Heat? We don't need no stinkin' heat!

Newsflash. . .it is still cold outside.

With that said, I think I'll stick with the cold theme for today's post. I thought about giving my commentary on the issue of global warming and bullying those people who believe it is a hoax; but, opted for a lighter topic.

In late Fall of 2003, my niece, Veronica and my sister-in-law, Bea bought a farm in Martin County, Florida. Veronica is in the horse business (training, buying and selling) and the farm was perfect for her plans. While the existing house and stalls needed a lot of work, the potential was enormous. It was a little piece of heaven.

I had gone down in early December that year to celebrate my great niece's sixteenth birthday. They were still living in Palm Beach, so we planned an outing to visit the new homestead. The local community was having their "holiday parade" and we decided to initiate the community with a visit from our clan.

It was one of those "freakish" cold snaps for the area. The afternoon, while sunny, was a crisp 48 degrees and very breezy. I had gone to Florida with Florida clothes and had to borrow a light jacket from Bea. Our entourage included seven adults, four children and four dogs. In our various vehicles, we met in a parking lot to take our place on the parade route. I use the term "parade" very loosely. What we saw was an array of public service vehicles (fire truck, water department truck, a police cruiser), residents of the local retirement community driving their golf carts down the street, dressed like clowns and throwing candy into the crowd. I also use the term "crowd" very loosely. I believe Santa arrived atop a tow truck; or was it a boat being pulled by a tow truck? You gotta love a small town effort.

After the festivities of the parade we went back to the farm. Our plan was to spend the night. Although the house wasn't ready for full time residents, we were opting to "camp out." There were a few sofas and a bed and we brought sleeping bags and perhaps an air mattress. We cooked out for dinner and built a huge bonfire. Rory was our only adult guy until morning. Rory loves fire. Rory was throwing everything he could find into the bonfire. It was getting bigger and bigger and we were all quite toasty. Sitting in front of that huge blaze we weren't really conscious of the fact that the temperature was taking a nose dive.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch (house), Bea had thrown a couple of those "clean air" logs into the fireplace; and Veronica had turned on the heat. Or, so we thought. As we begin gathering ourselves indoors and realized that the temperature outside had dropped below freezing, we noticed that the air temperature in the house wasn't much different. You have got to be kidding me! No heat. Yep, no heat.

Bea, always the eternal optimist, said "we'll be fine; I have another one of those fire logs." I had to point out that those fire logs only last a maximum of four hours. So at two in the morning, there would be no fire. Do we go or do we stay? We stay.

We all carefully choose our territory to bundle up with what we have and settle in for the night. I chose one of the couches and a small pillow. And, I coaxed my niece's dog, Bruno, to join me. I would have coaxed all the dogs to join me, but the couch wasn't big enough.

In retrospect, it wasn't that bad of a night, but to hear us tell the story the next day you would have thought we were stranded in a blizzard in the Andes. Someone had to let the dogs out during the night; that was poor Bea. I wrapped myself in a blanket that I found laying across the sofa. Finders keepers. The kids were bundled in their sleeping bags.

Trips to the bathroom sent you shivering back to your nest. Although I suspect Rory chose a different facility. We did hear the back door open during the night.

When morning came, we realized that we didn't even have coffee. The plan was to go into town to the Inn's brunch. We were laughing at the thought of this crowd filing into the Seminole Inn's dining room, straggly, hungry and cold. I was planning on a pot of coffee with a Mimosa chaser; and a warm bathroom. As we were gathering our things, Rory was getting something from the car and his little boy, Ryan was in tow. We heard the car door slam and also heard "oops" (that's the PG version). Yep, the keys were locked in the car. We called AAA and waited. I'm not very good at waiting without coffee.


Meanwhile, my nephew Kenneth arrived, having been on duty at the fire station. Being the problem solver he is, he went straight to the thermostat to see what was wrong. Kenneth turned the heat on. Yes, we could have heat all night. It was a matter of a small switch that had kept us in the cold. But, we were leaving now, so no point in letting it heat us up while we waited for the AAA tow truck.

The serviceman arrived and opened the car door. We loaded into our various vehicles, arrived at the Inn and sat down for a hearty brunch for fourteen hungry mouths. We ate. We laughed. And we laughed some more.

Heat? We don't need no stinkin' heat.

