Author: Sandy Webster

Different neighbor set off fireworks this year. And in the morning tidy hay bales fill the field.

Patrick arrived yesterday in time to go to wine tasting. A very fun evening of good company and some very nice wines that needed to be ordered for holiday consumption.

This morning we got busy on his list of almost ten things to do around here…adjust refrigerator doors, re-pound nails in the door of antique Chinese cabinet, adjust the bidet I installed by 1/2″ (it makes a difference!), sharpen all knives, replace nozzle on kitchen faucet, remove sticker from toilet in guest bathroom, replace furnace/AC filter in ceiling, check ceiling vents to make sure they were open, and most important of all was hang the punching bag he brought down for me. Here it is in place in the garage…

And with accessory he brought down to help me punch harder and longer….

This little juvenile bluebird showed up for a visit.

And this got my attention after my PT rearranged the cushions on the bench by the front door.

Seems you can herd cats by carrying a multi-tipped whip and putting a fish on your head.

It is very hot and humid here so we are staying indoors and having salad for dinner. First I have a PT session, then a drink before dinner. The last thing on the list is hanging artwork spot lights. We have to wait for it to be dark first. Tomorrow we are going to rearrange some artwork and package some up for him to take back home.

Tomorrow just a few friends are coming over to meet Patrick, talk about wood turning and Harley Davidson motorcycles. An interesting evening for sure.

That is about it for now. My 7,000 step goal is close and should be met by the time I dance around getting punches in.

Til later…

A friend sent me this picture when I was at the No Kings Rally.  After the election last November I claimed to not want to be a flag-waving American. But with the celebrations of the Fourth of July and our Independence/Freedom from being herded, what do I find tied to my mailbox yesterday? Some stars and stripes. Stars and stripes on the day our pitiful representation in Washington vote to deny benefits to those in need and give more money to the coffers of those who can afford to rent Venice, Italy for three days. No, this woman does not want to cheer the country on. It takes a pride I no longer have. A trust that no longer exists. And whose mailbox is it anyway? I am pretty sure it is mine! If I want to hang something from it, it will be my choice.

Years ago I went to visit a relative who lives in a subdivision where they had to hang seasonal flags off their mailboxes. I asked what would happen if someone simply said they were not going to do it. They answered that no one knew because no one ever dared not to.  Can you imagine!

At my age I want to hang on to the independence I have left.

Back in my studio, I am working on another short story. And doing more small watercolor drawings of leaves…herbs mostly.

Later today my PT comes by to put me through the paces of balance and some boxing. I look forward to it. I will be well over my step goal for the day by the time we do three three-minute spars around the house. I hit with the correct punch as he calls out the assigned number for it while shuffling forward, backward and in circles. Feet keep moving, fists keep flying and I keep breathing and staying upright. It makes me feel good all over!

Patrick arrives next week to put the boxing bag up in the garage and check on what else I can use a hand with. For sure some dinners out and nice cocktails at home. He is a fun drinking companion. Maybe we will get a take out of oyster shooters and popovers from our favorite restaurant.

That is about it for now.

Til later….

Here is about half of the neighbors/friends who came to hear the two with guitars and voices in the background give those invited a small concert. I was given earplugs and a chair by the door when I reached my limit of plucking and strumming. They were not only brave to do this but not too bad. I did not leave early and enjoyed the gathering enough to keep it going at another neighbor’s house as we all walked home.

The next day my doctor/friend came over to try out making a brie encrusted appetizer while we played cards. It was pitiful. See below.

We went by a recipe that said to wrap the brie wheel in puff pastry after topping with raspberry jam and almonds…then bake for forty minutes at 350 degrees.

All we could taste was the punky skin of the brie and uncooked dough of the puff pastry. It was suggested that I should not have put it into a pie plate to heat but a metal parchment lined pan. And the temperature should have been 400 or a bit higher for less time. Also that maybe an egg wash would have been better than the melted butter I brushed on. All we can say is that it tasted as bad as it looked. Any suggestions from those who actually served one of these appetizers with confidence would be welcome.

When I had my party a couple of weeks ago, a neighbor brought me these fresh eggs. Aren’t they lovely?

I might make a quiche this weekend.

My watch now tells me that I am over 7,000 steps so far. I might just have another glass of wine and find an interesting bit of writing to make this blog post a bit longer.

Here is a bit from a new short story titled, Shadows. A woman in her seventies has found herself now living alone in a cabin by a lake. I like how she thinks about going into the new surroundings of her home….

“The place is smaller than what I’m used to. Most notably there is no entry. Did you know that entryways/foyers are a needed place to drop off where you came from and prepare yourself to enter the personal space beyond.

But, here, when I opened that cabin’s front door, I was confronted with all the changes I have made. I now walked right into one big open area of living/dining/kitchen. Once inside I felt somehow exposed in the openness, and I glanced into the corners before taking my next step.

For the first few weeks of living here, I would back out, close the door and sit on the porch bench until I was ready. It helped.

Then I started picking things up from out there and bringing them in. I had to walk across the room to place each one in a large wooden bowl on the table. And by doing so my new home slowly wrapped itself around me. I began to feel the caress of familiarity.”

And this about her observation of the shadows in her home…..

“Some of the things one thinks about in solitude should not even be discussed in the company of others. Consider this. For some months I thought about the lives and movements of shadows. What are they actually capable of as they move slowly away from the object that gives them life and a light that makes them mobile. I took notes as thoughts came to me on their behaviors while I kept an eye on those shadows.

Whenever I went out, I’d try to be home before the shadows came inside. I wanted to be settled in my bed when I sensed them scurrying about to find a suitable spot to spend the night. Sitting up in bed and clutching my pillow, I’d listen to the shadows brush past each other to get comfortable in the darkness. Once all was quiet, I would lay back and fall asleep while keeping my own shadow tucked safely under my body.”

Interesting isn’t it? Here, with shades to block out neighbors’ houses and sun, I have few shadows sneaking into the house. Certainly nothing as this woman has invading her cabin in the woods by the lake. Anyway it is an adventure to follow her thinking.

Now for that nice cool Sauvignon Blanc.

Til later….

Amy sent these to me for my birthday. She thought I might be missing Australia. She was right. Yesterday I was counting up how many new poems (35), new essays (6), and six more short stories since I last put them into a book on Amazon. So this summer there will be a new one from S. Webster. There is editing to do and a new cover to be designed and maybe a couple more writings.

But this one I found while getting organized was perfect with Amy’s gift.

Australia Longing – S. Webster

What is it that causes this sudden sadness, or longing, or need? This time it is a recipe on the back of the Tasmanian Basketmakers Newsletter. Anna Lizotte’s family recipe for Tomato Spice Cake. How can “tomato” and “cake” be in the same context? And then it happens.

I miss Australia right now. At this very minute I want to be there. How do I care for this longing? Why is it so fierce? I can smell the soil, feel the air on my skin. I can taste it. Will it be like this later when I am too old to return? My eyes fill with tears at the thought of not being there. Why does it matter so much? Two glasses of wine that weren’t even Australian. What triggers these emotions?

It is the longing thing – that longing that we have no control over. It just comes sneaking in and takes hold. No words can explain it. My husband glances over and then away – no words are best. I look ridiculous or nuts right now. And I feel bereft. “Bereft” – that is the perfect word, and I am slightly better now I’ve defined it. I think it happens when too many memories of times in Australia pour into my consciousness and push everything else away. Only Australia is there – the people, the land, the tastes, the smells – the longing.  

I can’t remember when this was written…certainly before Lee became ill. But I am glad to have put those feelings into words on paper or stuck them into the netherworld of my laptop.

 

So Amy tells me to just make a small tear in these packages and inhale Australia. Maybe this afternoon at wine time.

The internet has made it easier to keep in touch with Australia. I linger over images of Eucalypt trees and the red center of that country. And there are literally hundreds of pictures I have taken over all my trips down under. Nothing better than the eyes of emus and kangaroos. And at eighty-one, I am not going to return. The saying goodbye when the time came to leave would be too much.

Perhaps when my ashes are turned into stones like Lees were, a couple will be sent down under.

Which reminds me. Last week on my birthday,  a friend took me to lunch and then over to my old place. The new owners were so kind to take us on a tour through the entire house.  So many changes! And so beautiful! they have more common sense than Lee and I had, so filled in the long fish pond and removed the big planter of black bamboo that made getting around the driveway near impossible! The colors on the walls are very calming and lend themselves well to her many quilts. I asked if I could come back with a couple of Lee’s stones to toss out into the woods where his deer would come from to eat the corn we put out, and they said, of course. I also will give them the sketchbook I did of every step and cost of building the house.

I just wrote this poem to take to the next poetry group.

 

Temporary Storage         S. Webster

Occasionally on my walks through the neighborhood,

I glimpse into garages and notice the new neighbors have

filled theirs with things they could not leave behind.

 

Within a year those things will be moved into storage.

Another six months visiting their belongings before realizing

they are paying a stranger to keep what they can’t remember.

 

One last attempt is made to get children to form an attachment

to things they were forced to be careful around.

And it’s gone. Strangers buying what you can’t remember.

 

Till later…I need to get another 1000 steps in to reach my goal of 7,000.