Acorns to Oaks

Acorns are dropping everywhere in these hills. Some are huge and some are small. Ol' Abner tells me they are from two different oak species. Some are golden and others are a deep rich brown color, but they all have the signature straw colored cap. The deer and squirrels are hungrily munching and the dog occasionally crunches one up as she stops to sniff around the yard. Thumping on the bedroom roof followed by the sound of something tumbling down, then silence, frightened me the first few times I was awakened from my slumber. I thought something was running on the roof, or somone was throwing things up with the sole purpose of disturbing me. Nature has a way of disturbing even the calmest of moments.

Yesterday I talked with Mountain Girl. She is dealing with some of the same disturbances. Widowed and falling hard for Ol' Taxidermist, she has struggled to come to terms with her plan for the future. Two houses, each shared with a previous spouse, don't really fit her plan although he is pleasantly content to remain in the house where he and first wife raised three children. Each little upgrade makes her feel more like this might become her home, but the doubts persist. Her house, a beautiful home up on the mountain with scenic views and lovely isolation, is on the market. She is moving on from her past life. Her nature is to gather those acorns and make good use of them. She loves building things. They poured a new driveway last week and painted the new garage door. Still she seems to know that sound of acorns crunching on the driveway. No matter how many are eaten or crushed, some will sprout in the spring.

Cities and Towns

I have always loved to see new places. Frequent relocation during my childhood just gave me a thirst for exploring unseen vistas. Nostalgia for a past home remained each time we moved to a new one, but that one would soon become familiar . I love visiting a city for the first time, though that experience cannot equal a return to a hometown from the past. Places may deteriorate with age, be revived by restoration or demolished altogether, but the memories never escape. Watching a college football game yesterday between my alma mater and a college located in a town where I once lived awakened memories of childhood. The back yard of our house was adjacent to the marching band's practice field. In my head I can still hear the drum major's cadence as the drummer clicked out the rhythm. Early morning practice was always sans music, but late afternoon would ring with the full instrumental compliment. Sitting beside the birdbath in the back yard, I dreamed of one day attending that university. Plans made at age ten sometimes must be replaced by the reality of "out of state tuition", but those happy childhood thoughts can come trickling back in at the strangest times.

Indulgence

I heard this morning that it is "national dessert day"! Who knew the nation's sweet tooth could have such a powerful lobby? Timing seems a little off for me though. Just returning from a trip to the Lone Star state, the sweet tooth rears it's strong memory. Dinner with family in the metroplex precipitated a bit of cobbler and ice cream and it's own share of guilt the next day. I managed to overcome the remorse though, just in time to enjoy some yummy alcoholic treats with more family. Later travels along the gulf coast required indulgence in a long ago favorite...crustless pecan pie with ice cream. Ol' Abner made sure he took his before meal dose of diabetic medication and jumped into the fray throwing caution to the wind. Actually not, past visits to that particular trough would never have included one dessert with extra spoons. His comment that it would even be worth feeling "sick" to have a bit of that dessert again was not a precursor to pain. Sharing a bit of the yummy treat didn't seem to have any ill effect on him as we left the restaurant totally satiated. A few extra pounds crept beneath each of our waistbands by the trip's end...guess we had our "national dessert day" all last week. Now it will just have to suffice to read recipes posted by others about the serious guilty pleasures of the past. I won't be baking any of those favorite halloween cookies this year!

Morning

Not generally a morning person, I am shocked that the bed lost it's pleasant comfort prior to 5AM this morning and yesterday too. Wondering if this is one of those stages when the circadium rhythm is rebalancing in my universe or maybe the brain is just running circles around the aging body. Conversations this week with four people from various stages of my past have stirred up the nostalgia while allowing such unexplainable joy from good memories. Late night musings of "remember....." and "what were we thinking..." and "did you know" and even a few "what ifs" and "might have been" comments brought in the laughter. Watching parents age and their memories fade adds even more value to these moments. My plan is to drift into the late years of my life in a state of being "pleasantly addled". Does that mean these treasured visits will no longer be possible? I have to wonder if more recent friendships will ever reach the richness of those from my teens, twenties, thirty-somethings, and forties. See what happens when I don't indulge in my deep sleep well after the sunrise? Who can sleep with all these delicious memories swirling through the mind!

Cheesy

Back in the sixties roquefort dressing was ever so popular at fine restaurants. My father loved it but it was usually very expensive. The rich stuff's availability faded with the arrival of dressings made from buttermilk with a packet of seasoning and a little mayo. Blue Cheese dressing has been the closest relative available to enhance our green leafies for the last couple of decades, should one tire of the buttermilk fare. Roquefort is a cheese from a specific group of caves in France. While it is a "blue" cheese, not all blue cheese is roquefort. Ol' Abner has always turned his head in disgust when anything made with blue cheese was offered.

