Holiday Letter to Family and Friends

Winter photos.

I sent an earlier version of this Christmas letter with cards via US Mail, too late to arrive on time for Christmas. I'm ready to get back to blogging, and this seems like an appropriate item. Happy New Year, everyone!

Enjoying a Boca Ciega Bay boat ride

Merry Christmas! The weather was so balmy throughout December that I was surprised to see a little dusting of snow just before Christmas, and recent snow confirms that we may have a Minnesota winter after all. Our hearts are still full of holiday spirit as continue to enjoy the December break and look forward to a New Year.

Our year has been busy. We spent March in St. Pete Beach, Florida, and enjoyed a beautiful month of perfect weather. For the first time, I screwed up my courage and shared some of the driving with Bob. His new 2015 Traverse was a joy to drive and I was quite proud to take my turn at the wheel for a few hundred miles each way of the journey, marveling at the vast expanse of transition landscape, with winter and summer at either end.

Granddaughter Angie and her husband Mike welcomed baby Henry to their family in May, making 3-year-old Will a proud big brother, and Bob a great-great grandfather once again.


Bob holding baby Henry, with of the grandchildren and great grandchildren on his birthday

After a big family party for Bob’s birthday in June, we flew to California for grandson Tyler’s high school graduation. We spent a few days in our favorite Monterey Bay before the event, and had a lovely time on winding 17 Mile Drive before visiting the world-famous Pebble Beach Resort, where even a non-golfer like me felt steeped in the history of golf and its traditions.

Bob with grandson Tyler

We were joined in Fresno by sons John and Chris, as well as John and Trudy’s boys, Adam and Mitchell. A graduation is an emotional event and I found myself thinking back to Tyler’s mom, Mary, who was a new graduate about Tyler’s age when I first met her in 1982. Mary hosted two graduation dinners with extended family members we haven’t seen for some time. Happy days.

 

John, Adam, Bob, Chris, Mitchell at Yosemite

The next morning, John piled the Minnesotans into his rental SUV and drove us to Yosemite for an unsettled and occasionally stormy day. It was nostalgic to see Adam and Mitchell walk through the ancient Sequoia forest, much as we had nearly 20 years ago around the time Tyler was born. For once, Bob was a passenger and could look around at panoramic views. Best field trip ever.

We ended the California junket with a couple of days in San Francisco. We were especially pleased that Mary joined us overnight, and on the Sunday morning, Cousin Michele Hennessey treated us to mid-morning brunch at her apartment with spectacular view of San Francisco. It was heartwarming to see seven cousins from three generations delighted to be in one another’s company. The Hennessey sociability gene was clearly in evidence as Michele put on a gorgeous gourmet meal, perfectly presented and served.

Hennessey cousins from 3 generations: Standing bhind Bob are Chris, Mary, Michele, John, Adam, Mitchell

Bob and I spent a few days in Crosslake in mid-August. While the weather was not particularly cooperative, we loved being out in the boat (newly repaired by John Hennessey) as we slipped back to many favorite Whitefish Chain spots. One day we had lunch at Bar Harbor, where the drinks are excellent and the food is even better. Maybe that’s vice versa.

We took a Corvette run to the Black Hills over Labor Day weekend. While I hadn’t been particularly enthusiastic when we set out, of course we had a wonderful time. The Vette sped across I-90, now with a “strict 80 mph” speed limit. It was hot in the Hills, and at Devil’s Tower, Wyoming, where we watched climbers scale the big rock. My favorite stop was the Crazy Horse Memorial, where I was enveloped in the spirituality of the Lakota culture that enriches the Midwest. I was privileged to talk with several artists whose reverence for the land and its inhabitants inspired me and informed our few days in this stark and stunning part of the world. On the same day, we saw Mount Rushmore just as the sun began to fall in the late summer sky. Spectacular.

Crazy Horse Memorial, South Dakota

In October we went to the North Shore of Lake Superior, but our hotel was near Spirit Mountain on the south side of Duluth rather than in our usual Two Harbors destination. The change gave us our North Shore excursions on the first day but an easy drive home. Just after Halloween, we traveled south along the Mississippi River to Lacrosse, where temperatures were summer warm. We couldn’t have asked for a happier last fall run, and November seemed very far away as the sun burned hot over the river.

Many of our activities were curtailed in November and December, as I was ill for much of the time. After months of with persistent intestinal issues, I caught a nasty virus and developed a sinus infection and pneumonia. Fortunately (for me, not so much for her), my sister Marilyn was visiting. I wasn't up to our usual outings but Marilyn donned her MD hat to take charge of my medical care, working closely with my nurse practitioner Jennifer Bottem from Fairview Highland Clinic. Marilyn and Jenny made sure I made it through several very difficult nights, and I felt very comforted, finally hopeful that I would eventually get well.

By December 14, I felt desperately sick and was admitted to the University of Minnesota Medical Center the next day. I was soon diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease, which I had suspected for some time. Treatment with prednisone was immediate and will continue for about a month; yesterday I began longer term therapy that includes several medications that should make me feel a lot better. Amazingly, I am fantastic right now and so grateful to be under the care of an excellent University of Minnesota medical team.

Everyone at the University of Minnesota Medical Center-- doctors, residents, students, nurses, nursing assistants, housekeeping staff, phlebotomists, transporters, pharmacy and administrative personnel, food service -- was so kind, compassionate and competent. I was nursed back to health with great care and skill by UMMC professionals. They are among the best in the world.

