On tree ornaments and sadness

Right after I shipped gift boxes to my sons I discovered The Gift of Nothing by Patrick McDonnell. Shipping a big box of nothing via UPS or USPS would cost less, but would my sons still know their mommy loves them?

Decorated my Christmas tree during odd moments this week, for the first time in two or three years.  Haven't felt very Christmassy during the years of tending to my dad. I opened the boxes of my mom's ornaments.  Many were decorations I'd made or purchased for her, just as many in my own collection were gifts from Mom. It was a tradition we loved sharing, marking special memories with tree ornaments.

Didn't open the boxes of decorations from my sons' childhoods this time as the tree was already full. That was before the horrors at the week's end.  Now I keep thinking of the mothers and grandmothers who won't get to collect tree ornaments marking the milestones of childhoods.


© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Rama lama ding dong

Who put the loop in the doop di doopdi doop? Who put the slide cord lock on the bomp di bop? Who was that man? I'd like to shake his hand! He made it so much easier to attach the insulated cover over the outdoor faucet than the old kind with the hook on the inside and the wingnut on the outside. 

And no, I am not the wingnut crouching in the cold between the yaupon and the half-dead hedge to attach faucet covers. Got the new covers with the loop and slide cords last winter for my two faucets. Found one of the old hook and wingnut covers behind the holly bush to put on my elderly neighbor's faucet.  He's pretty shaky these days, and not up to the task.

We go together like insulated faucet covers. 

Remembered for winter.

Boogedy boogedy boogedy boogedy shooby doowop shebop

Chang chang changitty chang shoobop

Our faucets will always be warm wa wa wa wah

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

The Nancy Awards

My friend Jeannie can predict the Oscar winners every year.  Most years she has seen every movie nominated in a major category.  Most years I go to one movie max.

I went to see "Lincoln" at the movie theater, and enjoyed it greatly. The last time I'd gone to a movie theater was to see "The Conspirator" a year and a half ago.  Seems like Abe has to go to Ford's for me to go to Cinemark. I loved Daniel Day Lewis' interpretation of Lincoln as storyteller.  Sally Field was amazing--I completely believed her, but still remembered to go home and take my calcium pills. I never could cross over into total suspended disbelief for Tommy Lee Jones as Thaddeus Stevens.  Curmudgeon Tommy Lee was still crusty Tommy Lee, just with a bad wig and no sunglasses.

But now I present the Nancy Awards for the best new books I read all the way through during 2012.  I will have to add poetry, children's literature, and audiobooks to the awards in 2013, and maybe an old timers hall of fame.

Fiction

   


Nonfiction
    

I would laud on the praises for these memorable reads, but I need to fold laundry, make the Krunch, walk, make soup, vacuum, pay bills, and Skype with my grandbaby.  I'll just say they made me cry, get angry, laugh, feel wrapped in a cocoon of wonder, understand myself and others better.

Happy Sunday.

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

The Case of the ImperturbableTurtle

Perhaps it's the last warm day of the year, but I still used the a/c in the Buick after my brisk walk through the woods.  My brain needed serious numbing out after a week of standing beneath falling anvils and player pianos. A fast walk was needed. I've been perturbed on several psychic fronts, but thank heaven for the Online Etymology Dictionary! Without it I would have called the turtle un- not im-.

imperturbable (adj.) 

c.1500, from M.Fr. imperturbable and directly from L.L. imperturbabilis "that cannot be disturbed" (Augustine), from assimilated form of in- "not, opposite of" (see in- (1)) + *perturbabilis, from L. perturbare "to confuse, disturb" (see perturb). Related: Imperturbably; imperturbability.

Photographing turtles on logs is more difficult than getting little kids to eat raisins on peanut butter-filled celery. Turtles don't want to be tagged on Facebook, or tacked to Pinterest. They usually bail out before I can pull the camera from my pocket.

This turtle did not want to go for a swim.  It sat and sat while leaves floated down all around and onto it. The December light was already low at 4:30, but the turtle did not want to put on flip-flops and shower in the bathhouse. If it pretended the photographer was not there, it might extend the season a little bit longer. I took photos from three sides of the little pond before it finally dived.






© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Taking Five with Dave Brubeck and Howie

Almost a decade passed between the time my parents filled out their free copies of Aging With Dignity's FiveWishes advanced directive and my father's final decline.  By then Dad had lost all interest in music or tolerance for most sounds.  It's embarrassing to admit that I had envisioned a farewell concert that was about me and not my exiting dad.

