45 daffodils, fertilizer (instead of bone meal, because Menard's was sold out), an old shower curtain for the earth I would dig up, a large spade, an heavy fork-like tool about 5 inches wide that made me thing of a grappling iron, a bucket for weeds.

I attacked the first plot on the west side of the house with energetic enthusiasm and had soon shoveled a great deal of earth onto the shower curtain. I mapped out three triangles: one for daffodils, one for tulips, and a third triangle with both tulips and daffodils to create some unity in the space. Bob arrived just as I finished my second triangle. He observed that I had dug much deeper than the planned six inches, and returned with a tape measure to prove it. Too late. I was committed to the depth. I felt a little deflated, though, and a little tired as well.

I got almost half the bulbs in that area and covered them up with the earth on the shower curtain. On to the next section of garden, between the roses on the east side of the house. This time I didn't use the shower curtain. I had run out of steam and had only enough energy for four or five shallow  holes between the rose bushes, and to make matters worse I was getting very hot and my damp hair hung in strings over my eyes.

In my eagerness to get the job done, I now worked in in a careless and sloppy way. Since I really can't kneel down because of the knee surgeries, I leaned my head against the cool stucco and pawed my way down to the earth. I pricked my fingers with rose thorns and got a few of them caught in my hair. After burying a couple of handfuls of bulbs in the first hole, pointy side up, I stepped back to admire my work and stepped on the large fork leaning against the house. The handle bounced off the wall and hit my head with surprising force, making me feel like a candidate for Funniest Home Videos. I went on to the second hole, then stepped on the fork again, this time bopping myself into what felt like a near concussion.

The sun was shining brightly by the time I finally finished the planting, with each group of bulbs, tulips and daffodils in each hole, each one a little shallower than the one before. Finally at the end of the ordeal, I stole some earth from the day lilies to spread over the bulbs, in an attempt to compensate for the shallow beds. I watered the earth with the hose and managed to spray myself in the face, but fortunately the neighbors weren't in evidence.

The whole project took me over two hours and tonight, I feel unfamiliar aches in strange places. Marilyn tells me bulbs are very adaptable (idiot proof?), so I'm daring to hope for a small measure of success next April.

Seen a Brute Barrel Lid?

Fall clean-up is in full swing. We have an old oak in our yard that has delivered tons of acorns this year. As soon as they were edible, the squirrels took over the tree and began biting off small branches filled with acorns. Several times a day from early August until about ten days ago, I swept the deck and picked up the yard, filling barrels of leaves for the compost site. The squirrels got fat on the acorns, until only the caps were left on the grass.

By last weekend the last acorn had been eaten or buried for later consumption. I raked hundreds of pounds of acorn caps into three large barrels, and we hoisted them into the Traverse for a trip to the compost site. Since the load was heavy and somewhat damp after three days of persistent rain, our goal was to get in and out as quickly as possible. My job was to get the barrels back in the vehicle after Bob dumped them.

Not surprisingly, I fell short. Got the barrels back in but somehow missed the lid to a pricey Brute 44-gallon container. After we got home, I sprung into action to do some inside clean-up, and had a toilet brush in my hand when Bob came in from the garage, announcing mournfully that a lid was missing and he was returning to the composite site.

No luck. He spent the afternoon wondering whether the lid had been stolen or was simply buried under mounds of leaves and other lawn muck. I knew there would be no peace until we returned -- together -- for yet another look. Bob emerged from the garage with a heavy, rusted vintage spade, the kind you see gravediggers use in old movies.

Our neighbor asked if we were going to dig for gold. I almost said, "No, just a trip to the cemetery", but resisted the impulse. On to the compost site. As we approached, I commented that we could just ask the attendants, a man and woman in bright orange vests, if someone had turned in a garbage can lid. "Oh, I've already done that", said Bob. As we pulled up, the couple looked over with interest.

