Tag Archives: family

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Day 7… a farm tour and a tearful goodbye.

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Our company was leaving in the afternoon and after a big late breakfast … we had just enough time to give them a tour of the organic farm across the street.

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It’s wonderful having fresh veggies so close .

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But the flowers are a nice new addition.

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Everything was green and lush.

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And blooming profusely.

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Yes, even the kale looked healthy.

🤢

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Being a good neighbor… I didn’t pick a free berry. Though honestly, it was tempting.

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We strolled and chatted and took pictures.

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And even caught a glimpse of the man cave/ Barn Mahal in the distance.

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So much works goes into running a farm.

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Day in, day out. Something always needs to be tilled, weeded, watered or harvested.

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This is our contractor’s boat.

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He’s a friend of our neighbor and is allowed free storage.

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Not sure you can see it in this photo…

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But I thought this was a bizarre staggered bloom flower. Very tall.

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A few more pictures…

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A few more blooms…

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And we headed back across the street…

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For one more picture before we loaded up the car and took our favorite people to the airport.

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Past a lovely stone church…

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With fabulous front doors.

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And this silly sign that always makes me laugh.

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Then the airport, where I had a good cry when we had to let them leave.

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Family isn’t always defined by blood.

Sometimes you choose.

And we chose well.

💕

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I have a painting…

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My father painted this large canvas when he was in Hawaii during WWII.

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I never questioned when a man at war would find time to paint because my father painted anywhere, everywhere, all the time… even if he only had ten minutes.

This painting has hung over our bed in 4 different homes and hangs there still.

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My father was mostly a water colorist so his oils are rare, I only have two. The frame is basic, handmade with whatever was nearby at the time. My mother never liked it… so it was hidden in a closet until I got married and adopted it 40 years ago.

Am I overly fond of Hawaiian palm tree scenes? No. Does the tropical island design blend with our house in rural Maine? Probably not. But historical provenance and sentimental value trump decor every time.

Point of this blog?

Since we seem to be redoing everything else in our home.. I decided it was time to update this old girl as well.

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Which wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped.

Mind you, I knew this would be pricey… isn’t everything these days? But since it’s an oil that didn’t need to be restretched, an oil that didn’t need a mat or glass … I was hoping to get away for $300-$400.

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This frame?

$825.00

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This one?

Almost $1,300.

*Gulp!*

It’s clearly been a long time since I had anything framed.

😳

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Let’s play

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You’re here.

It’s required.

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We used to have a big, beautiful, fat and fluffy white cat.

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He was a long haired Japanese bob tail Manx that I let the neighborhood children name when we lived in North Carolina.

They were sweet kids, if not terribly original… hence the name Mr. White.

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Mr, White made the move back to Maine with us and lived a very long (24 years!) and happy life. He’s buried under a tree on our property and thanks to my mother…who loved to brush him and keep his coat silky smooth… parts of him are still with us.

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Yes, I know it’s bizarre… but the coffee table drawer in our living room that holds Lord Dudley Mountcatten’s leash and toys also contains balls of Mr White’s fur rolled into balls by my mother.

It was a running joke that he shed so much fur she could make a pillow with it one day. Or a blanket. Or a hat.

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Clearly she was on to something.

I know I should toss those old fur balls. It’s not like I’m going to knit cat hair socks or a scarf, but for some reason I just can’t bring myself to do it. Weird as it is, they make me smile.

How about you…

What weird thing can’t you bring yourself to throw out?

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I’m throwin’ it back.

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Remember when we used to do Throwback Thursday?

I always enjoyed that. Mostly because I liked posting pictures of myself with a waistline. Ah… those were days.

But a memory popped up on my FB page the other day and I thought it was too fun not to share.

My husband was the second of 9 children. His mother was a mere slip of a woman and I often wondered how she stayed sane. Yes, it was a different era… but that’s still a lot of kids.

All but two were born in Maine as the family moved to a dairy farm in western Connecticut when my husband was 8.

7 of the 9 siblings are in this photo with his mother, the rest are cousins.

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Can you guess which one is my husband?

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Paying our respects.

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Veterans Day is important… and in this house it does not go unrecognized.

Hitting the road with our flower bouquets early yesterday morning, we set out to visit my husband’s family.

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His father is buried in Maine’s largest Veteran cemetery.

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Lovely well kept grounds on the top of a hill…

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With mature trees and many places for peaceful reflection.

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The second family member we visited was my husband’s uncle who was buried just this summer at the new Maine Veterans cemetery.

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This setting is more traditional with endless rows of white headstones.

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Personal endearments are allowed at the bottom…

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Like the AKA Grump my husband’s cousin chose. Perfectly fitting as he was a lovable old grump.

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There’s something about walking through these lines of identical markers that shatters me every time. All those service members who sacrificed for their country.

It’s beautiful… and quite humbling.

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This airman made me smile. I hope he finds some coffee.

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Apparently Crown Royal was more to this soldier’s taste.

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Our final stop of the day wasn’t a Veterans cemetery, just a small country graveyard. Quite a few of the husband’s ancestors are buried here but we’d come to thank his other uncle who fought in WWII, Korea and Vietnam.

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It’s not often you find someone who saw all three.

💕

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The where I’m from challenge.

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I read a blog this morning that touched my soul for numerous reasons.

http://agracefull-life.com/2023/09/18/where-im-from/

The author wrote a poem from a template and after reading hers I knew I had to do the same. To honor my parents. To relive my idyllic childhood. To reflect on the varied ancestors who had come before.

It was a bittersweet journey of remembrance and I’d love for you to do the same.

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Where I’m from.

I am from the well worn but oh so comfortable reading chair in the library.

From Stewarts Root Beer floats and Fralingers salt water taffy.

