Trails End

This is our "front yard" at Trails End Campground, our home since last January. It's a delightful place to live! We spent our summer mornings doing water aerobics in the pool, afternoons kayaking or we drove over to Assateague Island and went to the beach. We have a beautiful view within a few steps, very friendly folks around, the best neighbors anyone could every ask for!

It's home. Probably our final home. And I can't help but chuckle about the irony of this place being named "Trails End." Yes, I want to add an apostrophe and make it "Trail's End"...but someone told me it is supposed to mean that multiple trails end at Chincoteague Bay. So I took that to heart and think of this little peace of Eastern Shore as not the end of our trail, but the beginning of a needed retirement where the sun shines most every day, there's always a cool breeze, and we are surrounded with friends.

Now, if I could only talk the kids into moving down...

Anger

To me, being angry is a serious state, reserved for matters of life and death. I don’t get “mad” either – my grandmother always told me that dogs get mad, not human beings; human beings become angry. And anger was not to be taken lightly.
She gave me the same advice about love and hate, urging me to use these words as little as possible, assuring me I’d know when it would be appropriate to state that I loved something, or someone.

OK, so I didn’t listen to her about love, but I certainly did about anger. It’s such an entire waste of energy. I’ve been upfront with people and they’ve become angry at me, but I’ve never been a “read between the lines” kind of gal. Don’t ask me if you don’t want my opinion.

But then don’t accuse me of “being angry” when you’re really only dealing with someone who speaks her mind. I’m passionate, focused, energized, and sometimes frustrated and disappointed, but rarely am I angry. What’s the use? Quite frankly, unless you’ve wronged someone born of me or married to me, anger would never enter the room. If you believe it has, perhaps that’s something you might want to reflect on, because you’re most likely unable to deal with what constitutes your anger, and misery craves company. (Notice how I didn’t say “loves” company?)

I’d simply rather chose not to fight. This keeps me sane. I urge you to try it.

A Child's Laughter

Although he will always be my child, my son is in his late thirties now. This past week has been a difficult one for him. He’s suffering through a well-lived life. As the one in charge where he works, he’s finding out he has to fill in for those who call in sick. He is moving his family to a new apartment. He had oral surgery to remove two teeth that have been painful for weeks, and his band has a late-night gig.

When he called me earlier today, he ranted about all that had to be done in the little time he had available to do it. I listened, rarely said much more than little encouraging words here and there about how lucky he is to have a job, to be a talented musician, to have such a darling two-year old daughter, etc. Once he was done ranting, I filled him in on what’s going on with us – hardly anything by comparison – and we ended the call.

About three hours later, he called again. I lurched for the phone. We never speak more than once a week or so unless there’s something horrible happening. I wondered what had blown up in his life this time, reached for the phone and held my breath. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: Hello? What’s wrong?

Darek: Wrong? S**t, I dialed the wrong number. I was trying to get Kate (his girlfriend).

Me: Oh, I see, and you just get your mother, that’s ok. I probably couldn’t help anyway, you know. I’m not the greatest mom in the world, never really there when you need me anyway.

A brief pause, and then Darek says: I wanted to ask Kate if my shoes were in her car. So there! You couldn’t help me with that now, could you?

And then we both laughed. Really laughed. I had forgotten how much I loved the sound of Darek laughing, something I’ve heard too little of recently.

Darek: Bye, Mom. Love ya.

I hung up still laughing. And the echo of his laughter has stayed with me all day.

Making Waves: 4 Voices

It's done!  I have a copy in my hands of the poetry anthology my southern writing group has published. 

The process has been a fun one, most of the time.  The four of us meet weekly, critique one another's work, laugh, snack, cry, inspire, help one another through writing woes and celebrate our acomplishments. 

Making Waves: 4 Voices is a sampling of our poetry.  It is also the "demo" for our next project: publishing a journal of poetry, essays and short stories written by emerging and established artists, with an emphasis on women over forty.  Now that we've finished our book, I can't wait to get started on my new "job" as a co-editor of Rising Tide Review.