We were the only vehicle present, and the rain was beginning to fall again. Quite a bit more yard waste gad accumulated since our first visit several hours earlier. Bob opened the tailgate and lifted the shovel from the vehicle. He started in where I thought we had dumped our waste. The attendants were laughing merrily and I put my head down, fearing recognition.

Bob's efforts yielded nothing. My husband insisted that I scan the entire site for a propped up lid, waiting for reclamation by its rightful owner. Nothing. We concluded that our precious lid had been stolen. Several hours later, we were on our way to dinner when we passed the compost site once again. Bob was still looking for the lid, this time along the roadway.

In the week since the incident, Bob is still lamenting the loss of the lid. Somehow, though, life has gone on without any perceptible degradaion.

Managing a Chronic Health Condition

When friends occasionally ask me how my MS is doing, I think they're hoping for "great" or, at least, "fine", and that's what they get. I'm fairly sure that most are not interested in the day-to-day challenges of living with multiple sclerosis.

The routine is easier to manage since I retired. I often used to find myself totally out of energy early in the afternoon, and even the walk to the parking ramp was daunting, just because of couple of stairs and a skyway with a slight incline. I was sometimes so tired walking in the door that the prospect of making dinner seemed like an insurmountable task. Today, I can change the day's pace if I've undertaken too much and a 10-minute break helps revive me. The simple idea that I can manage my time has reduced my anxiety level.

I will soon reach the 10-year milestone. In the decade since my diagnosis, I've progressed from being furious most of the time to some measure of acceptance. The anxiety of dealing with this damn disease every day has taken its toll, but I've also learned a few useful lessons along the way:

• I'm lucky to have relapsing-remitting MS. It's treatable with one of the disease modifying drugs (in my case, interferon beta 1a, an IM injectable marketed as Avonex).
• For me, it seems to be best to minimize the number of drugs I use. For most of these 10 years, Avonex has been my only drug. I did experiment with a couple of medications for "MS fatigue", but they made me jumpy and didn't do anything for that debilitating lassitude that sometimes hits at inopportune times.
• Life is full of daily choices. I prefer to err on the side on "moderate risk" and go for the change-up. Keeps life interesting.

Cycle Therapy

I've ridden a bike all my life but unusual circumstances this summer have provided new insights. Bob's knee surgery has kept him from resuming his regular rides because of challenges getting on and off the bike. Instead, we've been riding around the neighborhood, never more than a mile or so from home on familiar streets.

Unexpected bonus: these little junkets have given me the opportunity to improve my own basic skills, always deficient but ignored until this summer. I didn't even notice the change until last week, when I realized that I could complete a circle or U-turn without putting my foot down. I can also start off on one push and stand up on the bike, easily stop and start without wobbling, get on and off without worrying too much about catching my foot -- very simple but important skills that weren't really up to par.

I've always been afraid of car traffic but find that my ability to see and hear cars has improved now that I'm more comfortable on the bike. And my own left knee, ten months out from total knee replacement surgery, seems to be better every day. Looking forward to being  more confident when Bob gets back to "real" riding soon.

Not a Merry Maid

Yesterday morning I decided to vacuum in the corners and under the beds, a mix of carpet (mostly) and wood flooring. I usually do only a quick job with the upright vacuum cleaner, neglecting the stairs and the upstairs because the machine is too heavy to carry up the stairs.

The Eureka vacuum with the hose and various accessories sits in Bob's closet, for the most part unused. I thought I'd have trouble putting together the pieces but, in fact, everything went together quite easily. I got a little cocky backing down the stairs and misjudged the bottom step for the landing, losing my balance and beginning a fall backward, perilously close to the window on the landing. Fortunately, I caught myself and disentangled my feet from the hose and cord and power cord. The cord came out of the outlet and I decided to plug the machine downstairs.

Bob noticed the commotion and showed me how to use the tools, one a small "sucker" that works well on stairs. Bob fired up his favorite supervisory role and I slugged through the vacuuming. Not signing up for any outside jobs.

