I finally got an opportunity to take one more thing off of my Bucket List this week. Denn and I were in Buffalo so we decided to grab lunch at the famous Frank and Theresa's Anchor Bar. Believe it or not, I have never been to this famous place. So, I got my first test at their famous Buffalo wings, created for the very first time in their kitchen by mom, Theresa. It seems she was ready to toss some chicken wings into the soup pot when her son came in with a few friends and asked if she had anything different that she could cook up quickly. She looked at the wings, looked at the frier, popped them in till crispy, pulled them out and smothered them with hot sauce and her secret ingredients. She added a few celery sticks and blue cheese dressing to the plate and called it close. The rest, my friends, is history. There probably isn't a place in this world that you can't get some form of chicken wings. And to think the craze started in my own home town! Gawly!!!! So, here's me taking one from Theresa's (?) plate.

What was fun for me was to look around the walls and identify many famous/world famous people whose photos line them. I asked the waitress if they were all fed at the Anchor Bar and she said yes. I have my doubts, though, because there was a huge painting of Marco Polo mixed in with the rest of the photos, and I honestly don't think he was a customer. But, there was a huge blown up picture of Buffalo's own Tim Russert on the cover of Buffalo Magazine, a magazine I wrote for extensively while it was published in Buffalo. Very cool!

Tomorrow I'll head out early to visit with a dear gal pal who is vacationing in the area.  We'll eat lunch and catch up on things happening in our lives.  We'll laugh about the time she froze corn with me in my kitchen, while tediously cutting the corn off the cobs and grumbling about the amount of work it took.  She kept asking, "are we having fun yet?" Covered with corn kernels and surrounded by a mountain of bowls, cobs, husks, and boiling pots, we both laughed.  

I like her a whole lot even though we are very different souls.  She's no-nonsense, painfully direct, pragmatic, impatient, and unemotional (at least on the surface.)  She married well and has never had to work a day in her married life, has one son and several step-children, grandchildren she adores, and leads a charmed life with her very handsome, ambitious, and successful husband ... until now ... 

A little over a year ago, her almost perfect, Hollywood handsome, and physically fit husband was showing signs of Alzheimer's. Recently, he has been formally diagnosed.  He is in his early to mid seventies, finally enjoying retirement from the successful business he created, has positioned them to live in a beautiful, new home that they built themselves where they can do all of the things they love ... and today occupies himself with washing his hands, shaving, and sleeping.  They have a pool he must enjoy only with supervision, his boat and gear sits idle or is used by other family members, and his wife, my friend, can no longer leave him unsupervised for even a trip to the local grocery store.

Family members are providing respite relief for her so she can fly here and check out for a week in a world she enjoys.  A truly bitter-sweet time for her, I'm sure.

  

As I consider her circumstances and look at the calendar to confirm the date for our visit, I realize that one year ago my nephew's wife, aged 52, died of lung cancer.  They had fourteen months between diagnosis and her death for them to try to come to terms with her illness and make as many memories as possible for their family.  My friend and her husband probably had the same amount of time to live fairly normal lives and prepare for the inevitable.  Time ... so precious, so taken for granted until the sands in the hourglass run at breakneck speed before our eyes.  It waits for no one and it cautions us to use it wisely.  So, when someone asks, "are we having fun yet?" one can only hope that the answer would always be "yes."  It is up to each one of us to make it so. 

   

A Remembering Ritual

It's 2:50 in the afternoon.  The alarm on my cell phone just reminded me of the time, which is a daily ritual. The picture on the screen of my cell is that of my sweet and funny mom who departed her earthly bonds at 2:50 on a sunny afternoon in May.  Some folks think I'm a little off kilter, while others think it's very sweet.  It's not like I need a reminder to remember this bright light of my life, but it's nice to have a little tap on my shoulder every afternoon to nudge me to take a minute and remember her.  Now, it's not just that I think fun thoughts of her, but in bringing her to mind,  I re-member her back into this world.  I join her back with all of those who loved her.  She comes back into the circle, if only for a moment.  I only hope I'm not disrupting a favorite activity she might be involved in when I call her back every afternoon!
You know, it's just so easy to let one day run into the next without giving specific thought to those we no longer see or have an earthly connection to.  I take great solace in knowing that at 2:50 every single day, I welcome mom back into my life in a very tangible way.  Is there someone you'd like to keep closer to you?  Try my little trick and see if it works as well for you.

Nature's Gifts

It's August - a typically hot, humid Western New York summer day.  Luscious!  That is, as long as I can retreat indoors from being on deck cooking to a turn while delighting in my flowers.

Even with all the political fracas on TV and other airwaves, I find myself calming down and forgetting the nonsense and fear-mongering that has been a constant for the last many weeks.  I'll save my political opinions for another blog site, should I decide to create one.