Stay tuned for more on Rising Tide Review!  If you're one of my writing friends and have something you'd like to submit for possible publication, email me at sunnywrite@aol.com.  We are in the process of developing our website, getting our post office box and all the little details that must be attended to in order for Rising Tide Review to become a reality.

If you're interested in reading Making Waves: 4 Voices, it can be purchased at Amazon.com.  I'll sign it for you next time I see you! 

Want vs. Need

Our goal to downsize and simply our life is nearly met.  Nothing new comes in now unless something old goes out.  This isn't simply because we've chosen to live each month on the amount of money one of us used to make in a week.  It's more a commitment to weeding out what's truly necessary.

We're not quite to the point of only owning 100 things -- our CD collection alone would put us far over that yardstick, and then there are cassettes, LPs, 45s, reel to reel and, yes, 8-tracks.  We consider "music" one "thing:".  Same with books.  More than anything else, our music and books define us.  We consider these items "needed".

We only have one set of dishes, a half dozen coffee mugs, minimum cookware, etc.  I don't miss fancy china, table clothes, or that gravy boat I only used once a year, if then, cluttering up my limited cupboard space.

And clothes -- gone is the closet full of black pants/skirts/blazers I once wore to my 9-5 job.  My daughter, hoping to borrow something from my closet during the time I had a real job, stared at my work wardrobe and asked, "Just how many funerals a week do you go to, Mom?"  Hubby had button down shirts, ties, suits.  Today you'll find only jeans, bathing suits, tie-dyed t-shirts and such in our one closet.  Sandals, sneakers and mud shoes are all we need.  Most days it only matters that we're dressed, not what we're dressed in.  Ah, the freedom in this alone!  I've cut all hubby's shirts into strips for a rag rug that now collects sand at our front door.

I've always tried to instill in my kids and others that taking care of basic needs then allows you to enjoy all life has to offer as well as better handle those occasional curve ball tossed at you when least expected.  I feel the truth in this every day now as I tend my garden, walk Rupert, make chicken soup, walk the pier while sipping a cup of tea from my own kitchen, or relaxing in the yard when friends drop by. 

I am blessed.  What I need is all I want.

Going Back to Sleep

That's what we do these days, we go back to sleep.  Awake before 6:00 a.m., we'll read or snuggle or simply listen to the laughing gulls, terns and doves beginning their day.  Then we find ourselves waking again later -- sometimes late morning -- and our day starts by coaxing Rupert the Wonder Dog, seven years old now, into going for a walk.

We've had a couple of years now of tremendous work that equalled the successful re-birth of a used bookstore, so much so, we had to walk away to conserve our health.  Our only regret is not having made the move to open the store about ten years earlier, before age caught up with us.  The agony of that decision to shut the doors of Book Hounds PLUS weighs on me still some nights, but never in the morning when I'm able to roll over and go back to sleep.

My mind and my body thank me for this new habit on those days when the feeling of total renewal washes away the memory of not having any feeling left in my feet or legs after fourteen hours on my feet.

Rupert's morning walk has become a joy again, welcoming a new day by wandering down by Chincoteague Bay instead of rushing down the Island Trail to get the walk over before opening the store.  We take our time, refreshed by those extra hours of sleep and the sweetness of knowing we have all the time we need.

Gleaning

Webster's second definition for gleaning:  to collect or find out (facts, information, etc.) bit by bit.  That best describes what this past year on the island has been for me:  a year of gleaning.  I've been finding out what I really want to do, who's really important to me, who feels I'm important to them, and how my life is going to look in the year or so to come.  This has been both exciting and disheartening as I look forward to new adventures and leave old dreams behind.  But the gleaning was necessary.

