Sunday, December 9, 2012

The Unencumbered Cat

Julie reached out to me this morning in what I can only describe as a gentle reminder that this month might be particularly difficult for me.  Huh.  Here I was thinking that this weekend was smooth sailing, all the way!  We stopped, amidst our "tree-like-object"

decorating celebration and I reminded the family that although I seem sort of like myself these days (except the part where I live in my jammies), my parents were always really really into the whole Christmas decoration and ritual thing, so, well, I might be a total wreck come this weekend.  Peter, bless his heart, insisted that we roll the high kitsch cd's that would be our usual December soundtrack.  How awesome is this dude? Really?  He hates this music, and it's all for me.  Something about Ella's version of What are you Doing New Years Eve got to me this afternoon. Everyone had finished their share of their adorning and were out in the world. Me, left with the remaining tidying that would define my role in the family, set the lighting just right and there I go.  Sheesh! Why do I feel This Rotten?  Go figure, but here I am, and Lena Horne's recording of the song is even more haunting than that Ol' Ella cd that I've been listening to, well, forever.


"his"
But even though it was just about the greyest, darkest, non-snowiest December Day, ever, somehow we pulled it together and made it a success.  I've been jawing about a pair of killer Adrian Pearsall chairs that were on sale at the Broadway Antique Mall .  Somehow I finagled a gift out of the whole thing, and boy am I thrilled with the results! Check this out!!!

"hers"

"what's the cat gonna do to these things?"

boo-ya!


"The Unencumbered Cat"  -Peter

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Returns and Cycles...or...What did we lose along the way?

This afternoon, a rare and delightful opportunity to clean stuff (OK, papers) out of my desk-work-area. Everybody is out of the house and it's time for me to catch up on social media, I mean, nostalgia, I mean, bills and healthcare organization.  So I stumble upon a file which houses some formerly useful info regarding Mom & Dad, most of it either outdated or upgraded in the past two years.  November marked the two year anniversary of my first real immersion in trying to do what I could to help the parents. With a few days off of work, and an army of folks in OP taking care of my kids, I went to Oregon and spent some quality time with Mom and Dad, trying to convince them that maybe sometime soon some things would need to change, in order that they preserve their independence, health, quality of life, etc.. In some ways this was a delightful trip.  I, without my family in tow, was able to cook for Mom and Dad, adapt to their quirky pace of life, talk about the old times, and really enjoy their company.  I'll never forget some of the special moments of this trip.  Mom and Dad were both swimming every day, and going about their life as they had for a number of years, yet each was noticing falterings in the other.  Within a month I would get a call from Dad that Mom was in the hospital, thus sparking the first real foray into rehabilitation and care that one or the other would be involved in, for quite some time.
Jan 2011


Tonight I came across the hand-written transcript of a long talk that I had with Dad in November of 2010 in which he told of his annual trip to Southern Oregon family gravesites. We had taken this trip every Memorial Day weekend of my childhood.  It's been thirty years since I made the trip, and in recent years have tried get back out there. But when I sat with Dad, I had a feeling that this was going to be as close as I would get, at least with his company.  Today, I sit with vague messy handwriting, dictated by a faltering 86 year old, wondering, still, if I'll ever get there, or if my notes will do me any good.  The whole thing goes a bit like this:

