Christmas is coming

This is the kind of day when I want to be someplace else--someplace warmer, like North Carolina. It's not just cold--literally freezing out, 32 degrees--but gray, heavy overcast. Not worth opening the curtains. It's forecast to snow late tomorrow, but in the meantime, it's just not very nice out. Our poor furnace is working hard to try to get the temperature up to 65. 

On the other hand, Christmas is coming. We have invited lots of people to our house, a thing that hasn't happened for more than 3 years. Tomorrow we are having a Holiday Open House. Some people have been confused, because there were real estate open houses here many times this fall. But this is just a party, where friends and family and neighbors can drop in for hot cider (with or without booze) and treats: meringues, walnut crescents, chocolate cinnamon wafers, ginger cookies, salted almonds, maybe stuffed dates, pumpkin squares, and cornmeal sandies--and whatever else I come up with before tomorrow at 2. One of the bonuses is, I hope, we will have leftover treats to eat ourselves for the next few weeks and take to work or send home with guests. 

So, I have to bake things and try to heat up the house. If I am busy moving around (cleaning works too), I won't be cold. 

Summer Saturday

 It's 9:30, 75 degrees out. I have been up for more than 2 hours, but Ray and T are still asleep. My Dad stopped me as I was on my way downstairs to remind me he wants me to "fix" his computer one last time. On Monday, he moves to a Retirement Community, reluctantly, and the cleaners will come on Tuesday to make his apartment habitable. He wanted to know who we were cleaning for, who was moving in, but I can't even walk in there without being grossed out. I don't know how he stands the piles of discarded papers, open jars of condiments and wine...never mind.

I have boiled potatoes and a little carrot for my Mom's well-loved potato salad, as well as a few eggs. Later I will marinate pork chops to grill. We will have some zucchini as well. This is how I cook when it is hot. I will cook some extra meat to eat cold with leftover potato salad tomorrow. We will close the windows soon to keep it cool. I hear the cicadas, which are a harbinger of a hot day, to me. 

Summer Sunday

It's my favorite time of day--morning. It's cool enough that the sun streaming in is pleasant. Most of the windows are open. Birds are tweeting. Bacon is sizzling and I'm getting ready to make pancakes with fresh blueberries. I'm flabbergasted that everyone isn't up, enjoying this pleasant time before it gets too hot to do any of the things I want to do. There are hours before I will go to church--which I don't have to do if I don't want. This time of year, church is sitting in a park looking out at the water with some of our fellow parishioners, listening to one of us talk about something, singing a few songs (not always well, but with feeling). 

Later in the day, Ray and I will visit a few houses for sale, getting an idea about where and how we might like to live, maybe for the rest of our lives. Tomorrow, I'll drive to Newburyport to work, maybe the last August 1st I'll work, maybe the last August 1st I'll work in Newburyport. We'll see. 

I have nothing I have to do, nowhere I have to be...except...Must use up those fresh home-grown tomatoes and not let them go to waste. Must go through 50 years of papers and throw most of them away. Must do some of the various tasks I volunteered for...but for now, it's quiet and cool. 

Holiday

 Our 22-year-old has friends visiting. It's great, I love that she feels comfortable inviting people here and her friends are generally pretty well behaved. They are in the backyard now, waiting for the 5th member of their group (not sure how they are going to fit 5 in the small car). They are listening to music, playing some kind of game, probably drinking and smoking cannabis. They're a little loud, but they're more or less appropriate. We live so close to our neighbors that I hope they're not upset. It is 3 in the afternoon, so not really anything to object to. It's 86 degrees and I'm impressed that they're not huddled in the air conditioning. It may have to do with the fact that they can't smoke in the house (300-year-old wooden house makes it pretty much imperative. I'm not a fan of candles in her bedroom either). She bought them some drinks and snacks. It's been too hot to bake, so no cookies for them. 

Food Pantry

It's Thursday. On Thursdays, I volunteer at the food pantry. People stand in line, in the heat, in the cold, in the rain. They sign in when it's their turn. Mostly they wait politely and follow the rules. They are very grateful. They thank us for what we do. We are the face of the food pantry, but really I do very little. I spend 2 hours checking the computer for their name, giving them a card that lets them "shop." Behind the scenes are the staff and the donors that gather the food, other volunteers who sort it and put it on the shelves. If there is a problem, I get a staff person to deal with it. I don't have to tell someone, "no, you can't have any food today." The staff tries to avoid that, too. 