Much to my surprise, he delighted in a wedge of lettuce slathered in "roquefort dressing" at one of our favorite restaurants last week. When ordering the appetizer, he neglected to specify a dressing on the chilled lettuce wedge, but suggested to me that they probably had some special house dressing like "french" or something for it. When it arrived on a chilled plate with the chunky white topping, he cut a big bite off and exclaimed that it was extrordinarily good. The waitress shared the "secret" that it was not made with real "roquefort" but with the milder gorgonzola cheese.

His tastebuds craved another of the salads this week, but the chosen restaurant is just over an hour's drive and reserved for special occasions or times when a trip takes us that way. Internet research yielded several recipes for "roquefort dressing". That was the easy part. Still convinced that he dislikes "blue cheese", we began the search for gorgonzola cheese. The fourth grocery store carried one size package of the crumbly stuff, just a little less than the amount called for in the recipe. We hurried home to mix up the dressing and allow it time to chill before dinner.

Tonight's menu:
Grilled skewers of shrimp
Roasted corn on the cob
Chilled wedges of lettuce with roquefort dressing and diced tomato garnish

How things do come back around! My father would have loved that meal. (oh yeah, I think Ol' Abner secretly does like blue cheese.......)

September Eleventh

This is the ninth anniversary of the worst terrorist attack ever inflicted on our nation. It is also my oldest maternal uncle's eightieth birthday. Uncle's mother, my grandmother, would have celebrated her 101st birthday today. A good friend and co-worker will always know that her birthday is easily remembered by all who knew her then. Nine eleven, as we often shortcut the day's description, has had a profound effect on my life. I rejoice in the existence of those born on this day while mourning the loss of the many whose lives ended so suddenly in 2001. For now I offer a prayer of thanks in the hope that Grandma will be eavesdropping. I will call Uncle Vic because he means so much to me and I have the need to tell him. I'll drop a note to Sandy wishing her the best of days. The newspapers and television coverage will continue the marathon commemoration of our national tragedy. I am grateful that I have so much to celebrate today!

Water

Officially, I am a year older having celebrated a birthday last week. That's the least of the story. On the day prior to my planned celebration, Ol' Abner mentioned that he was having difficulty seeing from his left eye. He mentioned this as we were hauling a plastic draped load of furniture on an open trailer from another city in a deluge. He was a little sketchy with the details in one of those "how-can-you-be-so-dense" responses when I questioned the depth of his condition. He has a cataract and recently diagnosed AMD. Since he could still see the little spot in the center of the eye chart posted on the fridge, he vehemently ruled out the possibility that the trouble was anything more than progression of the cataract. The water pouring from the sky caused all other discussion to be postponed. The following day was blessed with rain predictions never fulfilled. We drove over to a nearby city, enjoyed a walk along the water, shopped a bit, then indulged in a delightful dinner. During our leisurely drive home he alluded to flashing and big "floaters" appearing regularly in the field of vision on his left...OH..OH..OH! Relating some of the danger signs listed when researching his condition and the admonition from the medical pros to call immediately if any of that list should occur, I urged him to call for an appointment in the optical lab. He admitted to not wanting to dampen the enjoyment of my birthday celebration and since he had a scheduled foot appointment for today, he had planned to call for a consult in the optical clinic. HMMMMM. Arriving home after regular clinic hours he promised to call Friday morning. I reminded him again, and again and he finally gave up procrastination and called around noon. Response from the optical clinic was "COME RIGHT NOW!". We jumped in the car and drove through sprinkling rain and ever increasing holiday traffic. It's just over a three hour drive via winding mountain roads to the medical center responsible for his care. The diagnosis: Detached Retina (specifically two holes with liquid leaking around them) resulting with vision in the eye in imminent danger. This was not the dreaded Age-related Macular Degeneration changing from "Dry" to "Wet", but equally as threatening. The staff sprang into action, photographing his inner eye, poking it hither and yon, letting him look at charts he couldn't read and then scrambling him into a ready and waiting OR for lazer "tacking". Spring forward to today. His scheduled appointment was conveniently piggy backed with the follow-up from the Friday. He was right about that at least. We left home in sprinkly rain drops and damp roads. On the first hill exiting our town, an oncoming pick-up truck came around the corner in a sideways skid and very nearly helped us over the other side of the mountain. Rain intermittently poured or drizzled all three hours of travel and two more near misses by hydroplaning, sliding and skidding vehicles had us totally on edge. Torrents of water drenching the car made me feel like I needed a towel inside. I really don't like to travel in rain, so it could be said I was in a never ending nightmare. Tonight we are safely home, dry, and thankful for a good progress report on Ol' Abner's eye. Now if all this water will just soak on in and go on into the lake. It could be worse. Tornados are tracing around friends and family in Texas. Enough water everywhere!