Meanwhile, I'd like to introduce you to a steady visitor to the blooms on my deck.  She is a hummingbird moth bumble bee, according to my research thus far.  If you are interested in what she looks like, take a gander at this u-tube video that someone was lucky enough to film.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zdyape_1Js8

Every time I see her, I have my camera indoors and hate to leave because she seldom stays very long.  If you cannot view the link I've attached, just Google her and you should find information.  To me, she looks like a flying, miniature, hairy lobster!  Most intriguing.  Loves my phlox, roses, and petunias.

Meanwhile, life is good on the hill.  The rains have come and nourished the plants and trees.  Lawns have quite a recovery ahead of them, but they always come back.

I worry most about the giant maple that sits in front of my home, graciously offering welcome shade in the driest conditions, and shelter for the birds and climbing wildlife.  Denn said he thought it was great that we own such a magnificent tree.  I'm not convinced we own her.  I believe that this majestic maple, along with all of life's gifts, is on loan to us and it is up to us to nurture and protect her for as long as we live with her.  This home is about 100 years old, so who knows how old she is.  It would take quite a few of us with joined hands to circle her perimeter.  She is taller than my two story home and almost as wide across in full leaf.

I'd love to tap her in spring, but that would mean boiling her sap down in my kitchen, 24 hours a day until it becomes syrup.  Now, there's a very funny story in my life about doing exactly that, and I promise I will tell you shortly, after I discuss it with my son who ends up being the spotlighted character of the very funny (well, to all of us except him!) episode.  Do come back and look for it.

Meanwhile, it's always a pleasure knowing that my little missives might bring a smile to your face, curiosity to your mind, or seeds for growth to your spirit.  Later......

Playing with the hummies

I keep thinking I'm going to begin writing about things more profound and earth-shattering, but then I get on deck and something fascinates me about my friends in nature. It's been ghastly hot for over a week (as anyone in the eastern three-quarters of the United States would surely know!) and bird activity has been minimal. The hummies have been feeding but it seems that they feed and quickly retreat to the shade of the century old lilac alongside my secret garden deck. They live there, you see. So no matter how large and out-of-c0ntrol the lilac becomes, it will always stay as is, where is. It finally (!!!!!) rained last night and the bird activity overall has increased exponentially - robins are gleaning in the grass - birds of every size, shape, and color are zipping through what I call the fly-way, landing under the feeders and on them to get their fill while it's reasonably comfortable outdoors. The humidity and temperature are rising, so this may be short-lived.

I noticed about six hummies challenging one another for the three active portals of their feeder. Obviously my pairs have had offspring! Not wanting to miss out on the fun, I ambled over to within three feet of the feeder and just stood, wondering if they would approach with me so near. They whizzed by, they dive-bombed, they squawked and twittered into my face but I held my ground. One even settled in front of my nose, wings furiously flapping, no more than 8 inches away, studying me as I studied him. I thought I'd go cross-eyed if he didn't move on soon! Finally a young male landed on a port nearest to me, and a mature male did likewise. Before I knew it, they were all taking turns, flying over my head and shoulder, and fanning my cheek to get to the feeder. When it was vacant, I moved closer and continued to do so until I was within an open-hand's width away from the closest port. And they still kept coming, regarding me as another garden fixture or maybe knowing I am their benefactor?

Summer Ayem

Summer Ayem

Or is it Amen?  It’s 9ayem – the fresh morning breeze is gently flapping our spanking new, mega sized, American flag on its 35 foot pole, five feet to the right of the deck, as I sit facing our rural road.  Having what I call “boney soil” I lack the strength and energy to “put in” an in-the-ground garden so I’ve done the next-best thing.  Taking a lesson from my dear friend, Shirley, who left us for a more adventurous heavenly home, I’ve created a rather public “secret garden” on my deck.

While chasing parts for a project, I discovered happy red and white petunias on sale at our local home improvement store – a buck a pop, for five inch pots!  I scooped up as many of those babies as I could put into a cart with visions of a red and white paradise to surround me on my summer morning sit-ins on deck.    I already started my deck garden by digging out buried perennials that got lost in the backyard hostas.  I stuck them into pots along with my granddaughter’s long forgotten pinwheels, and  added herbs and trailing vines that I brought home from my girlfriend, Diane’s, house.  Although her Kentucky weather is kinder to them than mine seems to be, we’re hanging in to see if they revive.