If Football, then Fall

CDH Football Practice August 16, 2013

Nothing signals the approach of fall like the beginning of the football season. Late Friday morning, Bob was working with a customer at Cretin Derham Hall so I walked over to the CDH field to watch a practice. Most of the boys looked young and slight, so I guessed that I was looking at one of the junior teams, probably not the champion Raiders -- always contenders in their conference.

Voices raised for projection purposes; no yelling or abusive comments. So much mutual respect among coaches and players. I'm a fairly recent convert to football but it was easy for me to follow the offensive and defensive drills and mini trip through the playbook.

I left the practice at about noon, around lunch break. I felt uplifted, joyful and full of hope for the future. Good luck in 2013, CDH Raiders.

Faire mon Steinberg

"Grocery shopping" sounds so boring -- not the kind of thing I'd want to do on a regular basis. I still think of it as "faire mon Steinberg" -- what many women called grocery shopping back in the 1970s when we shopped at neighborhood Steinberg markets in Montreal.

The last time I was responsible for the task my primary focus making sure I had supplies for nutritious children's meals and school lunches. Bob took over the job sometime in the late nineties and I've always been somewhat critical and decidedly ungrateful.

When asked to contribute to the grocery list, I usually declined, knowing perfectly well that Bob wouldn't even know where to find hummus, goat cheese or farro. Turns out I am really good at targeted buying (a few ingredients for a specific recipe) or wandering through the farmer's market, buying until I my arms are full of delicious fruits and vegetables.

I realized over the first six weeks or so following Bob's surgery that I had to learn to shop for meals rather than simply pick up items that appealed to me. I gained new respect for the job Bob had done all those years.

Now I've got the best of the old and new worlds. Bob has resumed management of the grocery list but I go along and am the "go-fer" in the store, finding coupon items, specials and promotions. I also pick out my own favorite foods and drop them in the cart. I've become an expert at unloading; bagging, not so much -- that's Bob's job.

I now know where everything is in the fridge, a surprise benefit. I'll crack open that classic hummus container when I make lunch today.

The $83 Jigsaw Puzzle

I finally finished the hummingbird puzzle about a month ago and couldn't bear to take apart this new piece of art. Rather than take it to be framed -- an expensive proposition -- I decided to do the job myself. Turns out  18" X 18" isn't a standard size. This is what I've spent so far:

Audubon hummingbird puzzle

$10

Sticky backing for puzzle - 2 boxes so I can do this again for the next puzzle (ruined a few sheets)	$12
Clear contact paper - why use glass for a cheap puzzle? (unusable)	$10
Frame - 6 hours to find the "right" one	$22
Mylar - 3 colors to use as a mat, bought at art scraps store (unusable; 2 sheets hopelessly ruined)	$8
Mat - incorrectly measurements taken by me (probably unusable)	$21
Total	$83

The backing worked fine, though I had to flip over the puzzle (quickly and with great competence) to glue it on. The contact paper effort was a near disaster that wrinkled too much to use, and I had a hard time getting it off the puzzle without ruining the picture.

I used up so much time finding a frame that I could have made one (maybe) in less time. The mylar was intended as a mat substitute, but to my surprise it was much like the sticky contact paper and my first attempt resulted in a sticky mess on the back of my puzzle. I ruined one sheet, saved a nice gold one for a future project, and had to use the bright pink. It was totally wrong for the puzzle and I ended up ruining it when I ripped it off.

I don't know how on earth I under-measured the height of the puzzle. Must have been battle fatigue. I had it cut at Frameworks in Highland Village and ended with the perfect shade of dusty green (ironically named "wise green"), so the final product is almost right. Unfortunately, the space above the mat at the top looks like hell.

Bob asked me if it was a hundred dollar puzzle yet. "Yes", I answered, but I guess it's only $83, plus gas. My time is free.