After a simple Thanksgiving at home because of my illness, Bob and I enjoyed celebrating Mexican Christmas Eve with the Muñoz family, followed by a large Christmas Day pot luck dinner hosted by Meggan Kerkenbush and Scott Hennessey. I was thrilled to shop (all online this year) for 12 children under the age of 9 – an energetic new generation.

We wish you a very happy holiday, filled with good health, blessings and happiness in the New Year.

Love,

Bob & Catherine (cahennessey@comcast.net; http://www.catherinehennesseyblog.com)

An Anniversary

The big wreck was on October 6, 1985

Thirty years ago today I awoke to a cool, Minnesota fall morning, bright and crisp. Bob and I walked over to the Twin Cities Marathon as we always do, but we had a beautiful afternoon ahead of us and the Harley was beckoning. It looked like a great day for a ride in the country.

It was cold enough for me to wear a sky blue winter jacket and long underwear under my jeans. Clothing didn't have much "give" back then, so I felt a little stuffed into the layers I'd put on, but I was warm on the bike and the weather was oh-so-lovely for an autumn outing.

We were riding along happily, enjoying the sunny October Sunday afternoon. A vehicle made a perfect stop at the intersection of Woodlane Drive and Military Road and then, to my horror, the car began to cross Military Road in front of us. There is a stop sign for traffic on Military Road today, but then we had the so-called right of way and there was no way to avoid hitting the car. I thought to myself, "this is it", feeling no emotion, just resignation.

I hit Bob in front of me and then flew over the handlebars of the bike, maybe rolling a couple of times before ending up in a ditch across Woodlane Drive. Bob was lying in the road, unable to move, sure his leg was broken. Despite the confusion, he directed traffic from the ground until the police and ambulance arrived.

We were whisked away by ambulance to St Paul-Ramsey Medical Center, now Regions Hospital. Most of the rest of the day is a blur, except for my clear memory of so many people with us in the treatment room. Several of Bob's kids were there to hear the startling news of my pregnancy, which we had learned about only a few days before. The announcement eclipsed even the explanation of Bob's severely broken leg bones, tibia and fibula.

Surgery to repair the broken leg was something of a patch job and, in fact, the leg remained broken for several years following our accident. I broke a couple of toes and was black and blue from head to foot. The helmet I wore that day was ruined, but I kept it for a few years to remind me that our fate that day could have been much darker.

I was almost surprised that my pregnancy not only continued but was trouble free, though we were afraid to decorate a nursery or buy any baby clothes until very near my due date. Bob was on a cane when our son Chris was born at the end of May the following year. Several years later, the break in the tibia had not yet healed. Good advice from our brother-in-law, Dr. Ken Marshall, led us to the University of Minnesota Medical Center and Dr. Elizabeth Arendt, then a young orthopedic surgeon whom we got to know very well in the years that followed.

Dr. Arendt operated twice and engineered Bob's recovery and healing. He bought a few more Harleys before switching to a Virago and, finally, a couple of big Honda GoldWings. I didn't get back on a motorcycle for many years, but I enjoyed a few excursions until Bob quit riding a year or so ago. Each day, especially on October 6, I'm happy to wake up relatively healthy, very grateful for the gift of time and the three full lives that could have been lost on that long ago October day.

Red Oak Trauma: Crash!

Facebook album.

I had intended to spend Wednesday doing laundry and recuperating from another long day in several airports. Pope Francis' US visit seemed to provide just the right combination of hopeful challenge and encouragement, so I was happy to watch him on TV as he approached the beautiful Basilica of the Immaculate Conception in Washington, DC.

Suddenly we heard a huge crack, followed by a crash, and then the power went out. A large, heavy limb on our red oak -- estimated to be over a hundred years old well before the beginning of the new millennium -- had landed on the garage roof, taking out power for 70 Xcel Energy customers on our block.

Limb before removal

A neighbor across the alley called 911 and the St. Paul Fire Department soon isolated the area with caution tape. Xcel arrived in late afternoon, before the expiration of the three-hour service window and by early evening power was restored to all but our next-door neighbors to the west and ourselves.

An excellent work crew from Marshall Electric, recommended as 24X7 service techs by Xcel, arrived before sunset to beginning hooking us up. They worked by flashlight for a couple of hours until both families had power, and we didn't have to go to bed in the dark. The three men worked cheerfully in the rain and relieved a bit of the tension that had accumulated since the event in mid-afternoon -- consummate professionals with a sense of humor.

The next morning the arborist from Rainbow Tree Care arrived at 8:00 a.m., the first of four tree services contacted to actually make an appointment and keep it. He summoned a work crew and three guys (Levi, Chuck and Matt) began the huge job of cutting extraneous branches before taking down the limb itself. They worked all day in the rain to get the job done, using their equipment in the confined space of our yard, cleaning up as they went along and after the job was finished. We were impressed by their excellent work, attention to safety and courtesy to us and interested neighbors.

A big chunk of wood

On Friday, Xfinity hooked up our cable, phone and Internet and Bob cleaned the deck and washed his Corvette, mercifully undamaged in the garage. The garage roof will have to be replaced, we think, but that's only one item on the agenda for our meeting with State Farm Insurance on Monday.

The tree doesn't look too odd, but the canopy is certainly much higher and both the deck and yard have much more sun. Landscaping decisions can wait for another day. For now, we're relieved no one was in the garage or yard on Wednesday, and we feel like winners, not victims. We're sorry our great neighbors to the west also suffered damage and inconvenience, but happy the children weren't playing outside when the limb came down.