I’ve arranged a dozen petunia plants in two long planters to complement the nicely aged (meaning rusted, which I was told that was how it was to be displayed - worked for me!) rolling cart I bought several years ago at an antique/flea market in Franklin, TN, where my daughter and her family live (yes, that means grandchildren are too far away – another story).  The cart sits to my right, under Shirley's flowered straw hat which is under the porch light.  Said cart is resplendent in delicious, smile-faced purple pansies, yellow/gold daisies, a hanging basket of snapdragons, my favorite lavender, and a fledgling spider plant in a hand striped, red, white, and blue pot, quite possibly created by one of my children many, many years ago (yes, I save all kinds of treasures – yet another story).  I've hung an oriental bell chime on the handle, and my blue deck chairs pick up the blues in the flowers of the hat.  Perfect!

To my left on the other side of the French doors, I resurrected an old wooden deck chair and a heavy – wire, small ice cream seat. I added a Shasta daisy ($4 from $13 – another get 'er now special)  and a white metal plant stand holding a Mother’s Day azalea in a large green pot. On the lower shelf, I placed a purple and green vine-y thing, also in a green pot, that my girlfriend Kathy shared from her plantings and gave me for Christmas.  These indoor plants seem to smile at me every day when I sit out here to visit with them, grateful, as I am, for the warming summer sun, gentle breezes, and birdsong.

I love receiving shared plants from others.  Every time I look at them, I imagine their garden or deck, and I enjoy the memories of those individuals.  When my phlox and lilies of the valley go into full glory, I fondly imagine my straw-hatted mom, in her ubiquitous “pedal-pusher” pants lovingly tending the grandparents of those plants fifty years ago in my childhood garden.  Now, how’s that for warm, fuzzy memories?  My daughter and I each bought a Gary Cooper rose in Franklin and had a rose face-off for one year (mine produced wildly : ).  Little did I know that was its swan song – it must have decided that WNY winters were no climate for California raised, imported-to-TN roses.   Since I think of my roses as beautiful ladies, I guess she was just a fragile southern belle who couldn’t take the frigid wintry stuff that gets dished out up north.  Ahhh, guess I'll move the lovely potted knockout rose I received from my son and his girlfriend for Mother's Day to the deck garden to have my daily rose fix.

But, alas, this little bit of paradise is not perfect.  The sun keeps hiding behind grey clouds, and when it does, it’s a signal for the gnats to emerge from their hiding places.  They have discovered that they can burrow into my long red hair and, much to my dismay, have begun feasting on my scalp and neck as well as dive bombing the inside of my glasses, making the further creation of this missive a bit too challenging for me.

So, for today, I bid you adieu, ta ta, pip pip, cheerio, and amen!

Lafayette Lady

The other day I told you about a woman I watched from across busy Washington Street in Buffalo NY.  I stood in the warmth of a vestibule in a classy downtown office building, and she stood outside, unprotected  from the brutal, icy, Buffalo winds except for the roof over the entrance way of a once proud hotel.   Not frequenting Buffalo on a regular basis any more, it had been years since I really paid attention to the hotel which was once considered one of the 15 finest hotels in the United States.  It was sad to notice the shabby, run-down exterior, drapes askew in the huge, tall windows, and the abject overall look of pure neglect of both the hotel and its inhabitants.  I did some Googling when I got home and found that the hotel served at that time as one-room temporary housing for some of Buffalo's citizens who survive under the wing of social services.

That bit of information explained the people who wandered through those doors.  What I found interesting is that my Lafayette Lady did a lot of walking in and out of the hotel doors.  Was she getting warm?  Was she calling for a ride?  Was she re-checking a bus schedule?  I'll never know, but she must have gone back inside at least ten times during the time I watched her.  While outside, she would constantly rummage through that giant "purse" of hers - moving things into her hands, foraging, looking, checking.  She had a smile and greeting for everyone who walked by or entered the hotel.  I marveled at the joy and the happiness she exuded when she had human contact with another of her hotel-mates.  Apparently she didn't need to be warm to be happy, or dressed in the current style, or even have matching socks.  What seemed to make her happy was the number of friends she appeared to have and the pleasant exchanges she had with each of them.  No matter that she didn't have hat, scarf, gloves or warm duds - her warmth obviously was carried inside and was refueled with each greeting.

Interestingly, I started my wait at the door with the situation that took me to that building weighing heavily on my shoulders. By the time my ride came, I had a much different and lighter perspective about the outcome of that issue.  I believe there is nothing by chance and that this Lafayette Lady was sent for me to observe and, more importantly, to learn from.

The Hotel has been closed to these people now, sold to a contractor who placed it on the Register of Historic Places and is renovating--bringing her back to her old glory.  I can only hope that in the process, some residual memory of my Lafayette Lady will remain in the marble walls and spectacular floors of this grand building and that others will, certainly not by chance, be afforded an opportunity to learn some of life's valuable lessons by Angels Unaware who may appear before them, just as she did for me.