 

Dave Brubeck passed away yesterday, one day short of his ninety-second birthday.  Experiencing a live performance of his quartet in 2009 was a highpoint of my life.

Filling out an advanced directive is a huge help for your family when the time comes that you can't manage your affairs or tune your radio to 88.1 KNTU.


© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Popeye feeds a family of five

There's nothing like a block of frozen spinach to make you feel bad about your family dinner.

     Dr. Oz in the Time Magazine 12/3/2012 issue

My mom, Fritzi, never heard of pesto.  The only way we ever ate spinach was dumped out of the can, heated, and seasoned with vinegar or lemon juice.  I had learned to like this at Camp Kiwanis where Camp Fire Girl food whiners were never tolerated. A week at camp and I was dang happy just to get some stewed whole tomatoes.

Seems like lately we are trying to feed ourselves and our families farmers market foodie-style at considerable time and expense. Yes, it is fresh, nutritious, and aesthetically pleasing.  But wait. Are we wearing ourselves out and busting our budgets?

My sons will surely tell the judge that I served them horrible meals and they were lucky to survive.  I would tell the same judge the same sad story about my mom's cooking.  We lived and thrived, though, without fresh kale, pomegranate juice, or that tiny $4.99 bag of pine nuts.

A friend was feeling  guilty because she fed her 87-year-old father canned soup and toast for supper when she had a killer sinus infection.  Soup and toast reminds me of a desperation meal my mom used to make.  She heated a can of salmon in a double boiler with a can of cream of mushroom soup, and Tabasco Sauce to season.  She diluted it with milk to stretch servings, then ladled over saltines.  Fritzi would open a can of pear halves or splurge with a can of Royal Anne cherries, and we would fill up on carrot sticks and conversation.  Mind-blowing.  Three cans = supper for a family of five.

Canned and frozen foods are much lower in salt than when I was whining at camp in the Sixties.  At least Dr. Oz said so in the Time story.  And yes, I made pesto with some frozen spinach, garlic, faux parmesan cheese, walnut pieces, and "sadder but wiser" olive oil.  Gonna have the leftovers tonight without guilt.

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

I've fallen and I can't make Krunch

Got out to Oregon for our family Thanksgiving, and my gathered sons asked in unison,
"Where's the Krunch?"

Who am I? Clara Peller? Of course you know that Clara was the short octogenarian shouting the Wendy's catchphrase in those memorable television ads way back when my sons were babies.

Fell down on the mom job, as it didn't occur to me I should fly with a carry-on full of Chex Mix.  But now I've pushed my Life Call button and help is on the way!  It is good to have an area of perceived expertise, no matter how misguided that perception.

Back in Texas, I'm assembling vast quantities of Chex cereals and Imperial margarine. I've settled on Rold Gold pretzel sticks, and splurged on designer Cheerios. The "kids" and I sat around the big dining table bewailing the loss of Mister Salty Thin Pretzel Sticks, the gold standard, no longer sold by Nabisco.

I've taken a straw poll.  Although two sons are okay with mixed nuts, all three want peanuts in the Krunch.





© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Silent E, Holy E

My calm and bright student is working through the silent e words for the fifth, and lowliest, of the vowels. The words with their illustrations make a peculiar group:

mute  butte  cure  pure  rude 
fume  prune  tune  flute  cute 

What image can illustrate "pure" for a five-year-old? The picture that goes with the word is a child in a winter coat and hat starring up at the stars.

The image for "cure" shows EMTs unloading a patient on a stretcher from an ambulance.

"Mute" and "butte" present problems stretching from here to Montana.

"Tune" shows a kid whistling, and "cute" is a baby, although not the cutest grandbaby on Earth, with whom I'm acquainted.

Gave myself a stern talking-to about finishing the pile of ironing before putting up the Christmas tree.  The pile is still there, should you need a silent e illustration for the third vowel.  The lights are untangled, and most of the strings still work. Maybe I should pop "Hunt for Red October" in the old VCR in honor of the USS Enterprise, and fire up the steam iron.  I'll just let the lights blink on the living room floor.





Employee overheard at the copy center in a national chain office supply store patiently explaining to a customer who might have been off his meds:

You need Dobe to print those puddiffs.

[In this case Dobe does not rhyme with Kobe Bryant.]

Long ago I taught a girl who sang "Dudolf da Ded-Dosed Deindeer".  Dudolf could never get his pdfs to print with or without the latest version of Adobe, and my Christmases have never been the same since.

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Harold and the Purple Crayon

No purple Christmas lights to be found at Walmart yesterday.  I've always been a blue light person, but I'm on a rare purple tear.  Nabbed a roll of purple foil gift wrap for the Purplopolis.