Working up a Sweat

Mowing the lawn is getting easier, now that I've been doing it for six weeks or so. My right hand had been hurting quite badly for most of this time, mostly repetitive stress from mousing and keyboarding, but much worse since I started mowing. Fearing some kind of fracture, I finally saw a hand specialist last week: no break, and only minimal osteoarthritis. However, the light bulb went off as I talked with the doctor. I've been using hand rather than arm muscles to pull the starter, and until today I squeezed much too tightly on the drive lever. This is the case with a lot of other activities too, so in only a few days, my hand feels better. Today I started the mower several times with a nice, long pull and had no pain whatsoever.

Another insight as I worked on this warm, muggy morning and sweat was dripping from my head onto my glasses and into my eyes. Minutes later, my eyes were burning I could taste salt on my lips. I reflected that I have only very rarely worked up a sweat in my life. The few times stand out: lifeguarding on a hot day with too few breaks, being overdressed while cross country skiing, cooking Christmas dinner wearing a heavy holiday shirt, inline skating in 90-degree weather, helping my brother and his wife unpack after a move to Memphis in the brutal heat of late August. And now, mowing the lawn.

I really enjoy the finality of shutting off the lawnmower and closing the garage door. Water tastes delicious and the cool shower feels heavenly. But since a lawn business is not in my future, I'll have to find some other way of "breaking a sweat" the other six days of the week.

Checks and Balances

I love accounting for assets appropriately. For larger accounts and ones that vary with an index, rate or time, I'm happy if I have a good idea of balances, within 5%-10%. One of my pet dislikes is large dollar amounts with two decimals, reflecting a level of accuracy that does not exist. Conversely, I like to see a household checking account with many transactions balanced to the penny.

Bob balanced our checking account for many years, according to a formula that included an unrecorded credit of several hundred dollars, such that he was comfortable as long as his record and the bank's "balanced" within $200-$400. I was eager to change this when I retired and immediately started watching the checking account every day, with the objective of determining the exact amount of the discrepancy. After noting a constant discrepancy from day to day, I adjusted our checkbook balance and began to take pride in the fact that we had a perfect record of the balance every day.

 Bob likes to maintain a manual register, so I had to reacquaint myself with the art of mental addition and subtraction, or use scratch sheets when necessary so that an accurate balance would always show in the check register. About once a week, I balance with the bank and my simple Excel checkbook register. On Wednesday, I congratulated myself after a particularly satisfying balancing session. Perfect, because my knowledge of pending transactions was perfect.

Yesterday I couldn't find the checkbook. I checked everywhere I had been the day before, emptied my purse, picked through the trash and recycling, emptied dining room buffet drawers, returned four times to check the desk Bob and I share. This went on for several hours, and I soon felt like a total incompetent. A hot, sweaty, frustrated and cranky incompetent.

In desperation, I prayed to St. Anthony and promised $10 for the pain de Saint Antoine if I found the checkbook. I immediately felt at peace and knew that I could easily recreate the check register from my e-record. Since I was quite sure that the checkbook hadn't left the house, I wasn't even worried about the checks,instruments that are rapidly becoming obsolete anyway.

This morning, Bob found the checkbook on the refrigerator, which I am too short to see. I had set the item there while tidying the top of the radiator, and then forgotten about it. I'm glad that I didn't have to get the big guns (St. Jude, Our Lady of Perpetual Help) on the job. I don't really think that you can bribe saints into ten dollar intercessory prayer, but just in case I'll be sure to drop off the promised funds at my favorite church of St. Louis de France.

The Lost Art of Cookie Baking

I'm sure I must have misunderstood Martha Stewart's directions. These cookies are going to the birds.

A quarter of a century ago (sounds longer than 25 years), I was a habitual and damn good cookie baker. It was a good entertainment for a young child, while teaching measuring skills too -- that was my mother's take on baking when my sister and I were little. The child in question has grown up with excellent measuring skills, but I'm not sure he's still familiar with the ones needed for successful cookie baking. Seems I'm not either.

