Haunting

The house was quiet, save for the muffled thud of clothes in the dryer. Outside autumn blustered its way in with gusting breezes which sent falling leaves into a frenzied swirl. The kitchen was warm and smelled slightly of pumpkin as soup simmered on the stove.

All in all a pleasant morning.

But the woman was restless. She drank her coffee and glanced cautiously at the phone. It lay on the table in a mocking silence. The minutes passed. The phone remained still. The woman grew nervous, afraid to consider the consequences.

Still the phone refused to ring....

Welcome to my morning.

I am off but on-call.

Every hospital workers' nightmare.

On-call is a mixed bag.

Get called in – it's time and a half. And sometimes a bonus on top.

But

Get called in – and it's no longer a day off.

Do you know how many things I can think to do on my on-call day?

Five. Just off the top of my head.

Get called in and you know how many things get done?

ZERO.

But so far, it is 1050 and that phone remains silent.

I started a load of wash.

I put a pot of soup on.

I messaged our son to stop by for dinner.

Contingent on the silence of the Phone....

Now I am flying in the face of all that is evil and work related and have started a new blog post...

It's nearly Halloween. According to every scary movie I have ever watched, no good can come of this. 

This is NOT my house. Because there is clearly a little girl ghost in that attic window...and I draw the line a little girl ghosts...

Why oh why is it so fun to be scared?

Not real life scared: Will the kids get home safe? Just what will that biopsy show? Which line will our political leaders cross today?

Oh no. I am not talking that sort of scared.

I'm talking that reading a Stephen King book right before bedtime after watching the Walking Dead sort of scared.

Scary movies are on a continuous loop around here in October if I am in charge of the remote.

My husband hates them. Too much shrieking and silliness.

Thankfully my son loves them. Together we watched that poor woman get sucked down the well in The Ring. We discovered that daylight is the best time to watch a bootleg version of Paranormal Activity. And covering your EARS is way better than covering your eyes when watching The Grudge.

(Although it is still possible to scare the beejeezus out of each other by making that ehehehehe sound as you creep down the dark hallway.)

I am fairly certain my first truly scary movie was The Legend of Hell House circa 1973. I would have been 12. I remember sitting in my Grandma's living room, mesmerized by a handsome Roddy McDowell. I have no idea why I was watching this movie in my grandparent's living room. We rarely watched TV at their house and we certainly wouldn't have been allowed to watch something with HELL in the title. I don't know where my siblings were. Or my parents. I do recall it was night time.

The movie was scary and awesome and I have been hooked ever since.

Keep in mind, I am talking scary. Not slashery.

I have no use for torture and murder.

Give me good ghost story any day.

Which makes a lot of sense.

St. Louis has a rich history of hauntings: The Lemp Mansion, The Bissel Mansion, the library at UMSL, Alexian Brothers Hospital... This is just the beginning.

I have had dinner at the Lemp Mansion – the former home of the Lemp family of brewers in the 1800s. Several family members killed themselves in the house, it was rumored that a 'monkey boy' was housed in the attic, a sister was certified insane and there may have been a murder...

The place was creepy from the start. Lights flickered and the hair literally stood up on the back of my neck when I walked into the ladies room. You can stay at the Lemp, IF YOU ARE INSANE!

I worked at Alexian Brothers Hospital for nearly 15 years. The current building sits on the grounds where the original hospital was built and where part of the exorcism in the movie The Exorcist occurred. Several of the brothers who were involved in that event still lived and worked on the grounds. We were told in orientation to NEVER ask about the exorcism. So I didn't. But I can tell you that many evenings, while working in the OR suites with one other nurse, there were mysterious doors slamming and footsteps where there were no people.

We live in a haunted house. Mrs. Durbin passed in our kitchen and she stops by every now and then to open a cupboard door or have a smoke in the basement. No one would support my opinion on this guest until the evening my husband and I both felt the cat walk across the back of the sofa. The cat who was asleep in his box on the opposite side of the room....