I ask them for proof of residence, mail that has a postmark from the last 30 days. Mostly I don't really check. I recognize them from last week. One week there were two people I hadn't met. One man was pushing the other in a wheelchair (he had lost the lower half of his legs). Of course, I didn't ask. They were veterans; I assume he was hurt in service to our country. They laughed and joked with each other and us. Sometimes people bring their children; we all love watching babies and entertaining toddlers while their Moms pick out groceries: fresh produce, canned goods, prepared foods donated by "high-end" stores. 

Most people are grateful, pleasant, agreeable. They have come to terms with a life that requires them to get discarded groceries for free. Some are quiet, maybe depressed, lonely; some are a little odd, they talk too much or don't always make sense. Many do not speak English--only enough to say thank you. Only once did a man become angry with me when I said he needed to bring mail with him. "I've been coming here for years," he said. "I always show my driver's license, no one ever told me I needed to bring a piece of mail." I explain we want to make sure he is still living in town, at the same address. I get the supervisor to tell him. We're not going to turn him away, just asking him to bring a piece of mail next time. We wonder, privately, if something happened and he has had to move. Is he living in his car? He has a boy with him, about 10. If you are a man, with no place to live, you can pull it together to go to work at McDonald's or wherever you need to go, but a boy? How do you go to school and concentrate on learning, be cool with your friends, when you slept in a car with your Dad and your few possessions? How do you go to school with no breakfast, no shower? 

I try to be grateful, I am grateful, I try not to flaunt my privilege, no expensive jewelry or fancy clothes. When I'm talking to another volunteer, we try to discuss light subjects. I don't want anyone to overhear me talking about going out to eat or planning a vacation. I am very aware that I am so lucky to have a place to live, food to eat. I married someone who did not abandon me, who did not lose his job, become addicted, go to prison or die of cancer. I was able to go to college, have a good job, buy a house, save money for retirement. These are not things I did because I was smart, I did them because I was born lucky and stayed lucky, in spite of life's challenges.

What do I give up to spend a couple hours volunteering? Scrolling through my e-mails, ordering something on line, making cookies, reading a book? I get a lot more spending time with people who need me and thank me for being there, being cheerful whether I feel like it or not. Trying not to be angry at a world and a system that spits out and discards so many, at least temporarily. 

Cameron

I'm not super-sentimental about my dog. He doesn't sleep with us. He barks annoyingly at the mail carrier and other people going by. But I'm pretty upset that we let him get hurt Friday. 

We got home a little later than we usually do and took him for a walk later than usual. A neighbor was out with his dog. We let our dogs sniff at each other. Then the neighbor gave his dog a treat and offered one to Cameron. The other dog lunged and attacked him, Cameron cried and cowered and tried to get away. The owner of the other dog pulled and yelled and finally kicked his dog. We rushed Cameron home, bleeding. It was mostly one ear, but he seemed okay. He ate his supper, then promptly threw it up. 

The next morning, we were a little worried there might be infection. Our vet could not see him that day, but referred us to the vet emergency room, 40 minutes away. There were no appointments that day, but they encouraged us to bring him in and wait. So that was our big activity for Saturday, a beautiful day. 

The vet said she could sedate him and try to stitch it, but it might not take and would cost $1500. If it heals on its own, it won't be very pretty, she said. We said we were okay with that. Mostly we wanted to get the antibiotic in him as soon as possible. She gave him pain medicine and cleaned it. 

Then we went to the drug store. Come back in 20 minutes, they said. We took him home and Ray went back: no, not ready yet. Eventually we did get the Amoxicillin and gave it to him. He is having a little trouble negotiating with the cone they put on to keep him away from his wounds, but he did manage to eat and not throw it up. 

Not surprisingly, the other dog owner, our neighbor whom we like, feels awful and has offered to pay for everything. I feel terrible taking money from this young couple, but Ray is handling it. It was only $400. 