Last Sunday I decided to crack open a new bag of flour and make peanut butter cookies. Rather than climb up on the kitchen step stool to bring down my trusty, but now under-used, Betty Crocker cookbook, I looked up an online Martha Stewart recipe. Looked familiar, with the usual ingredients (peanut butter, butter, egg, brown sugar but not too much of it, flour, baking soda). I added a bit of vanilla because it seemed wrong not to include it.

As I whipped through the baking routine, I thought with great satisfaction that I must have improved my efficiency in the last two decades, as I cleaned dishes during the time the cookies were in the oven, and prepared a third sheet as well, ending up with exactly the number (48) of cookies Martha said I'd get. I was feeling that my long professional career, filled with multitasking and coordinated tasks, was paying off in the kitchen. I wondered for a only a second or so whether 18-22 minutes wasn't a little long for a batch of cookies.

My self congratulatory interlude ended abruptly when I realized that the cookies were all over baked. Some were even a little burned on the bottom. I scraped off the dry crumbs on the bottom of most of the cookies and immediately put half of them in one of my bird feeders. Over the week, Bob and I have each had a couple of cookie pieces each day, but the rest, smelling a little charred, will go to the birds, who attacked the first batch with great enthusiasm. I can't believe that Martha was wrong but didn't have enough energy to recheck the baking time.

Betty Crocker is coming down to counter level.


De-cluttered Serenity

Well, maybe not serenity. Not me, not yet anyway. And the de-cluttering initiative is still in its infancy. I hadn't realized until I had a little time to assess my environment that clutter had pretty much taken over every room.

One of my first resolutions was to keep a cleaner kitchen and bathrooms. The bathrooms were fairly easy, as they are both small and uncluttered. The kitchen isn't big either, but there are more hiding places for junk and counters serve as collection surfaces for food, dishes, glasses, coupons and other mess. The kitchen still needs work, but so far I've got a clean fridge and food cupboards.

The most recent success was the hall linen closet and the four drawers that I've always used in lieu of a dresser. I attack a new hoarding area every couple of days. I tackled the job a shelf and drawer at a time. The easy decisions, like removing and refolding linens, were made first. The top shelf was only a moderate success, because most of the contents were Bob's, and I could throw out only so much. In the end, I put back his "upstairs" tools and painting drop sheet. I was more aggressive with the bottom drawer that included baby photos and toiletries from the Hotel Mediterraneo in Rome, collected in 1999. I felt a little regretful parting with the azure colored shampoo but happily tossed the rest.

The goal: total declutter (except for basement and attic) by the end of the 2013.

Groceries and Booze

The only grocery shopping I've done for over 20 years is for special celebrations and family parties, so it was an eye-opener to take it on after Bob's surgery. My first time out, I was mentally and physically spent about half-way through the experience. I couldn't figure out the layout of Bob's favorite store, the Larpenteur Rainbow Foods, and I was frustrated looking for sold-out coupon items. Moreover, I found myself picking up many products on a whim and forgetting about my list.  I went for the no hassle, coupon free shopping pleasure of Kowalski's and Lund's, rather than navigate Rainbow, where I have to bag my own stuff and feel compelled to use the coupons from the Sunday paper.

This morning I was there before ten, armed with my list and a modest number of coupons. I went off list a couple of times (prepared tuna salad, liverwurst, birthday candles) but was smart enough to shop the aisles at either end of the store, and go down the middle for frozen foods at the end of shopping trip.

I included a little side trip to the adjacent liquor store for wine and beer. I am quite familiar with liquor stores and soon grabbed what I needed for Bob's birthday and Grand Old Day this weekend. Alas, no wines to sample at 10:00 a.m.

The Hummingbird Jigsaw Puzzle Seduction

In the lunchroom shared by staff of the departments of Commerce and Health, a jigsaw is always in progress on one of the tables. The fact that I was never able to add even one piece to any puzzle over a period of several years should have served as some kind of warning indicator leading me away from any temptation to buy a puzzle.