This was in the rafters of our basement. Wisely, Rob made it into a tray, coated it with many layers of mod-podge to seal in the evil and then we gave it to our daughter's boyfriend's parents. I think that makes us ecto-plamically related now...

But its okay.

Maybe it's because I have spent most of my life in hospitals where the line between life and death is all to clear.

I have heard that these 'hauntings' are just the energy left over from previous lives. In a weird way I find this comforting. I like the idea that some energy is strong enough to remain behind and touch the future.

Some would argue that not all that strong energy is 'good'. True, there is a lot of bad energy in the world. I want to believe that bad energy burns itself out over time, provided it is not allowed to gain momentum.

Which is all the more reason to put only GOOD energy out there. Embrace that energy from previous lives and roll it into one big monumentous wave.

And think how wonderful it would be to be described as haunting...

Seasonally Affected

So, here it is, nearly the end of October.

We have survived the beginning stages of Rob's retirement...and by 'we' I mean 'me'...although he seems to be making something of a transition as well. And by 'transition' I mean 'discovering Pickleball and thus setting out to kick some 80 year old butt...'. But let's save that for another day...

Autumn has always been my favorite time of year and it is in full swing here on the Coast today. The breeze is consistent but not gale force. The temp is a pleasant 65 degrees with the threat of 500% humidity this afternoon giving way to massive thunderstorms and subsequent leaf droppage overnight. Perfect weather for chili and caramel apples and cups of ginger tea.

Some see autumn as a season of dying off and preparation for hibernation, for me it has always been a trigger of creativity.

Basil and catnip being counted down by the sundial.

Maybe its a hangover from years of school projects.

Perhaps it is rebellion against the certain, and much too soon, inability to sit on my deck.

Or maybe it was the wonderful phone conversation I had with Suzanne from Adventures of Empty Nesters, who has agreed to mentor me for a while in this blogging adventure...

This morning on the deck. Please note JoeyKatt, who is enjoying some of the above catnip.

Whatever the cause -cough cough – Suzanne – cough cough- I have had a sufficient kick in the pants and am looking towards a renewed Coast of Illinois.

I have several plans for the coming months.

The blog will remain, with weekly posts. My hope is to have a 'sort of' theme each week, each revolving around the trials and tribulations of midlife, but with my own particular Coastal bent...

Look forward to:

Cooking For Two

All About A Boat

Trip-ticks

Rando Weirdness 

 

and an occasional deviation from any of the above.

Because...Pirate!

My pirate crew,bringing in Cool Change at the end of a recent sailing weekend at Lake of the Ozarks. Son at the bowline, daughter at the helm, captain standing watch for the really expensive boats all around our fixer upper.

A very special THANKS to Suzanne Simone Stavert over at Adventures of Empty Nesters. She has been an on-line friend for several years and her new role as mentor was just the boot I needed. Please take the time to check out her wonderful site. 

See you all soon! 

When a Spouse Retires

It's here.

Finally.

My husband works his last day of 'real' work this week.

That's right.

He is retiring...

And I have never been more stressed.

I thought this was an exaggeration, until I did a little research.

According to the Holmes and Rahe Stress Scale, developed in 1967 as a way to predict a person's likely hood of becoming ill, Retirement hits about in the center with a score of 45, above such events as vacation, change of personal habits and outranked only by multiple deaths and major imprisonment.

I scored a 289:

Vacation -13- we are just a few weeks away from a first time trip to Las Vegas.

Change in Sleep Habits – 15- I am no longer going to be able to rely on my husband's alarm to get me out of bed. Instead, I am now required to actually GET UP when my stupid alarm goes off. The alarm which is set to get me out of bed in time to work out...

Change in Recreation – 19- I am envisioning multiple days where my plan is going to work but my spouse's plan is sailing, or hiking, or lounging.

Change in Work Hours – 20 – see above.

Change in Personal Habits – 24 - again, see above.