Inspired by Harold, all my art classes are working toward a low relief paper sculpture aka 3-D mural of a purple city.  Exactly what the final product will be is unclear, but we are collaborating big time. The goal is to contribute to and recognize a group effort.

The youngest preschoolers are learning "purple" and maybe the recipe of red + blue.  We also made inside-outside houses.  Best of all, according to the kids, was adding brads for doorknobs and then going all group hysteria "ding-dong doorbell".

Pre-K kids are working on folding and cutting, and glue stick protocol. The elementary students are doing printmaking. Shaving cream marbling is on deck for next Wednesday.

Reentry to normal life after the wonderful Thanksgiving family gathering in Oregon has been rough. Most of the family stayed in a 1901 Craftsman vacation rental house in Salem. The house brought back many memories of chilly visits to Pierce, Nebraska.

Grandma's house was a bit younger than the rental, but the floor squeaks were the same. After a big meal of Grandma's cooking, Dad and I would walk all around town. I would soak up his stories of growing up in Pierce in the Depression, and of all the characters who lived in the little old houses.  I'm so thankful for these vivid memories crowding our recollections of Dad's final months.




© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Please help t.p. tiger relief fund

Standing almost still running last week's art through the laminator. Must write school newsletter art update.

How to explain what the kids do in art class, and why it is important?

How to explain that adding vocabulary to the physical act of perceiving changes looking into seeing?

That tickling the brain with funny words can make kids more curious about the world around them?

That just learning to put on their own art smock is a major accomplishment?


That tigers have stripes, leopards have spots, kids wear plaid shorts, and lions don't?

That if your eye looks down through the toilet paper tube you will see the tiger finger puppet and a spiral?

But if you squint a bit and use your imagination you might find yourself in a dark cave with your Neanderthal boyfriend while a saber tooth tiger paces outside?  Have a Clan of the Cave Bear moment maybe...

Standing almost still I got no closer to the newsletter deadline, but I ran the Neanderthal boyfriend and the finger puppet through the laminator. Turned out a bit lumpy, but I think it will hold.





Tyger tyger, burning bright,
in the forests of the night;  
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?



© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Thanksgiving with Dad and butterflies

Snout butterfly on White Mistflower. Heard Sanctuary.

There coulda been a rumble on the crowded white mistflower today, but the skippers were too hippy dippy blissed-out to battle the snouts for turf.  All kinds of snouts, skippers, painted ladies, queens, assorted bees, and flashy-dresser webworm moths were imbibing, snorting, and pollinating with scandalous abandon. I haven't seen such a traffic jam since the wheelchair gridlock at the nursing home.


Been thinking of my dad, Howie, as we approach a first Thanksgiving without him.  For several Thanksgivings he was way, way out there, completely unfiltered, and uninhibited in his speech, and unable to control mucus secretions while eating. Dad in his holiday attire of terry bib, plaid flannel pjs and Depends ramming his wheelchair into the wall over and over took much of the enjoyment from the holiday meal.

Checkerspot.

Just in the last couple weeks I've been able to replace some visual memories of Howie in his protracted, degrading decline with better memories and visual associations.

Watching the common checkered skipper and the checkerspot butterfly sucking down smoothies while wearing their plaid jammies, I got a momentary flash of peace about Howie and my seasons as his "responsible party".

Common checkered skipper.

Party snouts.

Queen butterfly.

Ballerina spider.

Ailanthus webworm moth.

Catching butterflies was a family hobby Dad encouraged.  It probably started as a way for me to earn a Camp Fire bead.  Dad bought one net, then immediately made several others.  Our backyard was a good starting point, but Dad was happy to take us places where we could run around, up and down hills, waving nets, getting worn out, and occasionally catching butterflies. My perfectionist mother mastered the mounting of specimens. We studied field guides to identify our catches.

Now I just catch butterflies with my camera, but I still get exercise and fresh air. I get out the field guide to identify my sightings for Dad.

The flashy dressing webworm moth looks like a skinny beetle, since it rolls its wings around it.  I never did get a photo of one in flight. These are diurnal and good pollinators, not the evil fall webworms Dad used to cuss.

The very fragrant White Mistflower causing all the ruckus is a Texas native.  Ageratina havanensis is tolerant of drought and rocky soil. It blooms from mid-October until very cold weather


© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Wasted Miata and the Olympic tomato bobsled team

Close your eyes. Take a deep, cleansing breath and let it out slowly like a roll of toilet paper smoothly  and gently unrolling out to infinity.