Another beautiful day here. With Tamara's help, I did manage to make and frost Molli's birthday cake, before and after our visit to the emergency vet. My baby is 36! We had a very nice dinner at her house. Her husband made scallops and shrimp with pasta in a cream sauce. It was yummy! We came home pretty early after a tiring day. 

semi-retired

I work three days a week, 6-hour days. It's good. Today is like Saturday, followed by two more Saturdays! It's rainy and cool, I don't have to be anywhere until 10. I woke up about 5:30, which sounds early, but it's very light here this time of year and the birds are noisy, even today. I feel good when I wake up and it's light out and I wasn't awake at all in the night (that I remember). I didn't have trouble falling asleep and now I feel energized, ready to do the things. No telling if it will last. I like volunteering at the food bank, everyone (almost always) is pleasant, some of the clients are super-grateful, and the people I work with are pretty nice. These days, it's unusual to get to know new people. Lisa and I work back-to-back. I check in and she checks out. We each have a computer. People wait in line, they sign in, they show me proof of residence (a piece of mail dated in the last 30 days). I don't really check too carefully, I just need to see their name so I can find them in the computer. I'm not too concerned if they are Beverly residents. I don't have to worry about the rules so much. There are staff I call for if there's any sort of question or problem. Lately there have been more people and less food, but still something for most people. Some people take lots of produce: potatoes, onions...usually Moms. Some people only take prepared food; they may not have access to a kitchen, or maybe they just don't cook. We get donations from Whole Foods and Henry's: lovely sandwiches and soups and casseroles; pot pie is a favorite. I'm only there 2 hours. Last week, it finally slowed down for the last ten minutes. I don't love rainy days; people have to wait outside until 10 and some have to walk home with their groceries. Some have carts, some have young children. 

It's a little bit jarring because of the plenty in my life, but I try not to let that consume me. I usually spend a lot of my free time researching my genealogy and writing up the lives of my ancestors from 325 years ago. But these days I look at houses that I might buy. This old house is great in many ways, for one thing, it's close to the ocean and I can catch glimpses of it from my bedroom. But I am outgrowing it--I have trouble with the stairs sometimes. It's too big for two of us. I long for a kitchen that is easy to use and clean, a little space between us and our neighbors, a place I can grow vegetables or sit outside without hearing everyone so close to me, talking or hammering. 

If you were wondering...

the day went well, I did not lose my temper or make my back worse. The rhubarb pie was excellent and well-received by the intended audience, my husband and son-in-law. I also loved it. Molli had a brownie, thawed from the freezer, warm with vanilla ice cream, so she was happy. The weather was sunny and hot. We sat in the yard and I admired the vegetables we planted. My Dad told stories about Nova Scotia. I had my suit on to go swimming, but Molli did not want to go, which was fine. It was probably crowded and hot.

Let me tell you about the pie and the lessons of growing older. The recipe I chose from the New York Times called for a crust made with lard. Years ago, I had access to some lard and it made some very good pie crusts. At the moment, I have some lard in my fridge that I got from the coop a while back. I think it keeps indefinitely. I followed the instructions and cut it up into the flour. I had my doubts. It did not seem to be behaving the way I wanted a pie crust to behave. I set it aside and started over with butter. I had a delicious flaky pie crust and convinced myself it was okay to waste that dough. You do not always have to do it the hard way, the "right" way. It's okay to give a little lard to the dog instead of using it for a special pie, rather than be angry and disappointed. 

My boss, sadly, called to say he was in the hospital with blood clots in his lungs. He sounded terrible, although he was, as usual, upbeat. They caught it in time, he said. They're just keeping him overnight for observation. I hope so. 

On a day like this

On June 2, 1917, my grandfather, Norman John Bonney, registered for the draft. I am looking at a picture of his draft card. He was 27 and he lived at 113 North St. in Medford Mass. It says he was born April 29, 1890 in Charlestown, Massachusetts. He had gray eyes and was tall and slender, with dark brown hair. He was married with a child 3 years old. That was my Uncle Paul, dead now 14 years. My mother and her sisters are dead too. But we live on, eight of their children and our descendants, because Grampa Bonney did not die in the Great War. I wonder if he was relieved? Or disappointed? He died before I was born, before my parents met, so I cannot ask my Dad, who is alive at 94, about him. Perhaps with unlimited resources and determination I could find someone (who was much younger) who knew him, perhaps only slightly. Maybe a young neighbor, the paper boy. Maybe someone who wanted to be a great bridge player, who admired him and took his classes on bridge. 

It is Memorial Day, the day to remember people who died in the war. People at my church yesterday suggested two other kinds of people to remember: people who died doing other kinds of service: firefighters, social workers, policemen; and people who fought for our country and didn't die. That would include my father-in-law, Raymond Paul Lynde, and my father, although his "fighting" was not as dangerous. I also think of the women left to care for the children and try to hold the family together without a Dad. Even after the Dad came back, he was perhaps hurt in a way that changed his family's life forever. 

On a day like this, when it was cool last night, but not too cool, I slept with the windows open and a quilt over me, cozy and comfortable. The only thing is, the birds and the light woke me before five. Early mornings, I am generally optimistic. I have a plan for today. It is reasonable and calm and relaxed. I will get things done, but take rests so my back doesn't give out. I will have fun and be pleasant. And yet, a little voice tells me, "It won't go that way. You will be in pain and you will be cross and other people won't behave perfectly." Some of the things I have read about pain, specifically back pain, suggest a sort of psychological training that basically teaches you to not be bothered by pain, to live with it. This is possibly preferable to large amounts of drugs or surgery, which is not alway effective. My mother lived with back pain, probably more than anyone knew. As I get older, I feel more and more that I want to emulate her. But, of course, I am my father's child as well. Here's to trying. 

Weather/climate and other changes

It's supposed to be 92 degrees today. At the moment, it's 60...Yesterday it was in the 50s, very foggy all day. After a long, cold winter and spring, I think most people are delighted to have some really warm weather. Last weekend was the first time I've sat out in my yard at all since last fall. I pulled some weeds, too, which I have been really wanting to do. Now that the weather is finally warm enough, my back did its thing, where it spasms and I have to stay in bed and take drugs. I appreciate that there are drugs available to me, and I am less stressed these days, knowing it will eventually get better (although I do have thoughts, what if it never does and I have to spend the rest of my life in bed?). But it sure pisses me off. Really? After all I've done for you, faithfully doing yoga once a week, walking twice a day, even losing weight...and it doesn't help??? I don't know if everyone's brain works like mine, but I am constantly asking myself, what did I do wrong? what could I have done differently? I have good chairs and the driver's seat in my car adjusts several ways, so I can make sure I'm getting good support. I make sure to get up and walk around every hour, thanks to my FitBit reminders. 

Some of the things that may have contributed: a lovely dinner with my sisters, where we were able to eat outside. However, the only table they had for us (after I had made a reservation a week ahead, specifically requesting outside seating) was a kind of picnic table with hard backless benches. I wasn't in pain then but maybe it was a factor. Also, the weed pulling. Also, driving to the airport, trying to read all the signs and communicate with the person arriving...? Who knows? Maybe believing in demons or humors would be as helpful. I am, however, super grateful to be better, although cautious about pulling weeds or doing anything that might set it off. Maybe warm weather will help...

Here's a somewhat mysterious thing. I do most of the cooking at my house. I really like cooking, especially the part where I plan and execute healthy meals that we all like and rarely waste any food. We eat almost every leftover. Since the pandemic, I order almost everything on line from Imperfect, Misfits, and Walden Meats. If there is anything missing, it's my fault...whatever I order, I have to use (or give away?). For the last few months, I have mainly been cooking gluten-free things, in the hope that it will help with my husband's rheumatoid arthritis. I dread his hands turning into lumpy claws and him not being able to walk (which he loves) or do other things with me. I'm not sure it's helping with the RA, but we are both losing weight, which is clearly a good thing. 