Stratford: Two Magical Afternoons

For forty years, any activity that required more than 20 minutes of steady sitting was agonizing. Until knee replacement surgery, my knees simply couldn't tolerate a long movie, concert, sporting event or play. I was thrilled to experience zero pain last week during Stratford Festival performances of The Sound of Music and Hamlet.

The Sound of Music
This Globe and Mail review does a better job than I of critiquing this joyous, (to me) surprisingly emotional musical. I loved everything about it: the music, dancing, sets, costumes and, of course, the stars and von Trapp children. The dark, ubiquitous presence of the Nazis dims the bubble gummy quality of some of the pieces in the score and serves as a grim reminder of the desperate state of Europe in 1938.

I loved the abbey nuns' Gregorian chant and polyphonic choral pieces, and was interested in what I perceived as a "German" sound to the chorus -- not that pure, open, St. Olaf Choir quality that I tend to prefer. The nuns' voices were exuberant and the music was believable as prayer, rather than performance. The interpretation seemed very right for the circumstances.

Like most others in the theatre, I shed a few tears. A perfect afternoon after the awful previous day.

Hamlet
Unlike most of the people in the audience, I've seen only one or two performances of Hamlet, and at least one of them was on TV, so I didn't have a wealth of personal experience to inform an evaluation of relative merits of this production.

The Globe and Mail's review is one of the few negative commentaries I saw on this year's Hamlet. I guess I found the interpretation interesting rather than "disjointed", and I looked to this National Post review for a little balance. I wasn't sure about the costumes (vaguely contemporary) or the hair (also contemporary; at the end, hairspray sixties styles for the women), and on that afternoon, the sound seemed "blurry" on occasion, least from our excellent seats fairly near the stage.

No matter. What can I say? I like something a little edgy and daring. I appreciated the actors' involvement with the audience, almost inviting us to comment on the events on stage. My sister Marilyn, a veteran psychiatrist and very knowledgeable theatre goer, said Ophelia portrayed the best true-to-life madness she's ever seen in the many productions of Hamlet she's seen. And here's a personal bias: Jonathan Goad is a very good looking Hamlet with a perfect delivery of a brilliant text. I also liked Geraint Wyn Davies' somewhat beefy, dissolute Claudius who reminded me of a Minneapolis Aquatennial commodore.

These two great afternoons were a gift from Marilyn. I was delighted with the entertainment and in awe of the fact that I had no knee pain at all on either afternoon.

Stratford: A Long Day's Journey between Nights

Stratford is just west of Kitchener

Stratford photos.
Anticipation
I'd been looking forward to my visit with sister Marilyn for several months.  I usually fly into Toronto's large Pearson airport, but in a moment of brilliance, I booked a flight to Kitchener via Chicago O'Hare, knowing that Marilyn's home in Stratford is about 30 miles from the airport, thereby knocking off at least an hour of drive time in each direction. I had visions of us enjoying a glass of wine on the patio before I had time to unpack my bag on Thursday afternoon. If only I had known ...
Dark and stormy night
I was a little apprehensive on Thursday when I awoke to continuing rain after a stormy night. Bob drove me to MSP in the early morning darkness and the trip started off well, with short lines at security and an easy hike to the gate. The first sign of potential trouble became evident with a delay n the arrival of the incoming flight from Chicago. So we left MSP late and then unsettled weather delayed our arrival at O'Hare. I began to worry about the 54 minutes I had to make my connection to Kitchener.
No Kitchener flight for me
Problems began immediately after our arrival in Chicago. A power failure resulted in jetway delays, and despite a very efficient and brisk walk to the Kitchener gate I missed getting on the plane. Turns out a massive systems failure at American Airlines had crippled information delivery, and I had no way of knowing just then that the flight would not leave for at least another hour, but the aircraft doors had  been closed, and my seat had (presumably) been sold to some other customer. Surely they could have found a way to get me and one other passenger, a woman from India, on that plane.
Rerouted
As soon as the computer system came back up, I raced to the desk to book another flight. A sour and tired customer service rep wasn't helpful as I struggled briefly to decide between a 3 p.m. departure to Toronto over a late evening flight to Kitchener that wouldn't get me to the airport until after 10:00 p.m. I decided on Toronto and immediately got on the phone with the very pleasant and efficient Shelby at Stratford Airporter, who booked me on a 7:30 p.m. shuttle that would get me to Marilyn's door in Stratford shortly after 9:00 p.m. Everything was looking good.
Phantom 3:00 p.m. flight
Off to from Concourse G  to a new gate in Concourse H. Three o'clock came and went, with occasional "updates" from American. The plane was "in the hangar" and didn't arrive until about 5:00 p.m., by which time a storm had moved over Chicago, with lightning and hail that made departure impossible. We were finally called to board around 6:30, but elation soon turned to dismay when we were told that our flight crew had "timed out", and we would have to wait for a new pilot, on stand-by somewhere. The pilot eventually showed up and we seemed to be ready to go. By now the sun was setting and everyone was tired and hungry, since most of us had missed a couple of meals and some passengers had been travelling since the previous day. A couple of crackers and a drink would have been nice. A woman in front of me thought we should all be given a glass of wine. Ha!
Change in luck
The flight to Toronto was quick and efficient, and we sailed through Customs and Immigration. I followed Shelby's instructions to the ground shuttle desk, though the 9:30 shuttle was long gone. I was told that "Plan B" would get me to the Kitchener Holiday Inn via an Airways shuttle and I'd then hook up with the Stratford Airporter for the final leg. We were underway just before 10:30 and the two shuttles went off without a hitch.
Saints ...
Yesterday was made easier by all the wonderful people I met: the young mother so in love with her three-month-old baby that even all the delays couldn't dampen her happiness; the cheerful woman returning to Toronto from Ontario, California, where she was working with the Affordable Care Act; Brenda, my pleasant and wise seat companion on her way home to Guelph after a business trip in Des Moines, Iowa; everyone at Stratford Airporter and Airways Transport, including the  administrative staff and two friendly, competent drivers. I especially enjoyed conversation with a fellow shuttle rider who, like me, was headed to Stratford.
... and sinners
On the minus side, I found most American Airlines staff unsympathetic and lacking in communication skills. I certainly understand the frustration of trying to muddle through a day of chaos without reliable information systems, but it would have been so easy to make everyone's day a little easier, if only someone had stepped up. No one did.
At Last!
I arrived at Marilyn's by 12:30, sixteen and a half hours and a time zone away from my departure. I was a little taken aback to be told that she was almost expecting a heavy knock from the OPP, instead of my timid little tap on the door. I was, of course, ten hours late. The A beer and some cheese, hummus and crackers as well as a few good laughs concluded the day nicely. I couldn't help thinking about Syrian refugees in some hostile land, with no happy outcome to yet another perilous day.

Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

View from the west edge of our yard.

I've written about the property next door twice, once last fall and again a few weeks ago when maple tree and lilacs were eliminated from the landscape. The project has had a happy ending after all.

I always liked Mister Rogers' Neighborhood and I vividly remember my pre-schooler inviting me to see "my show" when he heard the familiar song Won't You Be My Neighbor on TV. When I saw an unfamiliar woman with a girl of about eight walk up the sidewalk toward the new house, I rushed out to introduce myself. I realized as we talked how long we've been without a next-door neighbor to the east and how lovely it will be to have a family living next to us.

My notions of pollinator and butterfly friendly plantings were well received and, in fact, as J. is an experienced gardener, as well as an expert on butterflies and many other issues of interest to environmentalists. Good news for me, a gardening novice.

 

Lines of the Fred Rogers came into my head: "I've always wanted to have a neighbor just like you. I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you." This is a neighborhood of pleasant people and the new neighbors fit right in.

 

I've added the last photo to the album.

World Lion Day

I know nothing about astrology but I've always enjoyed being a Leo, a big bonus for someone born in the Year of the Tiger, according to the Chinese Zodiac. Lions, of course, have fallen on hard times, with diminishing populations and the recent scandal involving a Minnesota dentist who killed Cecil the Lion.

Using a dead animal for bait, hunting guides lured Cecil to private land from his usual home, Hwange National Park, a preserve in Zimbabwe, where a bow hunter shot and pursued him for 40 hours before killing him off with a rifle shot. Twin Cities news media identified the hunter as a Bloomington dentist, and the story soon went viral. Like most Minnesotans, I was horrified and chagrined that one of our own could murder Cecil and other endangered animals.

I felt a little less disheartened this morning when I read that today is World Lion Day, and I enjoyed looking at these beautiful lion photographs. It is also my 65th birthday, and it seems like a good time to be grateful for all these years of life and the prospect of good days ahead. Today is a milestone of sorts and I have a brand new Medicare card to prove it.

As is almost always the case on August 10, the sun is shining and the weather is beautiful. It's a good day to share with the King of the Jungle.

Demolition Derby - Part II

Removal near the beginning

 Last fall, I wrote about the sadness I felt when demolition equipment arrived to tear down the house of our longtime neighbor to make way for new construction. In the beginning, I posted photos of the process almost every day but haven't posted any new pictures until today. The house sold recently and the new owners are expected to take possession in a few weeks.

New restrictions in the city of St. Paul on such projects came too late for this property, but I actually felt fairly happy with the new house and was told my next-door neighbor that it's beautiful inside. Open floor plan -- what I'd like in my own house. We were delighted to learn that one of the residents will be a girl exactly the same age as the lovely little girl who lives in the house just west of ours.

 

End of the job

This morning sadness crept into my happy little world. A landscaper working on the property told us that my beautiful lilacs are right on the property line and will have to be removed to make way for a retaining wall between the properties. I felt tearful most of the day, but tears gave way to rage when we arrived home this afternoon after being out for several hours. Most of the limbs had already been sawed off the striking maple tree in the yard next door. It will be replaced by a patio in the bit of yard that remains on the lot.

The maple was the prettiest tree in this neighborhood of stately old elms, maples and oaks. Now, it will soon be a memory preserved in many seasons of pictures I've taken over the years. It's a sad evening on the street.

Photo album.

Grandma Maggie's Rocking Chair

The old black color
after last month's test removal

For many years now I've been staring at Grandma Hennessey's  old rocking chair thickly coated with black enamel. It was on the porch for a long time, but it made me feel guilty so I demoted it to the basement, where it has been piled with junk for a couple of decades. I felt reproached every time I did laundry but I had no experience with furniture stripping and knew a refinishing project would be more challenging than rewarding, at least at first.



After removing many layers,
the seat is looking better

About a month ago I was bored and Bob gave me the go-ahead to investigate stripping the chair. He suggested the basement as a workplace and I started some preliminary work on the rocker. The basement was a BAD idea because it was too cold to open a window, but I did just enough work to realize that I had to take the job outside and approach it in phases. Once again, I got away with a stupid choice and neither succumbed to fumes from the stripper nor set the house on fire.