  • "...there is only one cemetery in Rogue River, 15 miles out of Grants Pass, eight miles to town of Rogue River, turn N (left) into downtown Rogue River, Main Street is 3 blocks off bridge. off to right is bridge, turn Left off I5 approximate mile to the cemetery going south at cemetery go to the main entrance (there are at least 3) central straight down street 1 1/2 block one grave is my great grandmother, a Steward, Otis Byron Steward's mother. Incidentally, let's back up to Masonic cemetery, I always leave a boquet of flowers and clean the land Dad deeded half of that plot back to the plot...Mom can tell you who is buried there...her grandparents...TP Cramer...go into the 2nd entrance into FOE (both have archers over entrance so you an tell) so I always put flowers on the Cramer plot. And the Steward plot, 2 entrances to 2 cemeteries, one into Masonic once you're through the gates you can't tell which is which, go into masonic entrance, straight down that street two blocks...etc...."
The notes go on like this, and it's tough to imagine following this ledger and not getting completely lost.  Not to miss a great opportunity to explore some fabulously beautiful country, but heck, what do I do with this?  Well, on the hottest day of December, probably, ever, I do the unthinkable. I check the internet, of course! I get that familiar feeling of excitement tinged with the loss of hands-on discovery that we have when we realize that it's right here, at a finger stroke.  Plug into google the name: Central Point Cemetery, and I find it's most likely one of two cemeteries (aided by Dad's directions I realize it's the 100F) and within minutes I find record of the Nussbaums and the Stidhams that are buried there.   Dig a little deeper, and I'm on another site, in Glendale, Oregon. This stop was always an "extra" for Dad, only if there was enough time and the rest of us weren't too cranky.
Glendale, OR
 At Glendale was buried "Baby Stidham".  Strange, the record isn't in the online listing, until I read that whoever has recorded the markers misspelled Stidham, and wrote Baby Stedham, no known info about dates and family.  And so it goes,   For now, I'll take the knowledge that I can go on a road trip sometime in the future, aided in part by Dad's directions, but I'll most likely have smartphone and gps and web browser in hand, just in case I need another bit of help.  And so it goes.  Crank the heat up to 74F on a December day in Chicago, expecting that somehow everything is going to be alright.  Put on the back burner, again, a trip to a place that is disappearing from memory and even existence, since, of course, we can find everything we need right here, plugged in.  

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Grieving Gets Easier, and Here's How!!!!



You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last
But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast


1. blogger's block
2. pumpkin pie
3. weight room at the Y w/my man
4. days in jammies
5. great friends and in-laws that adore my children
6. the cardigan that wouldn't quit
7. blues for breakfast piped over the internet all the way from Eugene Oregon (how twisted is that?)
8. falling asleep, just one night, listening to a bit of music on WBEZ, thinking about the constant grief and torn-up loss that is the Torey Malatia killing-off of 8PM-4AM music programming, jazz & blues, every night of the week (was that 2006?)....recent news?
9. considering, to myself, that after all these years, I'm more hurt over WBEZ in a sort of way, than that of losing my Dad just two months ago.  Why?  Because, of course, Dad was ready. So ready. And although everybody with an earbud, an iphone and an itunes account could care less about quality radio programming, the whole affair broke my heart, to it's little core.
Winter 2011
10. sun. day in and day out. Glorious sun.  Drought in sixty percent of the lower forty-eight? Ouch.  But for today, we get out and enjoy this amazing weather. What else can we do?




Saturday, November 10, 2012

Fantasia: Midcentury Home Lust

Is this what grieving is about?  I go from one obsession to another, with intermittent periods of complete exhaustion, sometimes sadness and burnout, and lots of crank as in cranki-ness.  Ouch, this is hard. And whoever in the world remains friendly with me, well, I'll be thankful for that...more than the mountains and the trees and the ocean and anything else.  I need friends. This, at least, has been established.
Here's a photo display of the last two weeks' escapade.  For some odd reason, I dragged Peter to an open house about two weeks ago, and promptly, as we walked into the home I teared up and Peter announced that the house had an uncanny resemblance (actually, a reminder) of our midcentury ranch in Vermont.


  So we descended into the land of Fantasia.  
Have Topiary?
The house is stunning and remarkable.  Impeccably maintained since the 1950's by one lovely family, everything from wallpaper to midcentury furniture to clean wood panelling and a massive basement that contains a full wet bar and deco backdrop. 

And if we had a wet bar...what would we do...open a bar?  Yes!!!!
Each of it's five (yes FIVE) bathrooms is tiled in a different retro color (you know the drill, mauve, pink, green, black) tile and many lovely showers with glass doors and festive matching wallpaper and built-ins galore. 


wallpaper, wallpaper, wallpaper!
We were fortunate, today, to spend some quality time in the place to explore and really feel out the possibilities and drawbacks. 
A visit, tour, fantasia continues...Dig the stainless gutters, wrought iron railings, and poodle sculpture!
 What's not to love?  Well, I guess first and foremost is the fact that we like our life here just enough that any move within the same community seems like a big freakin' deal and not really worth it.  And probably the biggest barrier of all is that every horizontal-emphasis house in our sweet community sort of lacks the indoor outdoor flow that makes a midcentury ranch style house lovely.  Situated sideways on long/narrow Chicago style lots, we lose the all-important patio/backyard indoor meets outdoor feel. 

