Oh, God, Hon....

My Birthday began and ended with a telephone call from my daughter.

5:45 AM: "Happy Birthday, Mom!" Then, she sang to me. What's not to love (even at 5:45 AM when she is up in order to be on  the job by 7 AM). Sweet. I managed to fall back asleep for another hour.

All good.

Then, after a lovely dinner and a few glasses of wine at home I was ready to call it a day. Lying in bed, lights out around 9:30 PM my phone buzzes. She's calling again.

"How was your Birthday, Mom?"

"Really good." (and I share with her some of the highlights)

"Guess what.....?  I have a new fish tank and five new fish."

"Whaaaat? What happened to the old tank?"

"I still have the old tank. The new one is a twenty gallon and there's a little scuba diver that goes all around the tank."

"Why are you doing this?  Why are you buying all this STUFF? Why are you getting all this STUFF that you have to take care of?"

no answer

"Mom, the worst was when I brought the tank home and put it on top of Kate's (roommate) bookcase in the living room. The weight of the tank broke the bookcase and the fish spilled out EVERYWHERE."

"Oh, God."

"Yeah, and I freaked out and tried to save the fish and clean up the mess. I saved three of the fish."

"Oh, God."

"Petco gave me new fish when I explained what happened. They never told me I needed to buy a special stand to hold the weight of the tank."

"Oh, God."

"Kate's bookcase got ruined and I need to buy her a new one but that's no big deal. She's not upset. The bookcase was only like thirty bucks."

"So now you have two tanks of fish? Why are you doing this? I don't get it, Hon. You'll never be able to leave. Ever. You're tying yourself down."

"Mom, you don't realize that I've turned into a 'home-body'. I literally stay home now. I don't go out much. I grow plants now. I have a pots with vegetables growing outside."

"Oh, God."

"Haven't you ever heard of a fish ball, Mom?  It's this thing you put in the tank to feed the fish when you're away for awhile."

"What about the guinea pig?  Why are you doing this? Why are you getting more and more stuff to tie you down?"

"Mom, it's a hobby. They make me happy."

"Oh, God."

"I also bought a beta fish today."

"What???? A third tank?"

"No, the beta is just in a regular fish bowl."

"Oh, God."  I can't talk anymore.

"Ok, Bye."

-------------------------

Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God.

What is the Color of Water?

What is the color of water?

I haven't a clue although the question crosses into consciousness on a regular basis.

A glass of water resting at my bedside, the rushing river powered by snow melt off the mountains, the peaceful glacial lake in the North Cascades, the rolling waves of the southern Caribbean pounding the north coastline of a certain volcanic island.......what color?

What of the day-in, day-out color of the Hudson River, the working waterway of the northeast? The river that flows both ways also known as Muhheakantuck by the Native Americans is the subject of Spencer Finch's art installation in Manhattan's newest park, the High Line. Located in the Chelsea Market overpass, the expanse of stained glass panes appears at first look to be part of the old building that once housed the above ground railway. Not.

The plaque on the wall tells all. Artist Spencer Finch "from a tugboat drifting on Manhattan's west side and past the High Line,  photographed the river's surface once every minute. The color of each pane of glass was based on a single pixel point in each photograph and arranged chronologically in the tunnel’s existing steel mullions. Time is translated into a grid, reading from left to right and top to bottom, capturing the varied reflective and translucent conditions of the water's surface. The work, like the river, is experienced differently depending on the light levels and atmospheric conditions of the site. In this narrative orientation, the glass reveals Finch's impossible quest for the color of water".

As much as I love the shifting qualities inherent in the color of water in this impressively large piece (some 720 individual panes of stained glass), what amazes me is how easily we (I) forget that water reflects back the ambient light and how quickly conditions change moment to moment if we dare to notice. Water is all these shades of itself, from inky black to white.

All this brings me back to the the mesmerizing color of the Caribbean waters of Aruba. Wouldn't such a wall of stained glass reflecting the complexity of her colors amaze and delight?  Another project, Mr. Finch?

The High Line

Earlier this month when in NYC for the BlogHer Conference, my sister and I walked through one of the city's newest parks, The High Line. Built along the route of an old, elevated railway adjacent to the Hudson River on Manhattan's lower west side, the park preserves the feel of the old railway yet surrenders the space for a public park. Concerned citizens came together with a vision to preserve this run down part of the city extending from 14th to 30th streets. The project progresses in stages; we walked the portion completed from W 14th to W 20th Streets. The final plan includes parkway up to W 30th Street in the second phase.

This park delights. Artwork, native plants, preserved portions of old train track, clever public seating; wind tunnels that catch the natural breeze on a warm day; this park offers up the works. We were smitten and seriously impressed.

The High Line website offers a link to the public art of the park. My favorite, and the topic for another blog post, would be Spencer Finch's The River that Flows Both Ways (the Indian word for the Hudson River is Muhheakuntuck, referring to the natural flow of the river in two directions). More about this coming....the artist attempts to explore the "impossible quest for the color of water."  Ahhhhh. That would also be a quest of mine but in words.

The High Line....a great place to visit.