The rocker is very comfortable

This morning I took the rocking chair to the concrete pad near the trash and covered it with an old sheet, a good enough dropcloth. The morning was cool after the debilitating heat of the last few days, and I set myself the modest goal of removing most of the paint from the visible side of the seat. I used only stripper which I removed with a soft cloth rather than the putty knife and steel wool recommended by the instructions.
I was amazed and was surprisingly emotional when I saw the results, after only 90 minutes or so.  I felt channeled and cheered on by Maggie's spirit as the gooey paint came off, revealing the wood and craftsmanship of old. I never met Grandma but now the rocker has bridged time and space to connect us.

I've given myself a week or so to finish the job and have stored the rocker in the garage beside our bikes, for easy access to my work. I'm already looking forward to some winter knitting in my new chair.

Bastille Day on Selby Avenue




 

Bastille Day poster in a store window

The morning was nice and cool so an early out seemed in order before the heat of the day set in. I thought about driving to this first ever Bastille Day Block Party on Selby Avenue, but I figured I'd need to park far away so I decided to walk.
I hadn't realized that it would get really hot as fast as it did. By the time I'd covered about three-quarters of a mile, half the distance to my destination, I knew it would be impossibly hot on the way home. My head was already wet and I could feel my hair curling near the roots.

Parking was obviously not going to be a problem so I should probably have turned back to get my car, but common sense isn't my strong suite so I pressed on. Fortunately, I took some good photos along the way, so I told myself I'd done the right thing.

Maybe not. I arrived at the block party before noon. Publicity in Twin Cities media suggested that this would be one hell of a big party, so I was quite disappointed when I saw that it wasn't more than the very local block party promised by the poster.

There may have been a French flag somewhere but I didn't see one. The usual street vendors were absent so I had to rethink my vague plan of lunch at the fair. By this time the sun was beating down on me through the overcast sky and I briefly considered walking across the street for a light lunch and beer at O'Gara's, but instead settled for a macaroon at the Whole Foods tent. It was so good that I got back in line and had one more.

Most of the people milling around were about my own age, some in vintage clothing popular in the   1970s. Some of them looked a little familiar, including a woman who used to ride my 94H bus to Minneapolis back in the late 1980s. Only a few merchants had any merchandise on display, and most of it looked like yard sale material. The whole thing seemed like a half-hearted effort unworthy of the seductive event poster.

Feeling a little disappointed, I walked home on different streets, stopping to take photos of some of the lovely gardens on my route. By the time I reached Grand and Fairview I was only a half mile or so from home, a good thing because the temperature was now approaching 90F and climbing. Enough outdoor activity for the afternoon. Instead, I sat in "air conditioned comfort" and watched the Twins trounce the Tigers 7-1.

Summer pics, including photos from Bastille Day on Selby.

Summer Heat

 



The new boiler

There's something a little disheartening about installing a new furnace in the middle of July, especially on an unseasonably chilly morning when winter doesn't seem impossibly far away.

The old gravity feed boiler -- in the house when Bob moved in 50 years ago -- made me feel a little uneasy, especially when we were away for a month in the winter. In the winter months, our Xcel Energy bills reminded me that the furnace was inefficient and used more gas than our neighbors, even though we keep the house fairly cool. It was time.

The guys from Boehm, an old St. Paul company, arrived early this morning and soon the old furnace and pipes were dumped in a junker's truck, along with scraps left over from last week's window job. The job was done by mid-afternoon and the mysteries of the new device were unveiled to Bob and me in the basement at the end of the day.

84% efficiency

The energy efficiency rating of 84% refers to the boiler's ability to squeeze heat from each therm of gas. That meant absolutely nothing to me without comparing it to the non-existent rating of the previous boiler.

One of the installers estimated that rating to be between 50% and 55%, so a rough calculation suggests that the new furnace is at least 53% "more efficient" than the old, a number I hope to see reflected in gas usage once October ushers in the heating season. However, I suspect the guy picked that number out of nowhere so the impact of a more efficient boiler will be a surprise.

Last week, a few naysayers unhesitatingly told us we should simply have kept the old furnace, since it would have gone one forever and the new one will need replacement in a decade or so. I felt a wave of doubt until I saw the completed conversion and realized we can forget about winter heat until the leaves begin to turn.

The Great Window Project of 2015

Two of the new windows.
The other two reflected in the lower right quadrant will go in the dining room.

Our house will be one hundred years old in 2019, and many of our windows are original. Several times a year I answer a knock and get a new window pitch from a vendor selling window replacements in our older neighborhood.

Until now, we've hesitated: it's a big project after all, and if energy efficiency were not an issue, I would tend to retain rather than replace. However, most are hard to open and some of them have storm windows that make cleaning next to impossible.

Bob is taking a break and admiring his work

A month or so ago we cleaned the aluminum porch windows, which are themselves over fifty years old, and obviously well past their prime. We decided that this year, we would replace four first-story windows and all the porch windows. The four new windows arrived last week and Scott H. began the work earlier this week.

Today Bob started on prepping some of the frames for painting, since the entire porch will need a fresh coat of paint. The old paint is thick and cracked, and Bob decided that he would use a blowtorch to remove the paint. Of course, this is universally considered to be a bad, dangerous idea but common sense didn't prevail in this instance. Perhaps lead paint fumes affect the mind.



The old wood looks pretty good

The fire extinguisher is within reach

Armed with a blowtorch, sander, scraper and fire extinguisher, he began the work a couple of hours ago. I decided to stay inside, in case I need to call 911 for some reason, but he's almost finished now and it looks like he's done fine. The job actually looks quite good, though the scope of the project has been curtailed since the work began. Scott told him jokingly that it would take a year to burn all the paint off ... and that estimate seems fairly accurate. Looks like sanding the wood and painting over it may be "good enough" for all but the boards done today.

We're happy with the look of the new windows. They are very similar to the original ones, and easy to open and close. At about $200 per window, replacing all the old windows seems like a viable plan to execute over the next year.

The smell of burned paint should dissipate soon.

Happy 32nd Anniversary!

Cath and Bob. Newlyweds on June 25, 1983.

On June 25, 1983, Bob Hennessey and I were married on a picture perfect early summer day, thankfully cooler after a very hot and humid week. Although It seems like a very long time ago in both time and space, the decades have passed happily, with the usual challenges.

At 32 I was an "older" bride, beginning to establish my place in the Canadian banking industry. I occasionally sensed an undercurrent of disapproval among those closest to me, particularly since I was leaving Canada for Minnesota, a state I knew mainly from watching the TV coverage of Hubert Humphrey's funeral in 1978. I had no idea that starting over in the US would be so daunting, and I'd misjudged the degree of homesickness I would feel. I sometimes wondered if love was enough.

Mary Hennessey, Sonia Munoz with Angie, Cath & Bob, best man John Hennessey

Marilyn Marshall, Cath, Bob, my mother, Mary Ryan

After the first lonely year, things gradually got better. Minnesota ways were now familiar and I finally got my first half decent job at Midwest Federal Savings and Loan Association. Three years into our marriage I became a mother and took the oath of American citizenship. A little later, I began a 23-year career as an employee of the State of Minnesota and settled into a life that soon included kids' sports and school activities. The Hennesseys -- and there are lots of them -- became my family.

Over the years, Bob and I spent hours in hockey arenas and in baseball field bleachers. We also camped, boated, skied, skated, and traveled all over the country and a little in Europe. About a decade ago, we were suddenly empty nesters and marveled that the children who once played on the sidewalk and in the yard were all grown up, some with families of their own.

I had to look up gifts for a 32nd anniversary. Seems as though some kind of "conveyance" (vehicle, bicycle, skateboard ...) will do the trick, but we already have enough toys that qualify as conveyances, so we'll have to pass on this one and enjoy a good dinner at Pazzaluna instead, using  a Christmas gift card from son Chris.

I've been married to Bob for nearly half my life and I'm glad I took that leap of faith all those years ago. Life has been kind to us; we've laughed a lot and had a hell of a good time. Turns out love was all we needed after all.

Prairie Garden Setback

It was a big year for helicopters

A day or so after our spring planting, including the new shade plants and more ambitious flowers for the prairie garden, a huge wind storm blew across the land and thousands of helicopters (really called samaras, as I learned from this Wikipedia article) dropped into the yard. There were so many that we had to scoop them up when we cut the grass but I had no idea how to get them out of the gardens.



At first, I was happy with all the green

Bob thought we should at least try, but I was afraid of disturbing the little plants that were no doubt preparing to erupt from the ground. Some of the helicopters blew away, but the rest seemed to settle into the earth so all I could do was hope for the best when we left for California.



Then I looked a little more closely ...

After our return, I was pleased to see lots of green in the gardens until I had a closer look yesterday after an all day rain. Much of the foliage looked suspiciously like maple leaves, and I first thought I must be mistaken -- but I'm a Canadian after all and I know a maple when I see one. Sure enough, hundreds of tiny maple trees were sprouting up, crowding the other seedlings.

I think I got a little too confident about my gardening skills after last year's beginner's luck. I've got a lot of weeding to do this weekend.

FlyMo: Different Kind of Mower

 

 

Diagnostics

I mowed my first lawn nearly two years ago and was very proud of my success with a new and unfamiliar task. I didn't mention how exhausted I was after getting the job done -- I would take a shower and then sit quietly in the recliner for several hours, too tired to move.

I've adjusted to frequent sessions of manual labor, most of the year. It's simply part of my routine now, and most of the time I feel quite good. The exception this year was the rock culling exercise in the prairie garden. I nearly gave up after a day or so of digging through layers of rock, thinking that I would never get back to feeling like a human being. However, after a week or so I had stopped hurting, for the most part, and I was eager to begin the mowing season.

Adam testing his dad's work

We use two mowers for the lawn, one a Honda self-propelled machine and the other a light, hovercraft-like mower that floats above the grass. Bob equipped it with ropes so that the bank can be cut by lowering it to the sidewalk easily, without damaging the turf below. As I blogged two years ago, passers-by stop to watch the bank cutting effort, particularly since no one even heard of the FlyMo. Bob was a little worried that parts might not be available if the need arose.

Trouble hit last week when the machine was even more difficult to start than usual. I couldn't keep it running, so Bob took over my bank job and managed to get the bank done while I cut the rest of the grass. Fortunately, John Hennessey agreed to have a look and yesterday we loaded the mower into the Traverse for transport to John's Woodbury driveway.

John had the FlyMo apart in a few minutes and discovered the main problem, a clogged and dirty carburetor and a disintegrating engine filter that was jamming the engine, shred by shred. John cleaned the carburetor and restored the mower to its original bright orange and white colors. Adam took the rejuvenated FlyMo -- which has never sounded so good -- for a test run on the Woodbury Hennesseys' lawn.

The mower is now in our garage, ready for service. See the pics here.

FlyMo as good as new

Hummingbird!

A minute or so too late to capture a shot

 

I enjoyed hummingbirds in my "prairie garden" at the end of the summer and in the early fall, but when I couldn't find a feeder so late in the season. A few weeks ago, I tested the waters with a very inexpensive model on sale at Menard's for about $6.00.
I mixed up a solution from the powdered sugar mix I bought with the feeder but failed on my first attempt to put the pieces together, spilling most of the sugary nectar in the sink. I got it right the second time and hung the feeder, expecting immediate results.

The weather turned cold almost immediately. As the liquid level fell in the reservoir,  I figured the nectar was evaporating and wondered if I should have hung the feeder away from my other stations, as the instructions suggested. I left it as is because the feeder view from the dining room is best at the existing location.
This morning, the sun shone brightly and we mowed the lawn but I had a few indoor tasks so I went inside. When I was vacuuming the living-dining area, I saw a flash of green iridescence that reminded me of last winter's excitement over the neighborhood  rufous hummingbird. The bird returned to sip nectar several times in the next few minutes but I was afraid to scare it away by approaching with my camera. I do foresee photo ops in my future.

A Military Burial at Fort Snelling National Cemetery

Fort Snelling National Cemetery

The National Cemetery Administration maintains 131 cemeteries across the country. One of them is Fort Snelling National Cemetery, a few miles from our St. Paul home. I had driven past the cemetery many times but had no reason to go in until recently.

Last Tuesday we attended the visitation and funeral of a U.S. Navy veteran of World War II. Al S. joined the Navy at 17 and saw action in Okinawa, the Philippines and other venues in the Pacific Theater. In her eulogy at his funeral mass, one of Al's eight children mentioned that he had carried a burden of grief from that long ago war and, like many other veterans of his generation, suffered uncomplainingly from PTSD.

The graves at Fort Snelling are in sections, with rows of identical tombstones as far as the eye can see, for the veterans of wars fought by Americans since the mid-1800s.The spring winds blew and the birds sang their songs in this lovely, sacred place. I remembered visits to the national cemeteries in Normandy and Arlington, and felt a mix of emotions: admiration, respect and great sadness for the families affected by the immense loss of children, parents, siblings, so many stolen in the prime of life by war. 

Fort Snelling National Cemetery

 

Burials are scheduled by appointment, and we'd been instructed to arrive at 1:20 p.m. for 1:35p.m.  The mourners gathered at the assigned assembly station and the cortège advanced slowly to the appointed venue.

An honor guard from the Anoka Vietnam Veterans of America guided us through the military part of the service. The history and symbols of the ceremony were explained, and a rifle salute broke the peaceful silence of the spring afternoon. A single trumpeter, a Navy veteran, played the Navy song Anchors Aweigh, America the Beautiful and Taps. Though old, the musician was very fit, and his playing was sweet and flawless, with perfect phrasing.

After the presentation of the flag, the deacon moved quickly through the familiar Catholic burial ritual. We left the cemetery in reverent silence.

Spring Gardens

Prairie garden after back breaking digging

For most of my life, I viewed birders and gardeners with contempt. However, since so many friends and family members love birds and flowers, I kept my mouth shut and only a few suspected that I perceived their hobbies as useless time wasters.

Of course, I've been one of them for some time now. I'm especially enjoying our wonderful spring, when chilly rainy days are followed by warm ones filled with sunshine. On this cold Mother's Day, the trees are in almost full leaf and the ground has just enough moisture to make planting easy. About ten days ago I turned the first shovelful of dirt in what I think of as my prairie garden.

Home Depot
spading fork

The mix for Prairie Garden 2015

It was hard going, rocky and full of mineral dust, made a little easier when my neighbor Gaylord lent me his 4-tine spading fork, a good purchase for me later in the summer before fall cleanup. I finally finished the job yesterday, leaving lots of rocks but ending up with a plot much better than the one I had last year. I worked in a little manure and peat moss and will plant this year's garden in the next day or so, as soon as I'm sure it won't get pelted with hail.

I saw a few green hints of green this weekend

Last week, I persuaded Bob to let me have the little strip of earth on the north side of the garage. The area gets no sun at all and plantings the last two summers have been disappointing, so I've been imagining a little garden populated by shade plants. I dug and turned the soil, and finally sprinkled the mix over the earth and watered it. Yesterday, we planted a border of red and white impatiens, and this morning I noticed the first tentative sprouts of green. Next I'll help Bob with the little strip between the front and back yards, that it's really his  project so I'm just a minor contributor for that one.

Pumpkins in the fall

In addition to the wildflower gardens, I'll plant some pumpkin seeds on the west side of the house where I've had only marginal success with spring flowers, thanks to the energetic squirrels that dug down through wood chips to eat most of the bulbs, especially the crocus and hyacinth that I planted last fall. I'd love to have a nice little pumpkin patch in the autumn, so if the seeds are planted on June 1, I should be taking picture of beautiful pumpkins on September 19, 110 days later.

After the first few days of digging, I ached all over in muscles I didn't know existed. I groaned rolling over in bed and limped downstairs in the morning. I had no idea my butt could hurt so badly just from using that garden fork! I was surprised to feel better by yesterday, ready to dig again and looking forward to modest but exhilarating summer success.

The Price Wasn't Right

My red glasses

I should have replaced my glasses before leaving for Florida, but by the time I thought of it I was too late to do anything. I squinted to see signs, especially in the sun, and new eyewear was on one of the first items on my post-vacation to-do list.