Eichler: the gold-standard
 And so it goes.  It's just not the right time, but it was nice to dream a bit for a few days.  Here's to hoping that someone can do something wonderful with this house, but I insist that I'm the only person in Oak Park who could completely realize the dream that is this home.  Just about anybody else is gonna rip and tear and you-know-what.  And so goes another lost set of memories.  Do I want to spend the rest of my life keeping the memory of this particular house alive?  Not sure...so...practically speaking...not exactly what we should be doing for the next five, ten, fifteen years. I wandered from room to room, cabinet to cabinet, the reality that this is not the time or place settled in.  So I reverted to my former self...the one that loves estates and experiences and tiny items, things that can stir our memories or dreams from the past.  Although most of the house is entirely cleaned out, except for the beautiful furniture and quite a few pieces of art on the walls, there were a few cabinets that still contained the accoutrements of the owners past lives.  Take, for example...tucked away in a corner basement cabinet, a stack of sixties style knitting magazines, right next to a stack of horse magazines.

It's the FIESTA hand-knit pattern-book!
  I grabbed one, and it was a jarring image, perfect knit table dresses, each named after a place in Latin America.  One page, with lovely script handwriting from the owner of the house, I snatched without hesitation.  And so a piece of my lovely dream-house did come home with me.  And maybe, some day, I'll make a dress...maybe a dress called: Vera Cruz.  Yeah, I like the Vera Cruz, it's a coat with ribbing and a swanky collar.  It'll do, and when I wear it around town, I'll think of the most fabulous, well loved house in the corner of our town, a house that a family loved and loved and cared for and filled with valuable objects and memories.
And if that house, by that time, is gone or dramatically transformed, I'll pinch myself and remind myself that I can't do all the work.  In fact, I can only do a little tiny bit of the work. The work, that is, the work that is required of all of us, all of the time.  So...In the midst of grieving the loss of my Dad, and trying to keep his memory alive, and to honor his own experiences and where he came from and what he shared with me and our community....Is it truly prudent for me to throw myself in an entirely different direction and try to keep the memory alive...the memory of a Nice Educated & Stylish & Careful  Jewish Family in a big swag house in Suburban Chicago Area?  Probably not.  It's not my work.  My love and appreciation are there, but I can't rescue a house that holds a beautiful grand piano and needlepoint pillows and paintings and tile and stainless steel gutters and a great big Saarinen Table in the Kitchen. It ain't me, babe, It ain't me....at least...I don't think so!

Friday, November 9, 2012

Encumbered Much?

LF, I know you're out there, and it tickles the cockles of my heart to think that you're checking the UW to see what's new.  Appparently, not much these days, isn't that the way it goes?  Dear friend Michael, days ago, introduced me as the blogger, "The Unencumbered Woman".  He had to go and spoil my rep and include that he believes me to be about as encumbered as a person could get.  Oh Well...but isn't that the point!  How do we play at this feeling of lightness and being in the moment, when in fact, so much of life, for all of us, is heavy, taxing, and difficult.  So for me, today, it was about turning my run into a walk, turning off the telephone, and watching a documentary.  Sometimes a little wallowing in nostalgia and emotionalism can assist in the process of lightening the load, however heavy it feels at times.
So here, my contribution to emotional heft, after a delightfully indulgent viewing of Who is Harry Nilsson?
If it's a movie review that you'd like, I'll keep it simple.  Boy grows up poor and abandoned in Brooklyn, flees to the west coast, meets up with industry types and hits it big with his one-in-a-bajillion-white-boy-voice.  The industry takes himself down, as it will do vis-a-vis vices & dashed hopes and dreams.  Somehow he makes it to his mid-fifties, and everybody from Ringo to Robin Williams fondly remember the roustabout nights engineered by our sweet artist.  For some reason, his young Irish wife provides the anchor for his chaos, although she does nothing to lengthen his life or shorten his self-abuse.  Alas...there he goes, but not without leaving us some badass music.  Go ahead, listen and remember, whatever it is that it all stirs up for you.