Last week, I was shopping in Barnes & Noble and was drawn to a colorful box decorated with a beautiful photo of a hummingbird. I picked up the box and my fear of the 500-piece puzzle, for ages 14 and up, was outweighed by the vision of a lovely framed 18" X 18" hummingbird brightening Minnesota's long winter.

Support for Audubon seemed like a good idea, at least in the beginning

"Do the outside frame first," I thought, and struggled mightily for several days until Bob suggested that I measure how big 18" actually is. A good tip. I managed to get the corners done and gradually finished the frame, about 15% of the puzzle. Along the way, I realized that a few pieces didn't quite fit, and "close" wasn't good enough, messing up the possibility of real matches for other parts of the puzzle.

Over the weekend, I got the bird finished and filled in a lot of sections, such that I'm now about 75% done, with shades of green left. I've learned that I should have looked for a methodology before undertaking what has turned into a monumental task. Turns out it would have been better to construct sections first, by color, something that has occurred to me as I've struggled to find one piece out of a couple of hundred to fit in only one spot, and start over again with the next piece.

Not sure I'll be doing this again anytime soon!

Mowing the Lawn

Bob won't be able to mow the lawn for awhile yet, and I was eager to see what I could do. My experience: one brutal session with an old push mower 50 years ago and one or two passes around the back yard a few decades back, when Bob was on a motorcycle trip at the height of the growing season. I needed our neighbor's help to start the mower, and I remember the experience as noisy, smelly and only marginally successful.

Armed with ear plugs and Bob's extensive mowing knowledgebase, I headed out for the first time last Thursday, and was inordinately proud when I succeeded in doing most of the lawn, under careful supervision, of course. This morning, probably our only dry day this week, I did all but the boulevard, a manageable flat surface for Bob.

The job is done with two mowers. The first is a self-propelled Honda, very conventional, with a tendency to "get away" from the operator. Its main advantage is its "one-pull" start that even an inexperienced, non-mechanical person like me can start. The second mower is a "FlyMo" rescued from the neighbor's trash, used to mow the bank down to the sidewalk. It's quite a contraption: a mower that "floats" on the surface of the grass, adapted by Bob for the bank with a old water ski rope attached to and wrapped around the mower handle. Holding on to the ski handle, I lower the mower to the bottom of the bank, maintaining just enough control to cut the grass. I couldn't help laughing, knowing full well why cars slow down as they pass by.

Now that I've got the hang of it, I really enjoy mowing the lawn. The task is clear; the results are visible and measurable, immediately gratifying. The smell of fresh grass is a refreshing sensory experience of summer, right up there with a cold beer. The job has a beginning and an end, though the freshly mown look fades quickly.

I'm going to give myself an "A" for this one.

Gardeners Live Long Lives

Many studies (I wonder now how scientific they are) suggest that gardeners live long, healthy lives. I can't believe this is true. I got my feet wet about ten days ago filling the five planters with Bob, and that experience was fine -- easy on the nerves and not very demanding. Yesterday and today were a different story.

I spent several hours over the last two days planting a total of 74 plants (impatiens, alyssum, petunias, marigolds), in the flower bed near the garage and the other small area between the front and back yards. I'd prepared the ground the same day as I did the planters, but after all the rain we've had the ground was very hard and  I had to do some of the work again.

I divided each space into quadrants so that I could distribute the plants fairly evenly, going for a nice "random" design. On Bob's instructions, I dug a hole for each little plant, some of which were looking mighty sparse and fragile. Then I filled the watering can and poured water into each hole. Yesterday was impatiens day and by the time I'd shoved every little plant into the 34 holes, I felt as though I could go to bed for the rest of the day.