Thoughts from Christmases Past

The last few days my mind has been so scattered - things to do, places to go, people to see. I've been planning my travel itinerary to head South to visit family and friends for Christmas. The "sleigh" will be relatively empty this year, but I know it will come back full of memories.

The thoughts of the Christmases past sent me searching through a drawer of photographs. In the drawer was one of my "holiday journals." A journal in which I wrote of holiday events, traditions and kept assorted pictures and drawings. With my mind so scattered, I thought I would share some of those writings from days gone by.


Christmas, 1993

He said, 'I am always with you.' I truly believe I am part of Him, hence, I am always with you as well.

As our lives change and we move about, we all share the memories of 'home.' Even while the vision of home changes, there is still always one place we tend to come back to. . .this house.

It's not a big house. It's not the house that is described and memorialized in works of literature. It stores the memories we share. If the walls in the kitchen could talk; if the chips and the stains on the coffee table could tell; if the dining table could raise it's voice; if the hallway, which chronicles our lives, could repeat the stories it's heard. . .all would rise in unison and say, "this is our home"; "our meeting place"; this is where our family is one.

December 25, 1994

It is Christmas morning and Mama and I are sitting here admiring or new "museum piece". Last evening Bob presented Mama with the restoration of the clipper ship originally built by her father, Wilhelm Lange.

It is an impressive piece of work; art; love; continuity; TRADITION. The concept of restoration began three years ago. At Daddy's last Christmas in 1991, Bob showed Daddy the "remains" of the boat and told him he would restore it for Mama. Daddy and Papa Lange, and the rest of our angels, smiled at yet another part of our family, our traditions being preserved.

We are all very lucky, that each of us, in our own special way, have the talents to preserve, communicate and maintain tradition. Traditions that hold and bind us as family and friends. Christmas Eve at Mama's house is a tradition that I will always cherish.

The house took it's old form last evening; like a grand lady emerging for her annual debut. The tree that Mama labored over and fussed about slowly became the "perfect" tree, glittering and sparkling with its holiday adornment.

The music of the season soothed the holiday melancholy. Those not present are still in our hearts. The tables were set for all here, and afar. . .and gone. . .

. . .Bob, Bea, Veronica, Brian, Mama and I exchanged gifts. The presentation of the ship was quite dramatic. Bob orchestrated it with music by Wagner. Mama was very emotional. Veronica commented that she had never seen "Nanny" so moved by anything; she was grateful to have been witness.

This sharing of traditions helps us grow in our relationships with each other. This is the blessing of God; and He has so blessed this house; this family.

December 26, 1995

. . .Christmas Eve was at "home". . .a tradition I'll not part with. Mama and I prepared a small buffet. . .Bob and Bea joined us along with Diane and Ron, Annie, Lenny and Ethyl and Bob.


On Christmas Day we went out to Bob and Bea's for dinner. Joanie drove out with us. At Bob's house, I got my "house". Bob built me this most exquisite doll house. It is carefully crafted and full of love. It's so beautiful and I find myself silenced by this gift of love, time and talent. The words have not yet surfaced to thank him.

Bob is indeed a "giant". I find it no coincidence that he finds fascination with the "smaller things" in life. . .the doll houses; the model cars; The Village he has created in that huge, old tree in his backyard.

The Village is a magical place. Bob has created a series of winding stairs out of the trunk of the tree and climbing the branches up and up to an occassional platform. On the platforms are small huts, lit, and with small wisps of smoke rising from its chimneys. There are barrels and campfires and entryways into the tree itself. Some of the stairs led to a bridge crossing from one branch to another. He says that every year he needs to re-build the stairs and the bridges; you see the tree is growing, and so is the Village.

The Village. . .I am so glad that I was there to share Alexis' first viewing of the Village. She wanted so much to see "them". . .the little people. She could "smell" them cooking and she felt certain that she was small enough to fit through their entry way. She is such a precious child.

This particular journal ends abruptly. My brother Bob, died suddenly in 1998. Mama's house was sold in 1999 and Bea sold her and Bob's home that same year. There would be no more Village. Mama died in 2003.

I am not saddened by these memories of Christmases past. I am ever so thankful that I have those memories and that these people have been part of my life.

Perfect or Finished?