I'd been coveting red glasses for a year or so, but hadn't intended to order everyday, no-line bifocal, transition lenses and sunglasses too. However, I was an easy sell when I saw not one, but two attractive red pairs. I made the purchase at a America's Best, where the price was right and the St. Paul Midway store staff are courteous, cheerful and professional. I didn't get the "deal" (2 pairs for $69.95) but was fine with my higher end glasses, especially when the resident optometrist and optician performed miracles with my new and always difficult prescription.

Bob almost immediately noticed that his own transition lenses -- one of about ten pairs of glasses in active service -- were irreparably scratched and beyond the warranty period. He tried to blame the scratches on me, the self-appointed eyewear cleaner in the family, but at least one optician suggested that he might have done the damage himself by rubbing debris into the lenses while using "unauthorized" cleaning materials, such as his own shirt.

His eye appointment was yesterday morning at the University of Minnesota, and the staff there recommended Costco ("no membership required") and Walmart for his glasses. I was stunned and a little dismayed, since Bob had already dismissed discount providers, attributing at least some of his problems to "shoddy goods" in the current rotation.

Bob is not really a discount shopper, or any other kind of shopper for that matter, but he actually found a pair at Costco that he liked, but a $120 membership is indeed required so no purchase was made, particularly since glasses aren't warrantied. We moved on to Walmart, where he found a nice pair, but the price tag was quite high so that deal didn't fly either. Meanwhile, I smugly admired my two new pairs of red glasses.

The Magic Hairbrush

Magic hairbrush selfie

On Easter Sunday I interrupted Sonia M. in mid-sentence to comment on her beautiful hair. She looked as though she'd just come from a high-end salon after a pricey blowout and I couldn't help admiring her new look, with just a hint of suppressed jealousy.

"It's my new hairbrush", she said, and with characteristic generosity, she offered to pick one up for me. Sonia delivered my magic hairbrush on Wednesday afternoon and I couldn't wait to try it out. Sure enough, the ceramic center gets hot and does the job of a curling iron, and the soft bristles add shine to the hair. We're using the Olivia Garden Turbo-Vent Combo Petite.

Because the magic brush worked so well on my post-Florida hair -- too long, fly-away and dry -- I decided to proceed with the plan to grow out my layers for the summer. The hair looks quite a bit shorter, but the only  "real" length was cut off the bottom back layer. The other layers and bangs were simply trimmed by a fraction of an inch.

I dry my hair quickly and use the brush mainly for volume and curl control. No more heated rollers or curling iron, and the shine is quite lovely.

Holiday Deck Lights

Deck lights are on again

Off and on in the 10+ years we've enjoyed our deck we've had small clear lights across the top perimeter. Last summer I replaced them all, with used Christmas lights, and wondered how long it would be before I'd have to do the job again. The answer came when we returned from Florida after leaving the deck lights on 24X7 for the month we were gone.

All three strings were out, two of them completely. No amount of jiggling restored the connection so I removed the lights and did the job again, this time in the chilling cold of an April afternoon instead of the bright warmth of a Minnesota summer morning. One set was old and the other two were brand new "out of the box", bought last November with this specific failure in mind. Bob reminded me that I could have replaced the little battery in each set, but I just didn't feel up to it.

The lights aren't LED. I'm usually in favor of anything energy efficient but I got discouraged several years ago when the squirrels destroyed a half-dozen expensive sets of  LED lights that may have looked a little too much like appetizing fruit. However, I feel guilty and think I'll try LED again next time I have to do deck lighting.

The construction workers next door watched me work with some interest, maybe wondering if I'd lost track of the season. With unusual restraint, I refrained from commenting on my achievement and enjoyed the cheerful brightness when the rain fell in the evening.

Good Friday Devotions

In the ten years or so before I retired, I usually landed at Assumption Church in downtown St. Paul for both Holy Thursday and Good Friday. Always a quick service, starting promptly at 12 noon and over in time for me to be back at work by 1:00 p.m. Last year, Bob and I went to Assumption on Good Friday and yesterday we went to Holy Thursday Mass there. However, Bob is not too keen on the 19th-century pews designed for short German pioneers and he wanted to go to our own Nativity Church this afternoon. We arrived in plenty of time to get a good seat - in our case, the last pew of the first section on the west side of the church.

Shortly before the service started, a seemingly self-appointed usher started stuffing people into pews with fewer than eight occupants. He was still signaling to unseated attendees during the reading of the Passion, and we got an extra deuce in our pew, as well as a young couple with a young child and a newborn. That brought our occupancy to eight plus two kids.

I was actually OK with that, until I moved a little close to my right-hand neighbor. He was definitely not

Back to Reality

84F our first full day back in Minnesota - a record for temperatures dating all the way back to 1882. I still felt so tired from our trip that I didn't enjoy it as much as I should have, but at least I was outside for most of the afternoon.

The prairie garden is covered with last year's leaves, and I knew I'd have to deal with the dried flowers sooner or later. I expected a big job but the garden was  planted on rocky ground and the plants were pulled from the soil much more easily than I had anticipated.

We made our first trip to the compost site late Wednesday afternoon, a few hours ahead of a noisy storm that evening. There wasn't much rain but the daffodils and tulips are growing on the east side of the house, while the new bulbs I planted on the other side are nowhere in evidence. I know that they were too shallow and fear they were either eaten by squirrels or just now growing for some reason.

The sun is shining and the air is quite chilly, more like the early April cold we expected when we got home. Traffic in St. Paul quiet, particularly on this Good Friday afternoon. Feels almost as though we never left home.