With the gleaning came some deadheading, the plucking off of dead petals so new growth could take place.  Old habits, some old friends had to be left behind in order to let the positive energy flow in and take its rightful place in our lovely bookstore, where we wish to keep hope flourishing and smiles alive.  The energy is alive here and we've worked hard to make our community of peace and understanding, where no one who enters is judged or ridiculed by others, where all have a place to come rest and chat a moment.  We've tossed in a Board Game Night, a group of women who knit and chat, a writing group very much like the one I left behind that keeps me sane, play readings, poetry readings, and live music to keep the smiles alive.  We're selling books, too.  It's working.

While collecting information, I learned to listen to my own heart and trust my own instincts, that others had the right to their own opinion but that didn't make their opinion right.  We all need to remember that and not be so easily influenced by pundits, news reporters, friends and family.  There are always at least two sides to every situation.   You figure out those who live with truth and positive energy in their lives and when you wrap yourself around those folks, life gets good.  So much easier never to have to play games or tiptoe through the landmines others set up for themselves.  A musician friend of mine recently said, "It's better to run with scissors than walk on egg shells."  Oh yeah, I agree....take some risks, live your life, live truthfully, accept others for who and what they are, enjoy the ride, toss the negativity away.  Who needs it?

Yes, I'm Still Here

It's been awhile....we've been busy getting Book Hounds PLUS set up on the island and adjusting to island life. I was looking for posts I'd done on music because I was thinking of writing an article on how much we loved going to Sparky's for the Woodshed and I remembered how much I loved writing this blog...so why not do it again?

The summer tourists are flooding the island and the bookstore. We seem to be the few who love this. Some of the other merchants grumble...do they not understand who helps to pay their bills? We love to find out where folks are from, what they've been doing, etc.

A few days ago three folks came in who had lived in our house as young children. I gave them a tour of the store and of our apartment upstairs as they related stories of spying on people walking on the sidewalks to the Fireman's Carnival (we do that now, too) and how they had a grand piano where our cash register counter sits. It was a delightful trip down memory lane for them and I loved hearing their stories. This morning's mail brought a thank you card from one of the women.

This island is magical and we continue to enjoy it, even though the kayaks we bought sit in the back yard more than on the water. Maybe Monday we'll get a ride. That's MY kayak up on the car. Hubby's is lime green.

This weekend Melissa Clark, a musician friend from Hamilton, NY, is coming down and playing in the bookstore. We are looking forward to that.

Check back. I am hoping to write more here, let you know what it's like to run a used bookstore. It's really more fun than you can imagine, especially on this island of sun and salt.

Island Love Affair

No, I’ve not become infatuated with a local waterman, although it’s quite possible that some day I may be swept off my feet by one of these gentle men who call me “ma’am” in that delightful Southern accent. Their manners are impeccable, at least what I’ve seen in the bookstore so far. They have beautifully weathered faces, laugh easily, and I’ve certainly come to appreciate the difficult jobs they do. I’m waiting for the gentleman who recently purchased most of my Louis L’Amour paperbacks to bring me the fresh flounder he promised, another reason I may easily fall under their spell someday.

The love affair I’m telling you about today is between Rupert and Cheeka. Sadly, Rupert seems to have left any memory of his Northern love interest, MacKinley, far behind him. MacKinley is a large, white dog adopted by close friends who quickly became the alpha dog in the relationship, putting Rupert in his place at their first meeting. Something happened along the way, though, because Rupert, an extremely selective eater, became comfortable enough to devour MacKinley’s dog food whenever we visited our friends.

We met Cheeka and her owner on our morning walks on the Island Trail here on the Island, about the only place dogs are allowed. Rupert typically greets any other dog in a rather unfriendly manner. He believes the Island Trail is there for his use alone and he’s not one to welcome company. Cheeka is the kind of dog that Rupert usually barks determinedly at, the kind of dog we've referred to in the past as a “yippy” dog, because when Rupert would bark at such a dog, he’d get a “yippy” bark right back. Cheeka, however, is quiet and subdued. Her owner explained to us that she had been recently adopted and had come from a home where her previous owners were in the process of divorcing, a situation where a lot of “kicking and shoving” had gone on with Cheeka often caught in the middle.

