This year my Nana, a fireball of a woman, had a birthday that ends with a ZERO. I’m almost 48, so please do the math; she doesn’t like it when relatives blab her age. Anyway, right around the birthday, she invited me to go on a senior bus trip to Newport, including a luncheon cruise, a mansion tour and shopping. She had to send in the check and it wasn’t cheap, so if I wasn’t going to make it, Nana needed to know now.
She had me at hello; I couldn’t have turned her down if I’d wanted to. Good thing I didn’t want to. So, I planned my summer around the early August date. In the three months between the birthday celebration and the Newport trip, the accumulation of her birthdays became increasingly impossible to ignore.
Even though she has kept earning her fireball reputation a long time, the past few years I’ve had to let go of my denial that she can go on like this forever. In addition to a gradual overall processing and memory slowdown. The signs of aging glare at us. The TV blasts at high volume, and she’s watching more Mayberry and Bonanza and less Rachel Ray and Emeril. See, she used to cook along with Rachel and Emeril. Now, she’d rather go out and let waiters flirt with her. That’s when she’s taking a break from QT in the recliner.
After the bus ride, we were dropped off about a block from the marina. From there, we walked to the dock. No problem for me, but a bit of a hike for these seniors. I slowed down for Nana, and she kept up with me, no complaints, but she was ready for a chair when she got to one. Nana didn’t know many of the people there, but we were lucky enough to sit at a table with six very kind women, two retired nurses, one with a friend, the other with her sister, as well as a mother and daughter. I was easily the youngest person on this trip, and I guess Nana was the oldest, making her a “Senior Senior”.
The great thing about traveling with someone with hearing loss is they don’t readily pick up on other people’s complaints. Nana just smiled and took in the whole boat ride. And other than snow, we had just about every type of weather on the three hour tour. I heard moaning, whining and complaining from so many other passengers. “The bathroom is too small; why is that other table going up to the buffet next? when are we going to get our turn? the drinks from the bar are HOW much? Do we have to tip these people? I want a comment card!”
Twenty years ago, Nana probably would have found some fault, but this day, everything was just beautiful as far as she was concerned. The food was great; there was plenty of it (she didn’t hear the mad scramble to refill the trays just before our table - the last one - was invited to the line). After lunch, she zigzagged around a tight dining cabin out to the open bow to just watch and soak in the air and sunshine. “This is such a good day, Lissa.” I agree, but I couldn't talk her into buying the cruise photo. Ah well, we stayed together on the bow until we docked, and I will take that memory with me forever. That was what she really came for. Just a boat ride, some sunshine, and a little breeze.
The walk back to the bus tested her stamina, but there was a Newport Mansion on the itinerary, and off we went. This time, the buses had to park even further away, and Nana decided “if you’ve seen one Newport Mansion……….” Well, ok, but the bus had to shut down, meaning no air conditioning, and really, no air!
“You go. I’ll be fine”
“No way, I’m not leaving you. And we have to get off this bus.”
“Whatever. Why did we have to park so far away?”
Cathy, one of the very kind women at our table let us borrow a walker she brought for her mother “just in case”. Thank you, Cathy! It was slow going, but we found a few nice places to sit, some shady, some sunny. The weather cooperated with us, all day – we were never out in the rain or thunder, and there were quite enough of both.
Apparently, the indoor mansion tour requires audio equipment, and the ability to respond quickly to directions. Missing a step can get a tourist confused, lost, off-balance. Nana wasn’t having any of it “Let's just find me a nice place to sit”. Another one of the kind ladies at our lunch table made sure Nana had some room on a bench in the shade of a European Beech. No complaining, just smiles. “Go, you go in.”
I did leave Nana just long enough to use the restroom in the mansion. During the long walk from Nana’s bench, I prepared myself to be dazzled by gold and crystal faucets, marble countertops, whatever else rich people install in their bathrooms. I definitely anticipated palatial facilities.
Turns out, Nana was right. If you’ve seen one…………..