This morning, I finished up with the rest of the flowers. Despite my sister Marilyn's warning not to plant in the rain (soil is too compacted), I figured today was a better weather day than what we'll be getting the rest of the week, so I pushed forward. I passed on the gardening gloves today and my hands were totally mucked up after only a few minutes.

Midway through the project, Heather from P & J Medical came to pick up Bob's CPM machine. I left the job to talk to her for awhile, and realized after a minute or so that I must look like a crazy person. By this time, I was quite wet and my hair was plastered to my head. I had a big brown blob of mud on my glasses and my legs were streaked with dirt. After a little chit chat about yards and mowing, Heather left and I went back to my station. 20 plants to go. I wasn't concerned that passers-by and neighbors would see me in this frazzled, filthy state. I had turned into the kind of woman I've laughed at all these years.

By the time I finished, the watering can was so dirty that I had to hose it off. Because I can't kneel down on my fake knees, all the planting was done from a crouched position, and I had begun to stiffen up. My left elbow ached and my hands were cramped and cold. I felt about 95 years old, not shooting for 100.

The rain began to fall harder. I went into the house through the side door, and limped down the stairs to the basement for my shower. I sprayed off the mud and hoped that no one would come to the door as I walked through the house clad only a towel.

Lots of Exercise

I spent the first "real" weekend of spring looking out the window at summer temperatures from inside Bob's hospital room. Cyclists were out on their bikes and I wondered how long it would be before Bob is well enough to ride his bike. I checked my first total knee replacement (TKR) blog and saw that my first ride was in early April about 12 weeks after surgery, but I'm fairly sure I could have ridden my bike 5-6 weeks after surgery last fall. Of course, by then it was winter and there was no bike riding.

Bob came home from the hospital on April 29, and I was immediately drafted into action as fetcher and heavy lifter. I get up between 5 and 6, feed the cat and make coffee before bringing Bob his coffee at 7. By the end of an average day, I've made many trips up and down the stairs, especially if I'm doing laundry that day and am hitting the basement 3 or 4 times as well. My own quads are getting very strong and I don't feel the strain on my knees anymore. The CPM machine is quite heavy and unwieldy but the upper body exercises I've been doing for 6 months or so have paid off and it's fairly easy to manage. The activities of daily living are keeping me more active than I ever was sitting at a desk all day.

Lazy Woman's Silver Polish

Our everyday silver is a set Bob's family used when he was a child at home, but I never had time to polish it and most of the time, it was tarnished and dirty looking. A few years ago I undertook a major initiative to polish all of it, but the tarnish gradually came back and I had never succeeded in removing the black in the smallest sections of the pattern.

Two weeks ago I polished the silver again and applied a new treatment whenever I have a load of silver to wash:

Line plastic rectangular container (like a dishpan) with foil (the thin, cheap kind)

Fill the container with silver or silverplate

Sprinkle liberally with baking soda

Pour boiling water over the silver and let cool

Wash silver with a liquid detergent

Dry

Silver will be shiny and tarnish free -- especially after a couple of applications

Cosmetology as a Sideline?

I've been coloring my own hair for many years, with varying degrees of success. In the last few years, less successful experiences have included a head that was red on the top half and light brown on the bottom and a color so dark that I washed my hair a dozen times to lighten the shade. The last shampoo included about a cup of peroxide, which finally did the trick.

Before Christmas last year, I decided that from now on I would go to a professional for my coloring in the future. However, my natural frugality kicked in when I worked my last paid day and I've gone back to the home salon. This morning I decided that I'd try some auburn highlights. I split a dose of Nice'n Easy lightest auburn into two applications and used my gloved fingers to mix the color through my hair. The result looked a little "chunky" so I switched to a comb and ended up with a fully moistened head, though I could see that some sections were a little light.

Final result: pretty good. It looks more like auburn with blondish highlights, but it's reasonably attractive. And I still have one more application for next time.