Saturday, October 27, 2012

Real Country Music

Mr. Jukebox, Ernest Tubb. This one really grabbed me this morning, courtesy of Jivin' Johnny Etheredge on KRVM. Lines such as:

The jukebox just told my life story 
told it in the words of a song
So I'll have another drink to the jukebox and one to the man that wrote the song

So here Mr Jukebox please take my last dime
Tell me the story of my life one more time
Bring back the mem'ries of the past that was wrong
Here's another drink to you and the man who wrote the song
[ guitar ]
[ From: http://www.metrolyrics.com/mr-jukebox-lyrics-ernest-tubb.html ]
So here Mr Jukebox please take my last dime
Tell me the story of my life one more time
Bring back the mem'ries of the past that was wrong
Here's my last drink to you then goodnight and so long





 
 Does it get any better? A crisp fall morning in suburbia. Martial Arts, swim workout, soccer, yarn workout, brunch for four, and gazing out the window at brilliant oranges and browns and a yellow maple that stuns the eyes. How do we keep our memories alive? How do we keep the memories of eternity alive? Nan says it's in the handwriting, others say fragrance. Music, obviously, is as evocative as it gets. Once, on a Saturday a few years ago I was driving around with Dad. I had the KRVM Country Clasic show on, and Dad, a long-time country-western listener/dancer, wondered aloud what in the world we were hearing. I answered, it's a show called "Country Classic", also known as "Country before it was cool". Dad chuckled, "I don't like real Country music!" I just had to laugh! What in the world could this ancient music have reminded him, of, after all? Wasn't he getting away from this stuff when he bucked the trend and went to college and joined a Fraternity, lived on side-walked streets for the rest of his days, watched TV, wore clean shirts and ties and read the newspaper every day?

March, 2012.
 The beauty of nostalgia, for folks like me, is that we buff it and spit on it and shine it 'til it looks just like the thing that we wish it would be and know that we'll never have to make it be. Fantasy, heck yeah! But today, OK, everyday, I'll take it!

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Adorn thyself....musings of a yarn-madwoman.

Political junkies and sports fans, I know you've got your plate full and all, but the Unencumbered is All Too Aware of the pitfalls of relying on the actions of others to deliver us from insanity. And so it goes.  Bedtime for this woman when the talking heads start to grind away.  What else is there?  Why, calm and quiet, of course!
But wait, there's more! It's fall in the Northern Hemisphere and everything is aglow!  Time to whip out some crafty projects and not a minute too soon!  Sore back, sore knee, sore lip...I need to exercise those sedentary muscles.  Polishing off a watch cap and matching fingerless mittens.  LOVE!  Photos, courtesy of Ashby.  I'll take the phenomenal weather and breathe it all in.

watchcap series: Mom's 60s magazine collection.

add a styling' vest from the beautiful friends...good to go.

catch the leaves, girl!

I LOVE FALL> I LOVE THIS WEATHER> I LOVE ME> I LOVE YARN>

catch the maple tree. for real!

I bow down to the beauties and wonder of mother nature and all that this planet has delivered us.

Oh my god.  So many of these people totally don't see things the way I see them!!! Arg!!!!! Read an article for cryin' out  loud!!!!
But can we agree on this? Autumn is Amazing. Hobbies are good. Yarn is soft.  People who make things are working on keeping the planet working in a good direction.  Make things, admire that which is around you.  Adorn thyself.
Sublime. Simple. 

for those who need to know: Mother's Day: September 1965

Yarnage? :extra fine merino, silk, cashmere.  yummmm!!!!!!

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

While I was away...

Seems that I can't find much of anything to say. Not that I'm not thinking...but...hey....can't always say something! So here's a video clip from not so many days ago near Florence, Oregon. Enjoy, LF!!!


Heceta Beach, Florence, OR from karen steward-nolan on Vimeo.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Pie, Pie, Pie!!!!!Pie Time!!!!!

I may have mentioned a cooking fest during my recent visit to Oregon.  Well, we were so busy eating and cooking I forgot to mention the pumpkin pie I made using brother's CSA local organic pumpkin!
Pumpkin, plus maple syrup, cream, eggs, spice, flour, butter. YUM!
Neighbor Dolores receiving squash soup--pie tomorrow if we don't eat it all!
 Poor Dolores, she was offered pie after she praised the soup I made.  It was gone before I could say "fresh whipped cream!". And as you might imagine, LF, I raced back home to take care of business. Back and forth, we go! What an age of travel, really?  A gal might wear herself down, unless she's eating lots of great food! And eat she does!