Friday, August 20, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Diamonds and Loons
We got up this morning, the best way possible – no alarm clock, but still early enough to “eat up, suit up, and hit the water,” as Chica put it. My aspirations for the day were all over the place: kayak across the bay and back, take Chica tubing, and then the three of us, Chica, Hubsy and I would climb Mt. Major – all before lunch. Two out of three Hansons told me I was crazy. As the third Hanson, and one with a propensity for talking to herself, I was in denial about the gross mismatch between ambitions and abilities. That, and I don't remember to respect the time-space continuum when I'm on vacation.
Just to set up: most of the athletic ability and coordination in our family is intractably invested in Chica. From golf, to tennis, to soft ball, to – well, think of a game where you swing a stick at something round, and she’s a natural at it. She did not inherit this agility from me. She did, however, hone it at a summer camp I helped pay for. As a generous daughter, she’ll be a star if she ever decides to go into the family business, and she was quite game to help me achieve my kayaking goal.
I have kayaked before, but only as far as a stick a little ways out from the family dock. The town docks seemed like a good enough destination, but Chica suggested “Indian Island” which would be safer and more interesting, in terms of immediate scenery. So, right after breakfast, we were on the dock in our suits, getting the kayaks into position. Just getting in without tipping over and getting mud pie hair is a win for me. Quick victory! Yay!
Apparently the Camp kayaking teachers recommend that as you stroke your paddle through the water, you swivel your hips. “Imagine that your body is spring loaded, Mom.” I tried hard to swivel, I really did, but my right hip immediately brought this important fact to my attention: I need more spring and less load. Did I mention that Chica did not inherit her athletic skills from me?
“Mom, aim! Aim!” I must have been too focused on the angle of the paddle, rather than the direction of the vessel, because my kayak stubbornly pointed about 15 degrees to the right of where I wanted it. “Mom, look at the target, not at the paddle. You don’t stare at the steering wheel when you drive, right?”
Turns out, Chica was right about all of it. As soon as the hips and paddle coordinated, I felt the kayak propel twice as far. Pretty soon, the stick was way behind us, and I no longer considered it an accomplishment to get only that far. Eventually, she asked me where I had my feet (on the bottom of the kayak, where else would they be?). Oh, those things by my shins are foot rests? And having my feet on them will further increase my propulsion? Got it, Chica. And thanks.
I continue to struggle with the aim, though, but mostly because this lake, on a perfectly clear August morning – well, I run out of words quickly, but I am in heaven here. There is just no bad place to look. The sunshine hits the water in a scatter of diamonds. In the distance, the mountains layer, sculpted by cloud shadows.
And then, just bobbing on the barely discernible ripples, a loon.
“Oh, Mom, look! A loon!” Chica whispered. It rested fairly close to us, close enough to see the red of its eyes and each distinctive white speckle on black feathers. We paused and floated there, very quietly, just watching it. What is it about a solitary loon that projects an air of nobility, and evokes protectiveness? It was simply understood between Chica and me: DO NOT DISTURB! Look, certainly. Marvel if you’re moved to, but don’t get any closer. Let it be. And he dove, and we paddled on. After a few minutes, he appeared again. Again, we paused just to enjoy him, and this time, he stretched his wings and aimed his pointy beak high over the water, then back down, and another dive.
Yes, this lake takes my words away. So on we paddled, chatted, rested, listened to the surface water brush along the hull.
I don’t know if “Indian Island” is the official name, or if it’s just what the kids call it, but, the only human form inhabiting the place is a slightly larger than life-size statue of a Native American man. At night, it’s lit from below, and we’ve grown accustomed to looking for him whenever we arrive into town in the wee hours. He greets, intimidates and inspires.
Just as we decided to start back for home, there was our loon again, just for a few seconds this time before diving and resurfacing. I don’t know if he was comfortable enough around a pair of fresh water mermaids, or just inviting us to get on with it and leave, but we’ll take his time and attention as a compliment.