Heading for the Coast

D and I are headed to the Washington coast today; a few days at a hotel near Ocean Shores. Shhhhh.....in addition to walks on the beach we're taking in the Quinault Casino. We play the slots and never win or lose much more than twenty bucks at a time. Neither of us can stand to lose money. It's all good, although a walk on the beach will likely pay off  in the realm of spiritual renewal much more than a smoky, loud gambling hall.

I had a most perfect birthday yesterday.  D made it wonderful from start to finish.  The Wave will find eventually find its ideal spot in our home; probably upstairs in our bedroom. I spend so much time lying in bed writing (as I do now) that I'm tempted to place The Wave within view for inspiration.

Instead of cake, which I'm almost certain to have eaten every single birthday of my life, I ate pie. Weary of cake and craving fruit pie, we enjoyed a "Forest Pie" (boysenberry, marionberry, and blueberry) with

vanilla ice cream after a dinner of filet mignon and baked potato.  All at home.....we had toyed with the idea of going out to eat but since we'll be eating out on our two days away, home seemed best. He's chef extraordinaire (for the savory; the pie came from Whole Foods).

Now to pack up a small bag and head to the coast. Life is sweet. Life is good. August and the dusty days are almost over!!! I'm feeling better already.

Happy Birthday Wave Sculpture

Today is my 56th Birthday.  Check out what my dear husband gifted me with today.....in honor of our mutual love of the wave, my passion for blogging at Ahead of the Wave and the celebration of this, my special day.

Earlier this summer we stumbled on the gorgeous glass sculptures of David Wight displayed in an art gallery in LaConner, Washington. David creates his art in Bellingham, sharing his passion for the wave by depicting the three dimensional form the instant before the wave breaks, the precise moment of peak power.  He says: "With my sculpture I work to capture the beauty, grace, and power of water in its most dynamic form: the wave.Using the molten liquid of hot glass, I endeavor to create, by hand, a glass sculpture that embodies the essence of movement in water. Each sculpture is distinctly unique."

Oh my, but I love this glorious piece of art. The colors, the form, the force of movement caught in a single instant, frozen in time.

So beautiful from every angle, forceful yet graceful, the impending implosion of water against water, spraying foam and power, taking my breath away.

Sorting, Discarding, and Donating

Four years ago this August my parents moved out of their home. At 89 years of age, they could no longer  safely manage the challenge of independent living. They left behind their home largely intact, taking only the clothing and other things they needed for day-to-day living. The house became a guest house for out-of-town family and a place to host family gatherings. The committee of five (Mom, Dad, and we three grown children) decided that selling the house and downsizing their belongings to the bare bones would represent an enormous and wrenching undertaking at a particularly vulnerable time. In fact, in order to encourage the move, we told them over and over again that should they be unhappy in their new surroundings, they could always consider coming back.  The house was a positive counterweight to the scary, looming prospect of loss that came with declining mental and physical health.

Over the years, Mom and Dad enjoyed coming back to their old home;  familiar furniture, artwork, cookware, and views of the backyard provided comfort of the familiar. Lately, they talk less about the house; the four walls may contain a lifetime of memories and things but I sense they've pulled back emotionally. Dad certainly knows that he'll never live there again.  Mom asks less frequently about once valued personal belongings left behind.

Yesterday my sister and I put in several hours of solid, good work going through a large closet and chest of drawers in my parent's former bedroom. We weeded through clothing, shoes, belts, underwear, socks, handbags, and boxes of knickknacks, making  decisions about what would STAY and what would GO.  Most is going.

Why now?  I guess the answer is the undeniable fact that we'll eventually, and probably sooner than later, need to go through the entire household and make disposition on every single item. Why not start now?

We took lots of photos, especially of Mom's clothes. She always took pride in the way she presented herself. She wore very stylish, colorful outfits to church or to family gatherings and on their last big trip in 2001 when they cruised the Caribbean and Panama Canal.

Was it hard?  Not really. We both took comfort knowing that Mom is still with us. She may not be "all there" mentally and would certainly look askance at us discarding clothing even though it would never fit her now. We did save all the wonderful outfits she wore to our weddings and the weddings of her grandchildren. For now. What in the world does one do with all these things?????

Dad had fewer items; mostly shoes and shirts/ties.His style has always been to pitch stuff out.

 Mary Margaret found this Kit Kat bar in an old purse belonging to Mom and hidden in the back of the closet. Unfortunately, no cash. Not a bill in sight!  We did find another set of car keys though.

I shudder to think what it will be like to go through the entire 3 bedroom house and garage when the time comes. Maybe we can continue a slow and steady approach; a bit here and a bit there so that when we need to sell the house, we'll be "ahead of the wave".

Small Steps towards Adventure

I'm looking to "try new things" this year; a (sort of) birthday resolution rather than a New Year's resolution. But, knowing me, I'll start out with relatively tame adventures, ones that can be hidden if needed. Case in point: here's what I said YES to yesterday when the pedicurist offered me a flower design on my big toes. Usually I just smile and say NO THANKS when asked. What the hell, I thought. Why not?  This small step launches my resolution for big(ger) adventures.

Unfortunately, my day today has been totally boring. I didn't do a single thing I haven't done a jillion times before, including eating ice cream for dinner.