My return to Oak Park was enhanced by the knowledge that I was carrying fresh picked huckleberries from the Oregon Coast.  It's not easy to gather enough of these little suckers to cook anything more than huckleberry pancakes, but I gave harvest time a good ninety minutes or so and with delightful results.  I was complaining, while picking, that our little community has been over-pruned to the extent that available berries are disappearing each season. But I wandered around our neighborhood, and sauntered onto the main road.  Berries were found. The tiny little things are about an eighth of the size of a medium blueberry, but if you're serious about your berries, you will not be disappointed, boy oh boy!!!!
The huckleberry pie--disappeared quickly.
The day after I returned home I was pretty wiped out.  Faced with difficult news about Dad, saying goodbye, the whole affair can really deplete a soul. So it was to bed for the better part of a day, "Bring me my coffee, please?!"  And so it went, until the family danced off for soccer match or the like and I was left to my own devices in the kitchen.  What time is it? Yes! It's Pie Time!
LF, you might wonder what the point is of baking a berry pie without opening it for photos, but holy moly, by the time we cut into the thing and broke out the camera, the baby was gone!
Yum. Yum. Yum.


But there's More!  Our share here in OP had delivered us a truckload of Yams. So, yes...you know it!
Sweet Potato Pie!!! This time we were so deep in the thralls of other-world-drama that we completely forgot the camera and just ate ate ate.  Pure pleasure. Breakfast, lunch, dinner.  Now it's Wednesday, and there's no pie to be found (except for the delightful quiche that a friend delivered last night).

*********************************************************************************

So the pie fortified us through a week of work, school, activities, and finally, acceptance of the news that after a few days of hospice Dad finally let go.  We're so relieved that he went as peacefully as possible.  And now, naturally, we prepare to go to Oregon again.  I took a few minutes at work to remember Dad to my students.  I shared a historic photo from his childhood, and a favorite book that we read together, Watty Piper's The Little Engine That Could.This was a delightful day at work.  Reading a book with such a simple message ("I think I can") over and over, well, I couldn't think of anything better to do to celebrate my Dad.
"I'm not very big," said the Little Blue Engine...


Dad's the one with the ears and the height


And there I go again!  Off on another trip, but not a minute too soon to catch about a million hugs, which are awesome.  More hugs! More hugs!!!

Fortified by extra hugs, smiles and sunshine readily available!!!
You probably wonder what the Unencumbered Woman does next. How can I top this?  Oh, shucks, I don't know. But tomorrow I drag my teenager and my pipsqueak cutie pie to jump onto a plane and do it all.  Celebrate? Commemorate? Breathe? Rest? Reunion? Drown in a heap of anxiety & sadness?
 It's all in the works, and there may even be a few huckleberries left on the roadside.  If so, we'll have to elbow a few black bears aside, with a wink and a nod...Dontcha remember the guy who used to pick berries on this bush?  He was about so-tall, and he had grey hair and glasses, and he'd come out and only pick the ripe ones...the ones that would be perfect for a jam that his wife would make or some pancakes his daughter would make, or just to throw some on vanilla ice cream. Remember? They're wild here, and there the best, richest, wildest tasting berries you'll find.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Postcards from home (Oregon Coast).


A trip for convalescing and providing family support.  The tugs and many conflicting emotions of place and space are ever present. Here are a few shots that I took when breaking from other responsibilities. Take time to click on the short video, this sound is heartening, to me.

Twin Lakes Store sign and chainsaw carving shop.

Overlook path.  

Breathe.

North. I never tire of this spot. Quiet. Solitude.

Evening walk. Mobile home carport.

Yes!

Major food fest, what with brothers CSA and time in Mom's kitchen. Squash soup, greens that never quit, New Belgium, and an avocado from Fred Meyer. Sigh.

I can't get enough of this. Quiet time with Dad.

Ever the land of art cars, bumper stickers, and etc.  Saw this guy around town a few times. Whither the Merry Pranksters?
And, of course, our beautiful, life giving Pacific.  Breathe, breathe, breathe.  I love this!!!!!!!!!!!