The mysterious part? I read a book called Fair Play, about dividing household tasks. Mind you, that is not really a problem for us. My husband does his share and more, cleaning, doing dishes, helping prepare most meals. I read it more because of my interest in women's rights and sociology. I don't agree with everything she says, or where she is coming from. It is mainly for couples with children (God forbid, you should be raising them alone!). She made a list of all the stuff she was responsible for. One of her points is, don't think that actually preparing the meal (for instance) is the same as thinking about it, planning it, and carrying it out. The psychological energy that (mostly) women put into every facet of family life takes a toll. She talks about birthday parties, sitters, thank you notes...things I mostly don't worry about any more. She talks about wardrobe and beauty, things I have never spent a lot of time or psychic energy on. But we tried it. My husband is game, among other things. We divided all our household responsibilities, on paper, discussing what is involved, from conception to execution, and which of us would take it on. In theory, we can change every day or several times a day, more likely on a weekly basis, if it doesn't seem to be working, or something changes (like my back goes out). This system does not allow for nagging, or even asking for help. And it's surprising how much we both like it (after 3 days). It is very freeing to know that I am entirely responsible for all food preparation, from planning to cooking, and that I can take credit for it. I also can leave the kitchen a mess, guilt-free. When I came downstairs this morning, the dishes from yesterday were all done. The counters are clean (so I can mess them up again if I want). It's really amazing how happy we both have been--he has commented on it too. Check back later to see if it continues to be life-changing. I was pretty skeptical. The sociology stuff is great, too. All time is equal (not related to how much you are paid for it). Duh. Don't try for a 50/50 split, just concentrate on which jobs each of you can take on. Also, let some things go (sorry, thank-you notes). Have an honest conversation about how you both feel about various tasks--if it's not important to either of you, take it off the list. It's also important to agree on what constitutes completion. It's based on a corporate model--having standards to meet. After deciding, walk away, no need to criticize or whine. Try it! 

Mystery rash

One morning, I think it was Monday, I noticed something odd behind my right knee, like a scratch. It's been a really cold April and I have not been wearing shorts or a bathing suit. I couldn't think how I could have gotten it. The next morning, it had moved up my leg and multiplied extensively. Was it some sort of allergy? I had eaten lamb chops and celeriac and parsnips recently, but not for the first time. I called my doctor's office. These days, I never get to speak to anyone right away. A nurse called me back. "We don't have any appointments today. You need to go to urgent care." "Urgent care? I hate urgent care. They are quacks and weren't even covered by my insurance the last time I went." "I'm sorry you had a bad experience with urgent care, but we can't see you today." "What might it be?" "Maybe some kind of infection." Google told me that in most cases, whether you go to your PCP or Urgent Care, you will need a referral to a dermatologist. Using my doctor's massive health care system's online portal, I uploaded the photo and asked for a referral. I have yet to hear back. 

The next morning, it didn't seem to be getting better, so I drove the 20 minutes to urgent care, thinking I wouldn't be very late to work. Surprise! Urgent care doesn't open until 8 am...good thing it wasn't urgent. The nurse was a man, the nurse practitioner a woman, they were wonderful. She knew right away it was shingles, and regretted that my doctor hadn't been able to see me the day before, because I could have started medication then. She was sympathetic and a little surprised that I wasn't in excruciating pain, which is apparently the more common reaction. She said if it didn't hurt yet, it was unlikely to start. She also said it was connected to the nerves and would stay on that side of my body. She gave me prescriptions for an antiviral medication and pain patches. 

Then I drove back to the pharmacy, another 20 minutes. No, the prescription wasn't ready. I would have to wait 20 minutes. I realized I didn't have water with me and wanted to start taking the medicine, so I bought a bottle of water (even though I hated to) and eventually got the antiviral, for a $20 copay. They didn't give me the pain patches. 

Then I drove to work, where I was more or less fine all day. Today, it has spread to my buttock and more intimate areas. It is irritating, but not really painful, except as it dries up. I told my volunteer boss I couldn't come in after reading the material they gave me that said I should stay home. 

The funny thing? I was scheduled for a shingles shot 2 weeks ago, but when I showed up, they said I shouldn't get it at the same time as the COVID booster. Plus I was at the wrong office and had a Zoom meeting at 1:00, so no time to go to the further office. After all this is over, I will make my 3rd appointment for a second COVID booster. Every time, it is a fairly involved process of answering a lot of questions. I would think they could use some of the information from the cancelled shot...Life...

Maureen's house

Under the bushes

at Maureen's house,

I smoked my first and last cigarettes. 

I was probably 16 

and upset about a boy, I think. 

This will help, she said. 

But it didn't. 

When things in the world 

are not going right,

Like these days,

I wish something as simple

as smoking a cigarette 

could fix it.

But it won't. 

New normal?

I got a new computer, which is great and fast. Everything (I think) transferred from the old computer, except photos and music. The photos are all on Google (I think) and I copied the music manually. Now I'm listening to a lot of old music I've never listened to--or not that I can remember. Jethro Tull? Bread?