Rupert would instantly transform into a gentleman at the sight of tiny Cheeka approaching us on the Island Trail. He would sit beside us, regarding her as we chatted with Cheeka’s owner, allowing her to pass with never a bark. After several days of this, Rupert would begin whining in excitement when he’d see Cheeka approaching, then start prancing, but would still sit again once she was beside us. Cheeka was not ready for him yet. Somehow he knew this.

This morning we were late going for our walk. We met Cheeka and her owner on the road to the Island Trail. We had to roll our car window down so Rupert could see Cheeka as the whine from the back seat was so loud we couldn’t hear. And as we were chatting with Cheeka’s owners, darling Cheeka put her paws on the side of our car, trying to reach Rupert, “Juliet” courting her “Romeo”.

I’m anxious to see what their next meeting brings.

Expectations

My father always told me I expected too much. He also told me, beginning at a very early age, that life wasn’t always fair, that the sooner I learned to accept that, the easier my life might be.

I’ve always struggled with this. That whole “do unto others as you’d have them do unto you” seems like a good way to live your life. If I want someone to respect me, I need to respect them. If I don’t want to be lied to, I don’t lie to others. If I want my back scratched, I scratch yours. It seems simple to me. It doesn’t feel as though I’m expecting too much. If I can do it, can’t others?

We are such a blip in the universe and take ourselves so seriously. I guess living here on this beautiful island surrounded by nature makes me realize how insignificant one human being is in the grand scheme of things. It’s quite clear to me that we are not in charge. Every time we visit the beach, more sand has shifted, more shoreline altered. Every walk we take with Rupert on the Island Trail, another tree has fallen.

A customer recently was chatting with us, sitting on the loveseat by the fireplace in the bookstore after making his purchase. “There’s a piece of the Canary Islands that’s going to break off and send a tsunami this way. All these lovely books are going to get wet. What will you do when the waves hit?” he asked.

And it took me back to my time as a Human Resources Director when I had a saying typed out and taped to my computer monitor that helped me keep my sanity those days. I can’t remember where the words came from; I know I read them somewhere. They were words I imagined my father could have said to me, words that always calmed me, made me realize I could alter my expectations to meet the reality of any situation. It was the perfect opportunity to quote them.

I said, “If you can’t stop the waves, you can always learn to surf.”

This Winter Without Boots

I can still see the grin on the face of that tiny old Korean woman who left my garage sale with my winter parka tucked over her arm the day before we left Syracuse, New York for Chincoteague, Virginia. She had talked me into selling it to her for $3, and as I was so certain I’d never need it again, I was happy to do so! Ha! I should have realized her smile wasn’t a smile of gratitude but her way of saying, “Sucker!” or whatever the equivalent might be in Korean.

Winter did indeed hit this beautiful island paradise, making us wish we hadn’t sold our boots, too. We refused to go out and buy replacements, though. I just added extra pairs of socks and pulled my sneakers on, or let hubby walk Rupert on the mornings I couldn’t bear to go outside. The snow didn’t pile up – only about six inches compared to sixty – and the temperatures stayed in the thirties. Living on the water with no building on one side of us, however, means we feel each and every blast of the 40 mph winds that blew our way.

The big difference, though, is the sunshine. We see it almost every day. How nice it is not to deal with stretches of grey skies!

And our commute down those thirteen stairs from the apartment to the bookstore is so much nicer, too! Even though Rupert still insists on going outside a couple of times a day, we basically have been able to stay inside and rearrange the store. We are getting to know the locals and welcoming return customers, still enjoying each and every day…..even the wintry ones.

Monday...A Day Off

We close the bookstore on Mondays. There’s something wonderful about having Monday off when the rest of the world goes to work. It doesn’t even matter that we are “working” on the weekends, because this gig sure doesn’t feel like work.