Next Career: Not Nursing

When I was a teenager, I wanted to be nurse but any hope of a medical career was dashed when I fainted as I watched a doctor stitch up a kid's cut. As I lay under the lights in the procedure room, the physician suggested I pursue another line of work.

My retirement date was determined by my husband's knee replacement surgery scheduled for the end of April. Having gone through the surgery twice myself, I knew that support at home is critical to a successful recovery. Bob's surgery was performed yesterday, and this is my second day at the hospital, where activities seem to be centered around various bodily functions, all of them disgusting to someone as squeamish as I.

My stomach has already lurched so much that I'm already doing the countdown to Monday, when the patient is released from the hospital. I've already warned Bob that level of service will diminish when he gets home, and nurse's aide duties will not be included in the overall package. My future is full of opportunities but home nursing is not one of them.

On "Meaningful Work"

I felt very eager to begin the first of my retirement projects, the "online coffee table book" on under-represented regions of Minnesota, and I was looking forward to a field trip to northwestern Minnesota, where I would see and photograph the headwaters of the Mississippi River for the first time. However, heavy snows across Minnesota, including the Twin Cities, precluded such a junket until later in the spring. Instead, after finishing the day's snow shoveling, I began to organize papers and online files, with a view to creating some order and sequencing projects.

I found myself longing for the predictability of a work routine, even as I enjoyed the freedom of being outdoors for several hours a day and the opportunity to capture some good shots of Minnesota wildlife right here in St. Paul and Minneapolis. One afternoon, I went with  Bob on a business call to Cretin Derham Hall High School, one of his customers. The familiar, reassuring ambience of a school made me long for some kind of job there. I learned that "they're always looking for staff in the media center". I'm not even sure what a media center is -- a library, perhaps?  However, it has to be full of devices (desktops, laptops, printers, audio-visual apparatus) that would be familiar to me.

I'm not going to rush to a part-tine job, but it was good to know that  I might find a few hours of "meaningful work" some time next fall.

Snow Daze

It's almost shocking to wake up in the morning, knowing that I don't have to go to work. Fortunately, for 5 of my first 10 days I had plenty of work to do, with a number of major spring snowstorms that dumped over 17 inches of snow on the Twin Cities. The first day I was thrilled to have physical work to occupy my body and mind; by Wednesday, April 24 -- our last snow day till next season, I think -- the thrill had receded and I trudged through clearing the deck and sidewalks. Bob did the blowing (not an easy task with thick, wet, heavy spring snow) and I shoveled. Tons of snow.

Today we should see our first temps above 60 since November 10.

The Decision

Email to co-workers at the Department of Commerce (Friday, April 5, 2013):

It’s hard to believe that 40+ years in the workforce have flown by, 23 of them with the State of Minnesota, where I began as a “session only” legislative staffer in 1990.  I’ve had the privilege of working in several agencies but have spent more than half my state career at either the Department of Commerce or the Public Utilities Commission. I’ve participated in a number of challenging projects and initiatives over the years,  and have especially enjoyed this last assignment with MNIT at Commerce. I’m going to miss the daily challenges and, even more,  the colleagues who’ve become friends.

 

I’m looking forward to indulging my love of the outdoors and pursuing some of  the interests that require time I haven’t had until now. One of my first projects will integrate my love of Minnesota, writing, photography, technology and social media tools. The idea is an “online coffee table book”, with photos and some text, on Minnesota’s varied topographical regions, particularly those I consider to be under-represented. My own collection of photos is heavy on the Brainerd area lakes, Lake Superior and the Twin Cities, so my husband and I are planning excursions that will include the  headwaters of the Mississippi River this spring and southern Minnesota late in the summer.

 

I’m very proud  of my years of state employment, enriched by your support, example of public service and, above all, your friendship. At my request, there will be no retirement party,  but I  hope to visit with some of you before I leave, and am grateful to live in an era that allows us to stay in touch.

 

Thanks, everyone, for  many happy memories.

 

Catherine

 

cahennessey@comcast.net

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