I used to think that unfinished work was just a sign of procrastination and laziness. Now I realize that it is often the adverse effect of perfectionism. "I can't do this perfectly, so I just won't do it at all." To some degree I believe this is learned behavior and difficult to overcome.

When I find an unfinished project stuffed away in the closet or drawer, I end up spending the rest of the day reflecting upon what it was suppose to be, why it is not finished and who's fault is it that it is left undone. I got too busy; I got bored; I didn't think it was worthwhile any longer; I ran out of money; I didn't have the right tools; I can't find all the pieces; it just didn't matter anymore. But it did matter; that's why the remains can still be found amidst my clutter.

Sometimes I am able to resurrect a project. I can resurrect it because I now know how; I now have the patience and understanding; I can now see the beauty in the flaws; I now see the perfection in its disarray. Maybe it was finished?

I grew up with my maternal grandmother's painting of my mother, as a child. I was in awe of this work; it was my mother in every aspect. While my mother displayed the portrait, she also was quick to point out that it was never finished; insinuating that it was not perfect. Was my mother pointing out my grandmother's failure to complete the project as grandmother's problem? Or, was my mother simply hurt that her mother did not return to complete the canvass? Did not sign it? Did not finish it - her?

My unfinished projects are a wonderful collection of my many moods and a snapshot of what I was living and experiencing at the time. My mother never told me if the portrait was painted when she was that child or if my grandmother painted years later. I like to think that it was "never finished" because my mother never lost that "child" we see in the painting. Dolly never grew out of that mind set.

Maybe my grandmother knew that; maybe that's why she didn't finish it? In reality, it is finished. And, it's perfect.

Bob and Dolly and the Eyeglasses

While drinking my coffee this morning, a random thought popped into my head that made me smile.

My Mother and Father have passed quite a few years ago. As in need of therapy as I am now, I do have some wonderful memories of them both, indivdually and together. They had been married 54 years at the time my father passed. It was quite a long love affair and as they grew older they tended to share the same afflictions. I recall one story that had me crying with laughter.

As we age, our sleep patterns tend to be chopped up. We fall asleep, awake and then nap. This was true of my father. For the last three of four years of his life, Dad would awake around 4:30 in the morning, shave, go for a walk, have his cereal, read the paper, shower and then nap until about 10 AM. Mom on the other hand, stayed up late, falling asleep in the chair and going into the bed around 2 AM, sleeping until Dad's second awakening. And then they would have coffee together and plan the rest of their day.

ne early morning, Mama awoke and was going to go to the bathroom. Without her glasses and half asleep she stumbled and fell to the floor; somehow wedging herself between the night stand and the bed. She believes Dad is still in bed asleep. She begins calling for him repeatedly, "Bob, Bob, Bob." After several minutes and her calls becoming somewhat panicy, the bathroom door opens and there stands my father with razor in hand, shaving cream on his face and the water running in the sink. Startled by Mom's position he asks "Dolly, what are you doing down there?" After she reacts to him with an angry word or two, they both fall into laughter. "My God," she said, "the kids will certainly put us in a home after this."

After stumbling around, Bob gets his glasses on and helps Dolly up from the floor and onto the bed. She isn't really hurt but stinging from hitting the nightstand. She falls back into laughter as she looks up at her husband of 50+ years standing there with shaving cream on his face, shirtless and wearing his glasses (now smudged with shaving cream). They fall into another wave of laughter; mind you Dolly hasn't gotten to the bathroom yet. I will leave that picture to your imagination as they both scrambled into their small master bedroom bathroom.

Now being wide awake, the two of them go into the kitchen to have coffee together. Still laughing, Dolly takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes, wipes off her glasses and replaces them on her nose. She looks at Bob and says, "maybe I did hit my head, because I'm having a hard time seeing." Bob takes his glasses off and says, "well, I didn't hit my head but I'm a little blurry as well." As he sets his glasses on the kitchen table he realizes that Dolly had HIS glasses on. Somehow in the bathroom phase of this event, they had both set their glasses on the sink and picked up the wrong set. Nearly an hour has gone by before the couple realize this.

Mom waited until about 9 AM to call me at the office to recount this tale. When I heard her voice at 9, I was immediately on guard thinking something had gone wrong. I guess you can say the morning went "alittle wrong." But it was a story I still cherish.

As my Dad would always say, "that's my wife." There was never a dull moment with Bob and Dolly.