Saturday was another busy day with lots of interesting folks coming into the store. I am still frustrated when we don’t have the books they are looking for, even when it’s a romance novel. One woman who was in a couple of weeks ago returned with some books for us to take in on trade and brought me a book that she had heard another customer requesting – it doesn’t get much better than that! And I haven’t been able to hunt down the book she had asked me to find yet either, but she was pleased as punch to have found the book that other customer had been asking about! It’s wonderful to be building those kinds of relationships with customers. And I’ve finally found some time to read a few books, too, including some these customers have suggested.

Our book hunting Sunday morning did not net us as much as I’d have liked. And Sunday proved to be a slower day, with the Poetry Workshop Sunday afternoon the highlight of my day. So we were looking forward to Monday.

And what a glorious Monday it was!

We went “off the island”, an hour’s drive away, to Salisbury, Maryland, to pick up my wedding band. I’d lost a diamond somehow on the move down here and this was the nearest Kay Jeweler repair shop. After that jaunt, we stopped at a Hospice Thrift shop (they are marvelous little stores!) and got some children’s books, plus I picked up some long-sleeved t-shirts for these cooler days when I don’t really need a sweater but my other shirts aren’t quite warm enough. Then home to pack a lunch which we ate at the beach, sharing some of it with the seagulls. Hubby had them eating bits of his apple out of his hand. We took a long walk along the Woodland Trail after our beach walk and were lucky enough to see a pony and a deer at the Wild Pony Overlook in addition to several egrets. We drove the Wildlife Loop and then stopped at Gary Howard’s for oysters and shrimp.

While hubby was preparing his oysters, he cut into his hand. That’s the first time we had to face the reality of living 50 miles from the nearest hospital. However, we live across the street from the fire department and there is an EMT on duty there. She wrapped his hand and suggested he go the clinic two doors down from us when it opened up today. He did. All is well. And it cost us a whopping $30, a huge reminder of the skyrocketing, out-of-control health costs in New York. Oh, we don’t have health insurance here either.
Other than periodic bouts of loneliness, missing loved ones and craving quality live music, life is good.

Here I Go Again....

I should change the name of this blog to “The Wonders of Running a Used Book Store on the magical island of Chincoteague, Virginia Where it Seems Like Home and Every Day Brings a New Wonder” but that’s way too many words.

But that’s my life now.

We’ve had a couple of very hectic months relocating, rearranging, readjusting. After having only about a day and a half of looking around these five rooms loaded with books (approximately 7,000) and absolutely NO experience running a cash register or credit card machine, we opened our doors the same day they closed the beach here because Hurricane Earl was expected to make an appearance. He didn’t but we saw almost everyone who had planned on spending Labor Day weekend at the beach. Those folks all bought books (THANKS!) and helped us learn our new profession very quickly.

After that first day, after scrambling around for eleven hours straight with no coffee/lunch/dinner breaks, hubby and I went upstairs and sat out on our back deck overlooking Chincoteague Channel and couldn’t stop smiling at each other. It was one of the best “work” days we’d ever had! We were exhausted, frustrated, wondering if we were going to get blown away by the storm before we even got unpacked, but we did what we always do: put our heads down and plowed on.

And it’s paid off. We still aren’t unpacked. We still have frustrations, but are slowly catching up on our sleep. Our days off now are actually spent at the beach and we were there this week when the snow geese landed here, at least two thousand. We were about the only humans on the beach, and it felt as though we were in our very own National Geographic special. It was mystical and magical and something I will never forget.

We don’t seem to leave the store often, but have ventured out to hear live music, although we realize how spoiled we were by the variety and talent we left behind us in Syracuse. At the last concert we attended here on the island, we made a call to a musician friend we knew was playing in a café we once traveled to often – if you scroll back you’ll read me raving about both Mark Zane and the Red and White Café in previous posts – and we called the Red and White and requested a song from Mark because we needed to hear “good” music that night. Of course, Mr. Zane obliged, and we were able to hear a couple verses of “Ruby” that gave us our live music fix for the weekend.