Of course, the news is riveting. The coverage of the war on Ukraine is heart-wrenching. Such good interviews on NPR, it seems real and immediate. I try to imagine what I would do. People streaming out, waiting in their cars for 48 hours to get across the border, mistreating other refugees, and other people making their way in to fight the Russians. It seems folly for a small country to fend off a giant with no scruples to kill anyone and everyone with little cause. Surely in this day and age it doesn't make sense. Putin and his crew are hurting themselves in an interdependent world. Also, did he not repeatedly say he would not attack just a week before? I just cannot comprehend people like that--but I blame Trump and his supporters for encouraging him and being similar. 

The weather is still cold. There is a thin scrim of ice on the sidewalks, where snow melted yesterday and froze overnight. It's fine in the sun, but pretty scary otherwise. I know it's warming and should be sunny today, so will make some more progress today. Still forecast to be cold enough to freeze for several nights. I'm looking forward to going back to Durham in a couple weeks. 

My boss is getting his second cancer treatment today. I'm worried about him, but statistically his odds are good. I know it's pretty difficult in the meantime. He was heartened to find out yesterday that the Family Medical Leave Act in Massachusetts will pay for his sick leave, which he has pretty much used up on doctors' appointments. He pushed himself to do my annual review before today, so I will get a 4% raise, going back a month and a half. He said I exceeded on all measures, and wrote nice things about me. We get along well and have good communication. The Board members have expressed appreciation as well. I spent time online trying to get a QuickBooks problem resolved and they were going to let me know when it was. I was glad that they admitted the problem, but would have liked a more immediate solution or workaround. I can't record any deposits until they fix it. A major accounting program like that should not have a sudden failure. It will affect thousands?

Oil crisis brought on by invasion halfway around the globe...political conflict--could war bring us together? So much stress.

Mixed

 It doesn't sound exactly like rain falling outside...a little more clicks, not so gentle and calming. They call it mixed precipitation--it's not sleet, or freezing rain--we'll probably have those a little later today. When I was out, there were some small specks of snow mixed in with a good amount of rain--too cold for a raincoat, too wet for a parka. On the ground, there were deep puddles from the rain and the melting snow, but in places there was a texture to the wet, not yet slippery/dangerous, but suggesting of things to come. I'm not going anywhere today. Neither is T. School is cancelled and she will sleep most of the day. The thing she would like to do--drive to another state to see her friends--is not going to happen because no one should be driving today, least of all someone who just got her license a year ago and didn't grow up with snow and ice. Fortunately, she knows it and agrees. Maybe she will go tomorrow, but I think it will probably be sheet ice by then, also not good for driving. I suggested she had plenty of time for cleaning the house...but she is thinking more along the lines of a craft project. Hmm. 

Ray is at work--it's peak season for tax preparers. He walked and the dog and I walked part of the way with him. That's how I know it's not fit for walking either, but safer than driving. The temperature is supposed to fall all day, so it will be colder by the time he comes home. I can't imagine going to the tax office today, but I have known people to do it. 

I may have overdone a bit yesterday, so today will be good for recuperating. A warm bath, a yoga class, maybe some cookies or soup-making. A lot of sitting inside. It's not really cold inside yet. If I plan it right, I can fire up the oven late in the day to keep it that way. Although I have found, it doesn't pay for me to plan to do much late in the day. I tend to lose my energy by then. 

Yesterday was volunteer day. I spent a couple hours, like most Thursdays, at the Beverly Bootstraps food pantry. This is not hard work. I look people up in the computer and have them sign in. I ask if they want laundry detergent or toilet paper and check the boxes if they say yes (unless we don't have any, which happens sometimes). I have my mask on and so do they, mostly. Some people seem to think covering their mouth is enough, or the mask doesn't fit right. If I do get COVID, this will probably be where I got it. Some people are "shopping" for big families or they are single Moms with one child, but there are a good number of older adults, in singles and couples. Sometimes I learn a little of their stories. Perhaps they may have made poor choices earlier in life, but mostly, they have had bad luck. It makes me feel like our society is a failure. People should not have to come begging for food, thanking us profusely, praising God for the food pantry that keeps them alive. Some people are angry--I think that would be me. How did this happen to me? This is not how life was supposed to be...why don't you have the kind of bread I like? Most people are appreciative and happy with the food they get. They can come once a week. There are always fresh potatoes and carrots and apples and many other kinds of produce. There are canned veggies and beans and bags of rice and pasta. They can get meat, but there is not a lot of choice, milk, eggs and cheese. Some people have allergies or picky children. We help when we can. 