Change in Living Conditions – 25 – I am envisioning a loss of days home alone. Don't get me wrong, I love spending time with my spouse, but we both noted long ago that time in the house without anyone else around is a luxury of Tag Heuer Watch, Mercedes Benz, Four Seasons Hotel quality. No longer will I have a weekday alone in my Pjs with my pot of coffee, the Today show, my home design game and a texting round robin with family. Oh, I will still do these things, I will just feel guilty about them as my spouse showers, eats a healthy breakfast and begins doing productive things or worse, makes me watch some ridiculous crab fishing show or King of Queens reruns.

Spouse Stops Working – 26 – Helloooo....

Change in Financial State – 38 – Der. We have run the numbers, It will work. Pretty sure...

Retirement – 45 – Okay. I am not the one retiring. But you know what? I feel that being the one NOT retiring in the relationship is actually way more stressful. I have now begun to wonder about my own retirement date. And I have to tell you SIX years is a depressing number right now.

Now all you math wizzes have probably added this up in your head and realized that my number only reaches 226. However, if you figure in the POTENTIAL for Major Imprisonment – 63- from Murder Death of a Spouse – 100-

I actually hit 389 which is OFF THE CHART.

(Oh sure, Rob is the one retiring and planning to start a new career as a substitute teacher in the high school districts around us which places his actual stress level at a 247 but he can start his own blog. Which I bet he does. And he will post way more often than I do and I will feel like a failure and now my stress has shot up another 57 points...)

I digress.

In an effort to cope with the impending life changes I searched my previous education and fell upon the Kubler-Ross Stages of Grief. Which feels right as I have noticed that I have a whole lot of grief going on here.

The Stages of Grief were developed in 1969 as a way of coping with death but was later expanded to many other life events such as children working through a divorce. Overindulgent spouses of retiring spouses seems to have been overlooked. Never fear, I am here to walk us through it.

Denial – Denying the inevitable retirement has not been an issue. I have been looking forward to Rob's retirement ever since that morning I was awakened by him clicking the magazine into his side arm.

Anger – No anger here....okay, maybe that 'denial' thing is a little real...Although I can't say I am 'angry' its more of a jealous thing. But then I remember all those years I was home with the kids and Rob was going to school and working a job and a part time job...

Bargaining – I am not a very good bargainer. I prefer concrete numbers. And I ran the numbers multiple times, usually around two in the morning when I should have been asleep. As I recall there were a whole lot of 'dear God, make this work' and 'Lord, can I just have one night of decent sleep' and 'Come on Baby Jesus! Make this the winning lottery ticket'....

(What? You say this isn't true bargaining? You do remember you are dealing with a highly stressed woman here. Do you want me to revisit that Anger phase?)

Depression – It is anticipated that this phase will be entered on Friday September 1 at 0530 when I am required to roll out of bed and go to work while SOMEONE sleeps in and begins what promises to be a fantastic new phase of his life, working prn thus allowing us more days off together in which to travel.

Acceptance – This change is inevitable. Rob has put in way too many years in an underpaid, at times, extremely dangerous job. I am lucky to still have him here, healthy and willing to indulge me in my craziness. Although he is really going to have to get on board with this whole cooking dinner plan. That is inevitable too...

A Retiree in his natural habitat

 Congratulations Rob! 

I am so happy for you and truly looking forward to what this next stage of our life has in store!

Well...it's like this...

Here I am. Saturday morning.
I am sitting on the deck with the cat, who is not happy and is shooting me ever increasingly dagger eyes which translate into 'FEED ME SOON OR I EAT YOUR FACE!'.
But I can't because the cat is NPO. (That's medical terminology for No! Put that food and/or beverage down! Or else!). You know, that whole, no eating before anesthesia rule.
And the cat is under the most evil of rules at the present as we are waiting for the first AM appointment at the vet to get the fur knots shaved from his hindquarters. He has medium fur with a wooly undercoat and try as I might, when the weather hits 1000 degrees around here I can't keep up with the de-thatching.
Oh, I try. But it isn't pretty.

So...we wait on the deck to help muffle his incessant meowing.
It doesn't help that I went ahead and fed the birds, while his food bowl remains empty.
Oh! The Humanity!

But trying to stay positive, I am enjoying the sudden shift in temperature and humidity - it's around 77 degrees right now with a gentle breeze. Much more suited to sailing than cat consoling and hummingbird dodging.
(It should be noted that I have nearly been headbutted SIX times in the past twenty minutes as the three couples zoom back and forth from their freshly filled feeder. Another slight that JoeyKatt will never forgive.)

And as I haven't updated in a while, it suddenly felt right to dig out the computer, dust off the excess cat hair and send out an entry.
Creativity has been in short supply for me lately.
I am not sure if its the pace at work, the oppressive weather, the crap ton of anti-histamines I am taking or possibly the upcoming life event of retirement for my husband....
Whatever the cause, I have had not a thought worth expressing nor the desire to try.
But I have to admit, sitting here in the lovely morning with my famished companion feels rather nice as does tapping out these past few paragraphs.
So maybe there is hope...

Please bear with me. I do plan to return to weekly installments. There is much to discuss...previous trips to the Keys require eventual conversation. I feel it is safe to say that Rob's retirement will provide at least a little fodder for hilarity. (Don't  tell him, but he will be getting assigned dinner duty a couple nights a week...beyond his fantastic grilling skill that is.)
And while I don't like to present super serious stuff around here, I am planning to do a post or two on this ridiculous malady that has ascended on me. (Not a lethal issue but one requiring a very annoying change in diet, yet not causing any discernible weight loss).

So until the next time, enjoy the following photograph and let your mind wander to seas yet uncharted....

Peace

This is an old picture from a long ago trip to Destin, Florida. Rob and I were sitting on the deck at AJ's-our favorite Destin hangout, enjoying tuna dip and mojitos when I happened to notice, across the bay, this spontaneous rock formation and soaring seagull. I return to this photo frequently.
The message is undeniable.

Where the Horizen Ends...

I have been getting a lot of grief lately.

We were lucky enough that life allowed us a return trip to Key Largo early in May and it seems my travel companions have been WAITING for some posts about the trip.

As well as more posts from our previous trip to the Keys last fall...

The fact of the matter is this.

I have traveled quite a bit these last few years; each trip even better than the last. I want these posts to reflect just how amazing these travels have been. I review my notes. I study the photos. But I am still at a loss for words.

I just can't seem to begin.

So, with that in mind, I am starting at the end...sort of....

Our first trip to the Keys was a Griswolding Adventure of sites to see with some sailing.

This trip was about chilling, sailing and trying to figure out if the magic we found on our first trip down was real or just that 'honeymoon' effect.

Like we should have had a doubt.

No sooner did we land in Miami than my phone exploded with texts: Are you here? We're at Alabama Jacks! How much longer? Do you know what you want?

Rob and I were met with hugs, a fresh from the kitchen seafood platter, a Landshark Beer for me and a Rum Punch for him.

It seems that Alabama Jacks has become the place from which we launch...

We drive down Cardsound Road to US1, past the Caribbean Club and the African Queen to our home for the week, Key Lime Sailing Club.

The plan is to hang out, sail, eat, shop, sail...

That is just what we do, the week tinted by colorful Texan neighbors, frat house sing-a-longs, the biggest bag of whip cream I have ever seen, grocery store lunches, the most depressing final set a band could ever choose, a sunken golf cart, an accidental stop at what can assumed to be the 'home' of a Miami drug lord and this: 

Our final day of sailing was perfect. The wind finally forgave me for some past transgression and allowed us to take turns riding on the bow under the shade of the jib. The perfect place on a sailboat. As I took my turn on manatee watch, studying the ocean for underwater floating rock shapes, I looked up to see that moment when the water of Buttonwood Sound changes from turquoise to Florida blue and rolls into Florida Bay in shades of sky.

The horizon was gone.

The boat became silent as we, each one, considered the possibility of sailing off the edge of the world...

Sailing to Florida Bay. The body on the bow is alive, don't let her immobility fool you.

Curious about the first trip down? 

Want links to some amazing locations?

Click on these:

salt-shakers-and-explanations

orientation-and-mangroves-in-rain

open-ocean-sailingthats-right-open-ocean

bloodline-giant-lobster-and-so-much-more

Holy Goodbye Batman, now what do we do...

As most who read this know, I am not generally very topical.

But the news of Adam West's death is not a story I can miss.

I was only five when the television show Batman debuted. I have very distinct memories of my mom calling me in to watch. I don't recall what night of the week it was on. I feel as though it were in the summer, maybe early autumn.

Five year olds in 1966 didn't really pay much attention to the season, except for how it interfered with outside time.

Some may dispute my memory, but I promise you – more than once, when Mom called me in, I would jump off the play set, where I was desperately trying to swing ALL THE WAY OVER THE TOP, and forget to remove my pinkie finger from the chain which held the swing thus ripping my baby finger to shreds.

It hurt like crazy, this I also vividly remember, and as my poor mom tried to bandage my bloody pinkie, my only concern was getting to the living room so I wouldn't miss a minute of Batman.

I don't know what about Batman appealed to me, a five year old girl obsessed with Barbie.

My husband, also an original Batman fan and at that time a seven year old, the appeal was the adventure and the fight against EEE-ville. But being a boy, his entire life has been about adventure.

There was the silliness.

Those brightly colored characters.

The textually enhanced fist fights...

BAM!

KA-POW!

The ridiculous saying uttered by Robin:

Holy Davy Jones

(BatBoat Episode???)

Holy Wernher von Braun

(my husband assured me that last one most likely had rockets in it.

Holy Unrefillable Prescriptions

(I fear this may have planted the seed for my ER days....)

Yet, as I consider this show and its appeal, I think it really was the adventure that kept me coming back. As a girl in the late 1960's, there was very little adventure focused on girls. Sure, Ginger and MaryAnn were pretty adventuresome and that Lucy? Come on!

Boys always seemed to have the most fun. There was secrecy, plots, sneaking around and spying.

So, while the other girls were swooning over Robin, I was planning his...disappearance thus allowing me to fill in as his replacement. 

Here I am, talking with Commissioner Gordon. Undoubtedly trying to frame Robin for some bogus trumped up charge. Note the yellow book in the lower left corner...

Never did I dress up as Batman, or Robin. I did have a 45 with the Batman song on one side and Here Comes the Batmobile on the other. I think there may have been a Batmobile Matchbox car.

My husband had a lunchbox. 

Not the original but a gift to Rob from our son the year he worked his first real job which allowed him to buy cool gifts for everyone.

Yet Batman infiltrated my very being.

When a situation is difficult its hard not to say 'Holy... Batman!' If mention of the real Batmobile is made there is immediate discussion over how COOL it would be to drive it. And when the odds are insurmountable the phrase 'some days you just can't get rid of a bomb' flows through my head, if not out of my mouth where in my mind it is accompanied by a giant cartoon BAM!

Adam West will always be My Batman.

His Batman didn't have the gravely voice of Micheal Keaton, or the sexy good looks of George Clooney or even the chiseled, slightly psycho physique of Christian Bale. What he did have was humor and sweetness and a desire to only do good. (As mentioned early, remember in the Batman movie when Batman must dispose of a bomb but everywhere he turns there are babies. Or puppies. Or nuns....)

That original television Batman wasn't haunted by demons. Or if he was he kept it too himself. Never did he question the Gotham City Criminal Justice System or ask why the Penguin kept getting out of jail. He relied on his tact belt of tools and his sidekick Robin – not a slew of fantastical super powers.

Even when he apprehended those pesky villains, he was polite and would always ponder what sent them down a path of crime.

We couldn't binge watch, or DVR the show.

Every week, we had to be there, at that moment.

We then relived the show on the playground, in the backyard, improving and adding to the adventure until the next episode.

Maybe that was the real appeal after all...

Scenes From a Holiday Morning...

 ...in the style of a Vogue feature interview. My Apologies to Ms Wintour and her staff. Also Annie Lebovitz; I love your work. Should I ever get a book published I really want you to do my cover shoot....

It is early morning, the nearly pristine quiet interrupted only by the calling of birds, the rustle of leaves and the incessant meowing of a cat whose verbal demands have brought us here. Here being a garden, curated as though by a mental patient. The author is posed in a careful stance as the aforementioned cat, now in halter and on leash, pokes through the ornamental grasses on the gentle slope of the slowly eroding side yard.

"I try to tell myself I am a morning person. Which I am, if morning would only start about three hours later." The author pauses and takes a sip of pour-over coffee from the hand thrown mug, echoing the many green shades of the yard.

It is 6:32 AM. 

An eclectic mix of geegaws and foliage. Isn't the word 'eclectic' great?

We meander slowly, a drunkards path around gardens bursting with pink astilbe and blue spiderwort, the slowly ripening buds of the daylilies promising bursts of tiger orange in a couple of weeks. It is on, into the front past the heroically leafed split leaf sumac. "I found it on clearance, between a hibiscus with three leaves and a yuca the size of Arizona. The fact that it's still here speaks well of its constitution. A real survivor."
 

Never mind the poisonous name...

We pause dramatically and contemplate our place in the universe compared to this bargain-bin topiary before continuing our feline ambulation down a set of crumbling steps until we finally arrive at our destination, both the beginning and the end of this journey.

The deck.

With cat safely at rest in dappled sun, we sit on the custom Adirondack chairs and survey the landscape. 

Cat, as scene in 'transfer' filter.

The author sips a second, third, fourth cup of coffee while snacking on succulent berries and pausing now and again to take in the delicate thump of a squirrel as it misses its mark on the bird feeder and lands belly first on the ground below.

Accidental holiday colors. tastes like Americana. berries and marscapone courtesy of purchase at Fresh Thyme. Plate by Old Time Pottery

Can't get enough of this 'transfer' filter. Or that fantastic hand-thrown mug.

"Truthfully, I have always found this time, this place a little magical." She nods to the corner of the deck where a day-glow yellow finch has alighted to take a sip from the bird bath before returning to decimate the thistle feeder. 

 

Bird behind deck chairs. Chairs, family heirloom (read hand-me-down), tablecloth from Target, bird by God. He makes the best stuff.

"The first summer we were here, I found these miniature orchid like blooms all over the yard. I was certain there was an orchid tree hidden above me somewhere, sprinkling these blossoms down. As it turns out, it was only the catalpa tree. But just think of the possibility! A tree of orchid blossoms." She smiles to herself and you can begin to imagine the mystery...

Tulip? Sycamore? Nope, Catalpa. Aka Cigar tree, Lady Cigar tree, that freakingly tall tree that's going to get struck by lightening and crash through our roof someday in a tornado. The wood is sometimes used as 'tonewood' in acoustic guitars. So when the day comes...

"Now the yard is spotted with a multitude of wild strawberries. The remnants of my first attempt at growing things. A sort of herbaceous testament to my gardening schizophrenia." And the birds highly effective method of spreading seeds.

And indeed, if you look closely there are über-tiny berries, deep red against the verdant green of creeping charlie, dandelion and wild violet leaves which constitute the back lawn.

Mysterious 'orchid' blossoms. Actually the flower from the Catalpa tree near a rogue wild strawberry.

"Some would grab the Hüsqvarna and till up the entire area, replacing the nubby growth with a carpet of Kentucky Blue Grass." She chuckles under her breath. Takes another swig of coffee and returns to the latest edition of Vogue. 

Some.
But not here.

Because this is the Coast of Illinois.

And that's not how magic works.

Especially when you have been up since 6am, drank an entire pot of coffee and read three back issues of Anna Wintour's finest...

The author, sans shower or makeup but with double chin. Pajamas - Victoria by Victoria Secrets. Linen shirt by LizWear, a gift from a friend on a random trip to Mexico. and again with that hand blown coffee mug. Seriously Chris, start selling these.

 (It is Memorial Day. May it be a meaningful day to all.)