Monday night we went to the movies here in a nice, old-fashioned theatre less than a block down the street from us. Tickets are $5.50 on Monday! We saw “Secretariat” and next week they’ll be showing “Social Network.”

Misty’s hoof prints are in the cement in front of the theatre. If you don’t know who Misty is, well…..there’s this book. You can’t spend five minutes here in Chincoteague without learning about Misty. I hang my head while admitting I have not read “Misty of Chincoteague” but we did borrow the movie from the library and watched it last evening. I enjoyed seeing how the island I now call home looked back in the 1960’s.

In a selfish effort to get a writing group started here, I’m offering a poetry workshop here at the store tonight. I hope someone shows up.

If you’re interested in seeing some of the rooms at the bookstore or learning more about us, check out the website hubby put together. http://www.bookhoundsplus.com/

So Long, Farewell, That German Word I Can’t Spell….

Although Time Warner SWEARS I will be able to access the email account that allows me to access this blog, it seems to me that once I stop paying someone for a service, that service most likely goes away. So I’ll probably be starting a new blog someplace else and I simply don’t have time at the moment to set up a new email account to continue this one.

Yup, hubby and I did indeed buy that used bookstore on that island and are in the whirlwind of selling almost everything except the stacks of books we have, stacking up stuff for a moving sale and doing all the shutting off/turning on utility things that have to be done. It’s amazing how the Internet has made this out-of-state move easier. I can definitely understand, also, why so many choose to set up a business in states other than New York. Having lived in New York most of my life, I had expected to be much more sentimental in leaving it. Not so. I am counting the days. I had given myself much more time to accomplish what I needed to do to set ourselves up for business…..I’m basically done…..now I’m sitting in an apartment that’s basically packed and ready to go, counting the days until the movers arrive.

So, Island life, here we come! No more posts complaining about the snow! If life slows down and I’m able to get back in here someday, I’ll tell you how it’s going. If not, thanks for reading. It’s been fun!

Loyalty and What's Next

Often I wonder if I even understand the meaning of “loyalty”. Perhaps it more that I wonder why my understanding seems lights years away from others most of the time.

It’s difficult to witness examples of employers being “loyal” to long time employees as they hand them pink slips after years of expecting those same employees to be loyal to them as employers. Children expect parents to be loyal – in spite of what children may do – yet feel free to turn their back on parents when things may not go their way. Long time commitments such as those to a particular business, restaurant, library, craft fair, are no longer always appreciated. You may remember previous posts about the craft fair I sold my one-of-a-kind handmade knit items at, Plowshares, for the past twelve years; this year they rejected my application to their annual event, the only place I’ve ever sold my merchandise. There was a time when they were barely able to fill a gym with vendors and I stayed with them, loyal to the core because I believed in their mission to sell quality, handmade goods.

But everything changes. I can’t quite put my finger on this shift in thinking though. For years I followed the advice of various elders: always do your best, work hard, be loyal, and you’ll always be respected for that.

Somehow it hasn’t always worked out that way.

These days it’s the advice my dad gave me later in his life that’s playing over and over in my head: You’re always going to have to work hard so you might as well work hard for yourself, not to make someone else rich.

Dad owned a successful marine distributorship after my mother ran off his boss. Funny what leads us to realize whatever it is we’ve really meant to do with our lives. He loved going to work every day, kept his inventory in his head even after purchasing a computer system to do that, treated his employees as he would have wanted to be treated, and was well respected.

I’m confident Dad was happy selling boats and being in control of his headaches. The echo of his advice to me – often given to me as I’d sit on the edge of his bed the last months of his life relating yet another story of issues I was dealing with the Human Resources job I had a that time – keeps me awake nights lately. He’s not here anymore for me to mull ideas over with as hubby and I try to figure out what to do next with our lives, but I think I’m finding an answer.

Yeah. I think I’m going to buy me a bookstore on an island off the Virginia coast, take control of my own headaches, spend some time near the ocean, forget about the snow and just be happy.

Star Appeal: Donna Colton and Sam Patterelli

Late last spring while hubby and I were enjoying the company of friends at a wedding reception, we looked up to see Donna Colton and Sam Patterelli, local musicians we admire greatly, being seated directly across the table from us. Although many of our friends are musicians, I was indeed star struck by their presence that day, as I continue to be each and every time we are lucky enough to catch one of their performances. I’ve blogged about them a time or two in the past, I’m sure.

We had an opportunity to hear them again at one of our favorite spots for acoustic music, Onativia Church in Lafayette a couple of Friday nights ago. It’s the perfect venue to hear every lyric Donna sings and each note Sam plays on any one of the many guitars he brings with him. I love their originals and never tire of hearing them. Their cover of Etta James’ “At Last” would have knocked my socks off had I been wearing any.

But this post is about what makes Donna and Sam stars, why I still feel star struck whenever I see them perform.

During the Onativia performance they told their audience about attending the sound check prior to the Washington, D.C., concert they attended of two of their idols, Carole King and James Taylor. They spoke of standing right beside one or the other of these stars, chatting with them and how down-to-earth each one of them had been, how in awe Donna and Sam had been of the way Carole King and James Taylor had treated them.

Well, Donna and Sam, that is EXACTLY how we as fans feel about you!

Thanks for sharing your talents with us! The miseries of the day recede for awhile when we listen to your songs until all that remains in our heads is “Evening Ride”, reminding us that good things, too, remain in this world.

Snoooooze Alarm

It took awhile for me to identify the source of my morning alarm clock. Our bird feeder is attracting new birds this sun-filled summer. I’d thought it to be some fair feathered friend cracking open sunflower seeds at dawn. Yup, I blamed the junco who feels free to wander across the deck whether we’re sitting there or not, the one who I swear would perch on Rupert’s back if he’d stay still long enough.

Then one morning when the song seemed particularly loud, long and darn joyful – though much earlier than I welcomed – I crept from the bed to peek out to see which bird was singing such a pretty song. Atop our mailbox, standing on his or her tiny hind legs stood one of the three or four chipmunks who scoot across our deck every day. This chipmunk was just a singing away!

One of my wildlife books claimed such chirping meant a chipmunk was sending out a distress call. I beg to differ. The chipmunk I spotted, and have heard several mornings since then, curtained did NOT seem to be in a protective mode. And there was definitely no danger. These critters love to toy with Rupert, often stopping on their trot across the deck to look through our sliding glass doors at the dog before they stop to sip out of his outside water bowl, never caring if he then barks at them while they leisurely get their fill of water. No, I believe they chirp with pure joy.

I just wish they would do it a little later in the morning.

Kellish Music Barn

I have another favorite venue for acoustic music run by two of my favorite people, Rick and Kathy.

I’d worked with Rick for several years and grew to respect his gentle nature and ability to always keep the needs of a patient front and center no matter what else was going on in his world. He was the same person each and every day, a smile on his face, his passion for providing excellent patient care shining brightly. There should be more healthcare professionals in this world with Rick’s values.

Kathy and I met face-to-face about a year ago when we both attended a musical event at Onativia Church and I introduced myself to her. I felt as if I’d known her, having had phone conversations with her in my role handling employee benefits with I worked with Rick. She and I went on to become Facebook friends.

Hubby and I finally, finally, finally made it out to their amazing farm and music barn a couple of Friday nights ago for a concert. Larry Hoyt and Eileen Rose, two talented local musicians we’ve often had the pleasure of hearing at the Monday night open mic at Tipp Hill hosted by Joanne Perry and Wendy Ramsay (we often enjoy listening to Larry Hoyt’s Sunday afternoon radio show, Common Threads, on WAER, too) played the first set, a combination of cover songs and Larry Hoyt originals. Shannon Wurst, a singer/songwriter from Fayetteville, Arkansas, followed – what a treat! Check her out on You Tube! Buy her CD! You won’t be disappointed!

We fell in love with the ambiance of this venue, mostly the result of the huge welcome Kathy gives each guest. We happily returned to the farm last Thursday night for their weekly open mic, hosted that week by Mark Zane, that drew area musicians Brian Francis, Dave Gillespie, Dusty Pascal, Brad Thomas, Tim Stevens, Dan Brown, Mark Matthews….and so many more I’ve forgotten their names, including a woman from Cary, North Carolina and Dave from Hamilton, whose mandolin accompanied many and was truly the “star” of the evening.

What a time we had there! If you will, please vote for them for the Best Acoustic Venue in this year’s SAMMY Awards. Here’s the link: http://www.syracuseareamusic.com/peopleschoice

This Summer of Love

Many of you are probably old enough to remember flowers in your hair and the sweet music that evolved from a magical summer years ago. It seems as if I’m reliving that summer in many ways. So far it’s been filled with visits with dear friends resulting in laughter and hugs. We’ve filled our heads and hearts with exciting music, traveling around to hear our friends play various venues and always waking up the next morning with their songs still keeping us company. Even our teenaged granddaughter has enjoyed accompanying us on such ventures this summer, leaving her heavy metal music behind her and opening her ears to other avenues and even LIKING what she hears! If John Sebastian was singing “Do You Believe in Magic?” I would have to shout out “Yes”.

Of course, I’m exhausted.

I thought with hubby not working we’d have long hours where we wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves and we’d be bored and restless and what have you. That hasn’t happened. We’ve had time to read a ton of wonderful books…..The Lacuna by Barbara Kingslover and Terrorist by John Updike have to be the best books I’ve read all year and both of us were spellbound by Stephen King’s Under The Dome which I read in three days (1072 pages), not doing anything else except walk the dog and answer hubby when he'd ask, “Where are you now in the book?”

We still don’t have a plan for what’s nextin our forced retirement. Hubby is still enduring physical therapy but is now able to join Rupert and me on our walks and actually mowed the lawn yesterday for the first time this year. Little by little it’s getting better. I admit to awaking in the middle of the night sometimes in a blind panic wondering when the money is going to run out and which bridge I’ll be begging beneath ….but, for now, I’m enjoying this beautiful summer of love. It’s never too hot for me, so I’m about the only person I know who’s not complaining about the lack of rain. As they sang way back when…..Let the sun shine, let the sun shine, let the sun shine in.

Grandbaby

She is not our first, baby Gwen, yet she is oh so special, this one. I’ve always said, if there was any woman on the face of this earth that I would choose to be a mother to my grandchildren, it would be Kate….and how blessed I am to have a son wise enough to choose Kate to have this special child with. To add even more to my blessings, Kate honored me by having me with her when baby Gwen was delivered last Christmas Eve. This was truly an event I will never forget. I have not been able to find adequate words to describe the emotions that ran through my heart and head on that day as Kate held my hand and this delightful little girl slipped into our world.

Gwendolyn Mary is a curious six-month old who has a quick smile after she warms up to you. Her belly laugh is genuine. She’s pulling up on everything she gets her hands on, eager to walk, exactly as her father was at that age. He pulled this task off at nine months, so proud of himself he jumped up and down with glee, then fell into the coffee table, cut his forehead open and needed three stitches. He did not attempt walking unassisted again for a couple of months. I’m hoping Gwen takes her time.

Gwen’s going to be such an amazing kid. Her folks are so patient with her, seeing the world anew through her eyes and enjoying the view tremendously. She can’t help but turn out to be even smarter than the two of them are. I hope I’m around long enough to see where her passions lead her. I know she’ll find her way to amazing places and will be allowed to dip her toes into the water on many shores in her search to find what feels like home. Her parents understand that happiness is the journey and not the destination, such an important lesson to learn. Gwen could not be in better hands. This shows in her smile, in her dirty face at the end of a busy day exploring her world, in the contented way she falls asleep in her mother’s arms. Ah, Gwendolyn Mary. She is indeed a grand baby.