I am from brick walls and polished slate floors. The solid, firm foundation that wrapped me in a warm embrace.

I am from the central rose garden. Fragrantly scenting the air… delicate, yet able to survive the storms.

I’m from magical Christmas Eves in NYC. From never losing your temper and treating everyone with respect.

From Lovey and Lottie Mae.

I’m from a stiff upper lip and a dry sense of humor.

From don’t take any wooden nickels to follow your dreams.

I’m from quiet personal faith, the kind that doesn’t need a church to know right from wrong.

I’m from a serene English garden transplanted to the middle of suburbia, from bangers and mash to boeuf bourguignon.

From painful separation on Ellis Island. From family betrayal and loss of legacy. From the sacrifice required to hold a family together. From the triumph of perseverance, hard work and above all… love.

I’m from the wall of framed pictures that line our hall… and from that beautifully bound and gold monogrammed navy leather photo album, brittle with age but continuing to hold us together.

The faces and places. The history of a lineage whose many parts came together to form…. me.

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Here’s a link to the template if you’d like to try your hand at poetry.

https://www.wsuu.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/I_Am_From_Poem(2).pdf

I found it to be oddly cathartic. Maybe you will as well.

If so… please share yours and add a link in the comments.

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❤️

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Crying… and laughing at the same time.

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It’s fallen to me to gather old photos of my husband’s late sister for her celebration of life.

Her daughter is still having a hard time…so the get together will be small, informal, and at her home. I’m going to set up a table of remembrance with flowers, this plaque…

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A guest book where people can share memories…

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A flameless candle…

And a large digital frame filled with pictures that will play continuously like a slideshow.

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It’s been bittersweet collecting and uploading the photographs.

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Life.

It’s fleeting…

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And over far too soon.

I shed quite a few tears looking at the 160 pictures I’ve pulled together, but every once in a while I’d smile. Like when I found this old family portrait proof of my husband and his 8 brother and sisters. (Hint- he’s the one in uniform. Top left.)

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And sometimes I even laughed.

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That’s my husband, standing behind his late sister on the right. The couple with them had just gotten married and I think he was the best man.

I may have to print one of these for framing.

😉

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Sadness.

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This is the last picture taken of my husband and his sister.

She had asked him to bring her one of his Marine Corps hats so she could wear it in honor of his service. He happily obliged.

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My sister in law passed a few weeks ago and it’s just now I can bring myself to blog about it. For those of you who read regularly, you know it was a blessing… and sadly what she wanted.

But that doesn’t mean it was easy.

We received the call from her daughter Monday at noon and rushed over to the nursing home to be with her. Though you know it’s inevitable, losing your mother is hard… and slowly watching her die? Just about unbearable.

It was a bedside death watch with everything that implies. Five family members and a close friend, sitting… and waiting. Watching her painfully gasp for breath, float in and out of consciousness and be given enough morphine to drop a horse. You could tell even the nurses were surprised how long she hung on.

Tears? I cried rivers and couldn’t stop. But not just for her…. it was watching her daughter trying to let go that really broke my heart. When it finally happened, 11 hours later, her daughter simply crumpled to the floor. Broken, exhausted, and physically spent.

We did everything we could to help then… emotionally and financially. Which is why the next day found us at the funeral home making arrangements for cremation.

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Death is big business, never forget that. I’ve learned painful … not to mention expensive… lessons about what is necessary and what is superfluous charging for things you don’t know you don’t need.

We chose the same place that cared for my mother, my husband’s mother and his brother. A small, honest, family run business… which are getting harder to find these days. We made the arrangements, we paid, we picked up her remains and brought them to her daughter a week later.

A small celebration of life is being planned at her daughter’s house for Labor Day weekend and we’ll try to help with that as well.

My SIL’s struggle is over.

Her daughter’s struggle… trying to understand why her mother could never find joy in life… is ongoing.

❤️

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Let’s play.

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Because there’s still a kid inside of you… somewhere.

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The first things that sprang to mind when I read this weren’t material.

Yes, I have the family silver…

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Which I rarely use as you can tell by the embarrassing level of tarnish.

Yes, I have great grandmother’s antique French dessert set…

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Which to be honest, I have never used and polish even less.

And yes I have my father’s paintings which will always be the first things I grab if our house is burning down …

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But the two things I’m most glad my parents gave me are my love of reading and the natural world.

My passion for both make me feel as if part of them is still with me. And that’s the treasure I hold dear.

How about you?…

What do you still have of your parent’s?

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Let’s play.

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It won’t hurt, I promise.

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Sadly, I don’t remember a thing.

My maternal grandparents moved back to Austria before I was born and we never visited. My paternal grandfather died when my father was 10 years old, so I certainly never knew him. And though I was 3 when my paternal grandmother died, I have absolutely no memory of her either.

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I’m told this is a picture of her standing in the backyard rose garden of this house….

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But honestly, neither the person nor the house stir any warm fuzzies in my prefrontal cortex.

When my mother died almost a decade ago we took a trip back to my hometown in New Jersey. The state gets a bad rap, and though most of it is well deserved… there are some lovely areas scattered here and there and thankfully I grew up in one.

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We walked north of town…

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Along the river….

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And found my grandparent’s house.

Still in the thick of early grief for my mother, I stood outside this nicely restored and clearly well loved home and cried. The new owners saw me, came outside to investigate and warmly welcomed us … complete strangers! …. inside for a full three story tour.

Don’t believe everything you hear about people from Jersey. This couple was grace personified.

We exchanged stories and histories and they were very sweet to an only child who had just lost her mom. The new owners expressed interest in my old family photos of the house and I promised to email them when we got back home.

So while I don’t have any grandparent memories of this particular house?

I do have nice new memories of the compassionate and caring young couple who live there now…. and that’s fine with me.

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