The wind behind us on the trip back hurried us along, even though there was certainly no hurry. The only eye-rolling moment was when Chica had to steer out of the way of a water skier whose boat captain got too close to two kayaks. He didn’t even look. Ah well.
We put off climbing and tubing for another day – no sense over-crowding a morning like that, even if I had had the energy. Thank you, Chica; I couldn’t have done it without you.
Just to set up: most of the athletic ability and coordination in our family is intractably invested in Chica. From golf, to tennis, to soft ball, to – well, think of a game where you swing a stick at something round, and she’s a natural at it. She did not inherit this agility from me. She did, however, hone it at a summer camp I helped pay for. As a generous daughter, she’ll be a star if she ever decides to go into the family business, and she was quite game to help me achieve my kayaking goal.
I have kayaked before, but only as far as a stick a little ways out from the family dock. The town docks seemed like a good enough destination, but Chica suggested “Indian Island” which would be safer and more interesting, in terms of immediate scenery. So, right after breakfast, we were on the dock in our suits, getting the kayaks into position. Just getting in without tipping over and getting mud pie hair is a win for me. Quick victory! Yay!
Apparently the Camp kayaking teachers recommend that as you stroke your paddle through the water, you swivel your hips. “Imagine that your body is spring loaded, Mom.” I tried hard to swivel, I really did, but my right hip immediately brought this important fact to my attention: I need more spring and less load. Did I mention that Chica did not inherit her athletic skills from me?
“Mom, aim! Aim!” I must have been too focused on the angle of the paddle, rather than the direction of the vessel, because my kayak stubbornly pointed about 15 degrees to the right of where I wanted it. “Mom, look at the target, not at the paddle. You don’t stare at the steering wheel when you drive, right?”
Turns out, Chica was right about all of it. As soon as the hips and paddle coordinated, I felt the kayak propel twice as far. Pretty soon, the stick was way behind us, and I no longer considered it an accomplishment to get only that far. Eventually, she asked me where I had my feet (on the bottom of the kayak, where else would they be?). Oh, those things by my shins are foot rests? And having my feet on them will further increase my propulsion? Got it, Chica. And thanks.
I continue to struggle with the aim, though, but mostly because this lake, on a perfectly clear August morning – well, I run out of words quickly, but I am in heaven here. There is just no bad place to look. The sunshine hits the water in a scatter of diamonds. In the distance, the mountains layer, sculpted by cloud shadows.
And then, just bobbing on the barely discernible ripples, a loon.
“Oh, Mom, look! A loon!” Chica whispered. It rested fairly close to us, close enough to see the red of its eyes and each distinctive white speckle on black feathers. We paused and floated there, very quietly, just watching it. What is it about a solitary loon that projects an air of nobility, and evokes protectiveness? It was simply understood between Chica and me: DO NOT DISTURB! Look, certainly. Marvel if you’re moved to, but don’t get any closer. Let it be. And he dove, and we paddled on. After a few minutes, he appeared again. Again, we paused just to enjoy him, and this time, he stretched his wings and aimed his pointy beak high over the water, then back down, and another dive.
Yes, this lake takes my words away. So on we paddled, chatted, rested, listened to the surface water brush along the hull.
I don’t know if “Indian Island” is the official name, or if it’s just what the kids call it, but, the only human form inhabiting the place is a slightly larger than life-size statue of a Native American man. At night, it’s lit from below, and we’ve grown accustomed to looking for him whenever we arrive into town in the wee hours. He greets, intimidates and inspires.
Just as we decided to start back for home, there was our loon again, just for a few seconds this time before diving and resurfacing. I don’t know if he was comfortable enough around a pair of fresh water mermaids, or just inviting us to get on with it and leave, but we’ll take his time and attention as a compliment.
The wind behind us on the trip back hurried us along, even though there was certainly no hurry. The only eye-rolling moment was when Chica had to steer out of the way of a water skier whose boat captain got too close to two kayaks. He didn’t even look. Ah well.
We put off climbing and tubing for another day – no sense over-crowding a morning like that, even if I had had the energy. Thank you, Chica; I couldn’t have done it without you.
Monday, August 2, 2010
As Structured as Spatters Can Get
So, what will this blog be about? A young friend put it succinctly in the following text message: Random topics? Since the subtitle mentions brain spatters, I guess randomly chosen topics would cover it, thematically speaking. Focus has never been my strong suit.
One friend of mine blogs about menopause, and another blogs about food. Still another claims her postings are “rambling thoughts.” Yet her writing, like that of most of my friends, tends to be far more thoughtful than rambling, which is definitely a compliment. These ladies set the blogging bar pretty high. I’m thinking it would be wise for me to set some parameters of my own.
1. Stay positive: My topics might vary, but I will do everything within the confines of my writing skills and emotional maturity to avoid whining or disparaging anyone. I might ramble, though, and I will probably require some patience. If I can’t think of a way to end a post on a neutral to positive note, I won’t put it out there.
2. Stay Private: Unless I have express permission, the only name I mention will be my own. My immediate family members will be referred to as Hubsy, Sonny, and Chica. I’ll devise appropriate pseudonyms for others as needed. It’s a golden rule thing.
3. Stay Polite: No dirty language. Not only is it vulgar; it’s also just lazy writing. Besides, vulgarity already pervades our culture to a jarring degree. I hope my blog can be a little safe haven from the baser things of life – maybe a cyber-sanctuary – at the risk of being too grandiose. I want readers to come away feeling laughter, or warmth, or both. So, even if I am being grandiose, whatever; it’s my blog. That said, I think I’ll reserve the right to apply a certain noun to myself, but only when it’s the best option. Sometimes, there’s just no substitute for a Babe In Total Control of Herself.
4. Stay Prudent: I will refrain from writing anything specific or current about my day job, which, by the way, is a fountain of stories I just couldn’t make up. If I ever share an anecdote from that part of my life, I’ll make sure it’s a very old one, with a few sides of embellishment. I enjoy and appreciate my day job, and I definitely want to keep it.
That’s probably enough for the time being. I don’t know how often I’ll be writing, but I will try to Stay Productive.
Hang in there with me?
One friend of mine blogs about menopause, and another blogs about food. Still another claims her postings are “rambling thoughts.” Yet her writing, like that of most of my friends, tends to be far more thoughtful than rambling, which is definitely a compliment. These ladies set the blogging bar pretty high. I’m thinking it would be wise for me to set some parameters of my own.
1. Stay positive: My topics might vary, but I will do everything within the confines of my writing skills and emotional maturity to avoid whining or disparaging anyone. I might ramble, though, and I will probably require some patience. If I can’t think of a way to end a post on a neutral to positive note, I won’t put it out there.
2. Stay Private: Unless I have express permission, the only name I mention will be my own. My immediate family members will be referred to as Hubsy, Sonny, and Chica. I’ll devise appropriate pseudonyms for others as needed. It’s a golden rule thing.
3. Stay Polite: No dirty language. Not only is it vulgar; it’s also just lazy writing. Besides, vulgarity already pervades our culture to a jarring degree. I hope my blog can be a little safe haven from the baser things of life – maybe a cyber-sanctuary – at the risk of being too grandiose. I want readers to come away feeling laughter, or warmth, or both. So, even if I am being grandiose, whatever; it’s my blog. That said, I think I’ll reserve the right to apply a certain noun to myself, but only when it’s the best option. Sometimes, there’s just no substitute for a Babe In Total Control of Herself.
4. Stay Prudent: I will refrain from writing anything specific or current about my day job, which, by the way, is a fountain of stories I just couldn’t make up. If I ever share an anecdote from that part of my life, I’ll make sure it’s a very old one, with a few sides of embellishment. I enjoy and appreciate my day job, and I definitely want to keep it.
That’s probably enough for the time being. I don’t know how often I’ll be writing, but I will try to Stay Productive.
Hang in there with me?
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