I work with Lisa and Terry and Adrianna and Don and Beth and Rich. There is some paid staff, but most are volunteers. We chat among ourselves sometimes when it's not crowded. Only 4 shoppers allowed at a time--for COVID safety. It can seem pretty crowded even so. I am on checkin, Lisa is on check out, Adrianna gives out the meat and other things. The rest are constantly restocking. As donations come in out back, they are weighed and entered into the system. Someone, I'm sure, writes thank-yous and arranges pickups. Someone makes sure there are enough volunteers for all the jobs all the shifts. 

At twelve, I went home and had my lunch, grateful for my home and the food I carelessly choose. I try hard not to ever waste any of it and to plan tasty healthy meals for the three of us. I sometimes wish I were feeding more people and I give away some cookies to neighbors and relatives. One neighbor works in the city at the hospital. She had COVID not long ago, after making it two years. She was not very sick, but not ready to go back to work when she tested negative and they needed her to come in. I shared some food with her. My sister-in-law works with very young children. She finally got it last month. Because she is older (my age) and has asthma, she was able to get monoclonal antibodies. She mainly felt like she had a bad cold. You can imagine she doesn't get paid a lot to work with one- and two-year-olds. And of course they are not vaccinated or masked. And you can't really stay six feet away from them. Are there parents supposed to send them to school when they are coughing and have runny noses? No. Do they? Of course. Otherwise, they can't go to work. 

My next assignment was an interview with a young woman who hopes to attend Middlebury College. As an alumna, I have the opportunity to talk to these young, smart people. It is of course a great pleasure. Most of them have lots of interests and skills (and privilege). They are lucid and creative and caring. This one has already been to France for a month (in 9th grade) and to Beijing (the fall before the pandemic)! I was a little jealous. I wish I could go to that campus again and meet all those energetic young people with their lives ahead of them. The hard part of that job is writing up my conversation and making a recommendation to the Admissions office. They are all outstanding! 

Later in the day, I went to Salem, to the Hawthorne Hotel. We belong to a food coop/CSA. Most of the food is distributed weekly in the summer, but this was an additional February share for those who wanted to opt in. Of course, I did! More potatoes, apples, spinach and so much more. Cheeses! All locally grown or made. I went to help with the setting up and sorting and weighing. Mainly, I greeted people, had them sign in and told them about what was available and how to follow the system. Weigh out 2 pounds of red onions, 1 of shallots, take one butternut squash...I really like it. Pretty interesting to compare the two groups of people picking up food in the morning and the afternoon. So much work in either case. Work that is not done by large organizations, with the costs passed along to the consumers. The local food may cost more sometimes (eggs $7/pound), but we are supporting and helping grow a network of farmers and producers that need consumers. 

I loaded my three boxes of goodies into my car and drove home. It was dark and misty, not my favorite driving conditions, but I did not have far to go. I left the heavy boxes in the car, but took some potatoes out for dinner. Steak, yellow beans, and baked potatoes. Oh, it was good. 

Ray had ended up working until after 6 and Tamara even later. We were all happy to eat, watch a little TV, and go to bed. We saw the Mandalorian and Brooklyn Nine Nine this time. 

One of the things I love about my evenings, especially in winter, is knitting. I mostly knit while I'm watching TV. It keeps me from biting my nails and calms me down. I feel like I'm doing something useful. Sometimes it is pretty rote. Knit a row, purl a row. At the moment, I am working on a project for myself, although I often knit for others. Molli has so many sweaters I've made her she can't really wear them all. This is a striped coat, a long sweater that I think of for fall and spring. It is challenging because I am using the stripe pattern from one project, but the construction method from another. Knitting is something I do for the process not the product. Some of my "products" aren't anything I would wear. Ray has a vest I made him, with many mistakes. He wears it at home, because it is warm. I have gotten a little more creative, using up the ends of yarn to make multi-colored projects: a snake for D., a baby blanket to put away for someone. Part of the fun is choosing something to make and deciding on the colors I will use. When I go to Durham, I will get more yarn to use in future projects. I have many hats, scarves, and mittens, but I will think about making some warmer mittens with heavier yarn next. 

It is also what I like about cooking...I can spend hours looking through cookbooks. Today I will have leftover steak for lunch, with potatoes and vegetables. So I will choose something for dinner that is not beef or potatoes. Maybe chicken or fish with rice. I try to limit pasta to once a week--we would all eat it more often than that, but don't think it's healthy. 

The Monday after the snow

It snowed all day Saturday. When we woke up, there was already 6 inches of snow, maybe. It was hard to tell because the wind was blowing like crazy. Some places were down to the frozen grass, and other places were piled high in sculpted drifts, like sand dunes. We went out when it was light, to let the dog out and sweep and shovel a little, for the first time. It wasn't really scary, because I was right in front of my house and Ray was there with me, but I could imagine it would be dangerous to be out when there weren't so many people around, say 300 years ago. I guess the native people knew how to stay safe and warm, but a few of the invaders lost a person now and then. Maybe they were drinking and lost their way, maybe the blizzard came up suddenly when they were coming home from their married sister's house after helping her watch her children. I could see the other side of the street, but not the other side of the harbor. From safe inside, we kept checking out the windows or even opening the door. The places we had cleared filled back in soon. The snow seemed to be blowing sideways. Where did it all end up? In the ocean? Snowplow trucks went by once or twice, but they seemed to have decided our street wasn't that important. It's true, it's a small one-way street that doesn't have any offices or businesses on it. 

By Sunday morning, it had stopped. The sun was shining. The streets seemed to be plowed. Ray took the dog out and did some more shoveling, off and on. The neighbors who had a small bulldozer (Bobcat) seemed to enjoy clearing the driveways so the cars could get out. We didn't plan on driving anywhere, but very nice to know we could. It was very cold in spite of the sun. 

I live in an interesting old house--about 250 years old. There's a lot to love about it, but we have done everything we could to make it warm in the winter and it cannot work when it's 9 degrees out. The heat keeps running, trying to warm it up to 65 degrees, but cold mornings it's about 57 or 58 when I get up. If it's a sunny day, I open the shades and it will slowly warm up. Yesterday afternoon, the heat stopped running because it was warm enough. Of course, I wear a sweater all the time and sometimes a scarf or mittens. I drink hot tea most of the morning (I have a great collection--chai, green tea, but mostly Earl Grey). 

The best thing to do is cook. There are only 3 of us most of the time, although I sometimes share food with neighbors or family members nearby. I fantasize about feeding the multitudes, but that would probably take the fun away. A dessert restaurant is my most common fantasy. The idea of renting a space, hiring staff, and doing marketing is a little daunting. Most restaurants fail--and now is definitely not the time to start a business that depends on in-person customers--mail order cookies? hmm

Cinnamon bread--just had the last slice this morning, along with oatmeal with brown sugar, raisins, and half-and-half. Time to make more bread and order more half-and-half. Last night we had bounty rice--we all had seconds. It's ground beef, rice, cabbage, canned tomatoes and sour cream and mozzarella. I suppose it's a little like my Mom's company casserole..need to look up that recipe and see. It's pretty easy to make--chop onions and peppers and saute them, add cabbage, a few herbs, rice, tomatoes. Ray 

Annie

As I go through old photos during this stretch of gray and drizzly days (yes, we had a lovely time at Christmas, better than most in recent memory, maybe because it involved an 8-year-old some of the time, maybe because A. came to stay for a few days), I see again the photos of Annie Payson Call, who was a friend of the family to my mother's mother, Mildred Kimball Bonney. Uncle Paul, my mother's older brother, was apparently a scholarship student at the Mt. Prospect School for Boys, where she taught or was somehow connected with the principal. (He was her special friend??) As far as I know, Annie never married or had children, but I could be wrong. 

There are photos of Paul with other boys sledding and skiing and photos of Annie with him and other family members. I was curious and googled her and found some interesting stuff. She taught for about 30 years at a girls' school. She taught them how to take care of their nerves. This is not something we hear about nowadays, that women especially need to protect themselves against nervous breakdowns. The classes involved exercises, breathing, and self-hypnosis. She made the front page when two students had nervous breakdowns and it was argued that these classes had contributed to weakening their nervous systems. I think of it as sort of a precursor to yoga...but I wonder if women needed to learn self-care because they were not well treated by society? 

I don't think this is Grammie Bonney, with Paul, Norma and Eleanor.