You are feeling relaxed and refreshed, and ready for your preschool Spanish lesson.

--"Ms. Nancy, I wasted the toilet paper."

Thank you, my child for being honest. Just don't use so much next time or you will clog the potty.

In the background I hear the beginning wail of a kiddie stuck on the toilet seat with no t.p. This is not the best moment for a vocabulary correction. That moment would be after the poop Sherpa replaces the t.p. and guides the stranded mountain-climber off the porcelain peak.   

"Wasted" is not quite the same as "used the last of the roll".

--"Wasted" has a big load of guilt attached. You/I have wasted talents, time, effort, resources and abilities. You/I are not "wasted" in the sense of intoxicated.  Well, maybe you.

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
Fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way

Just don't kick the gravel on the playground...

--Getting out to the playground is like moving a caravan of cats.  The children must locate their partners and hold hands.  Then they must walk in a line out of the classroom, down the hall, and into the school lobby.  The first pair of students, unless they have gotten a whole lotta nose goobies on their fingers during this trek, get to hold the door open.  The children thank them for holding the door open.  They respond with, "You're welcome," unless someone decides to go rogue espanol.  

--Thank you is "gracias".  You're welcome is "de nada".  The preschoolers are vague on which is which and the pronunciation of both.  That leads to long lines of polite kiddies saying:

Granada

Miata

Granada

Miata

Granada

Miata

In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines
Lived twelve little girls in two straight lines
In two straight lines they broke their bread
And brushed their teeth and went to bed.
They left the house at half past nine
In two straight lines in rain or shine-
The smallest one was Madeline.

--Which leads to the mystery of the tomato bobsled team. These perfectly spaced and sized cherry tomatoes were somehow grown in one long vine that folded over to make a double layer. 

It's like the dwarfs are in the glass coffin instead of Snow White. She's on the outside singing "Someday my Miata will come".

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Let there be light...

... light green glass and glue sticks, that is.

Sunlight shines through the overlapping big jars and little jars, square, round, and hexagonal jars.

Which jar should hold the spaghetti?

Let the glass jars be tinged cool green. I've been working on this art class presentation since late September.  Showed the beta version slideshow to the classes today, and now I know how to edit it for future slideshows and a book.

So here, O is for observation, not Obama.  But Obama is a-Okay-dokie, too.  This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, so let the sunshine in.  Throw the curtains in the washer and dust the mini-blinds.




Which jar should contain my
not-quite-yet-lost marbles?

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

The tenor takes a nap

Last Sunday the tenor stomped around swooshing his cape.  Why Aida and Amneris thought Radames was worth getting all hot and bothered about escaped me.

Took this photo of a snoozing caped moth at the Fort Worth Botanical Gardens yesterday.  I couldn't tell if it was a Liberace moth with Elvis hair or an Elvis moth with a Liberace cape.

No guides online for pronouncing Tolype velleda, but it must sound like a good name for either an opera character or an undecided Ohio chihuahua.

Tolype velleda (Stoll, 1791)

Who was Stoll?  What was he doing in 1791?  Did he fall asleep during the opera?

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Halloween census

My tallies have not added up correctly.  I'm afraid there might be hanging chads in my count of the preschool costumes, or maybe my memory is failing.  I'm sad to report that Norton the elderly class rabbit did not get out of his cage to be in the class Halloween photo this year.

1 Bat Girl
1 Bat Man
1 blueberry fairy
1 doctor

5 fairy/butterfly/tutu girls (1 with fever and diarrhea)
1 great pumpkin t shirt
1 Incredible Hulk
1 Jedi knight

1 Minnie Mouse
1 nonparticipant
1 peacock
1 pirate

1 princess

1 royal princess

1 Superman
1 Spiderman
1 tiger in Pull-Ups
1 vaguely pink sparkle cowgirl fairy with wand
_____________________________________
This does not equal 24 children

The elementary class only has nine students at the moment.  Those kids are always asked to be something or someone "real".  Andy and the Statue deserved applause.

Dr. Who
Maria Tallchief
1 ballet teacher
Andy Warhol
The Statue of Liberty
Amelia Earhart
Tim Burton
Queen Elizabeth
Julia Child

*

Most things change, but the popularity of Amelia Earhart for kids needing to read a biography or dress up as somebody famous has stayed the same.  The popularity of ironing has continued to plummet.

**

*Ninja turtle + 20 years or so at the Statue of Liberty.

**The bat is still without power in New Jersey.  Junior Birdman is now a daddy.  I wonder what ever became of the pilot's white scarf!

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder