On hold

That's me. That's my life. And that's this blog.

Maybe later, when life isn't as demanding.

Thanks for taking time to read what I've written.

They paved paradise ...

My mother has a habit of pointing out new developments in my hometown and saying, with a wistful voice, "There used to be the loveliest woods there."

Then she'll sigh and add, "Not anymore."

A much younger version of myself would grow exasperated at such moments. After all, that new shopping mall or condo complex was a sign of progress, right? And it's not as if the world was about to run out of trees.

Sheesh, Mom.

Last week, an older version of myself passed what used to be a lovely strip of land at the base of a wooded hill, land that looked as if it had been untouched for a lot longer than I've been around. Given that it's located at the far west end of a roadway that sports a local miracle mile, the land was like an oasis.

But as I drove past there last week, I saw bulldozers mowing down scores of trees and peeling back the brush and turf. There will, one day, be a family recreation center there, one that includes batting cages and a go-kart track. And I know some people will consider this progress.

But when I think of that land now, I hear my mother saying, "There used to be the loveliest woods there."

Not anymore.

Grace under pressure

I was on my way out of a grocery store late this afternoon, clutching a few bags of items I'd need to make dinner, when I passed a young woman with two small children. She was moving her many bags of groceries from one of those huge shopping carts with an oversized toy car in front -- for the wee ones sit in -- to a regular cart (you're not supposed to remove the toy-car cart from the store).

All those groceries plus two little kids, who were probably tired and hungry and, perhaps, in need of a potty break.

I marveled at the young woman's energy and at her calm, controlled manner.

Parents don't get much credit for the kind of juggling act I witnessed at the market today. Too bad. They should give out medals for bravery to any parent who manages to shop for groceries while keeping two little people in line -- and lives to tell about it.

Weathering parenthood's storms

Someone I know lost a child recently. The child was grown, but I doubt that made the loss any easier to face. The news hit me the way it always does when I hear that someone is living a parent's worst nightmare: I wanted to grab my own two children and hug them until they squirm.

When our children are small, dependent on us for their very existence, we parents believe we'd do anything -- anything -- to protect them. We might even believe we can protect them from all that life throws at them. But in time we learn there are limits to what we can do.

Sometimes, as they grow to maturity, our children choose paths that put them at risk, a choice we struggle to understand (and perhaps never can). It's a painful reminder that our influence on them has its limits. Still, we keep trying to guide them.

And we keep hoping that, in time, our children will grow to become people who can weather life's storms and live full lives as decent, loving people.

It's a blessing to be able to watch it happen.

Heaven help those who never get the chance.

Not dead yet, Part II

Not dead, but definitely in a bit of a writer's funk. I've been consciously avoiding this blog because, well, my brain was tired. It still is, though a bit less so after a week off from teaching.

It didn't hit me until I was out for an after-dinner walk today that I need to take this blog in a direction that, put simply, matters more -- both to you who take time to check it out and to me. I don't intend to become overly serious, but I do want to take a look at some of the things that trouble me as well as things that inspire me or make me laugh. I do so in the hope that my thoughts will prove of some use to people who find themselves struggling to get through their day.

Like what, you might ask. Like the number of us who, though just a few years away from retirement, face the humbling challenge of raising a grandchild.

Like the number of us who have witnessed the self-destructive behavior of young people in our lives and struggled mightily before realizing that we can't change them -- only ourselves and our reactions to them.

Like being the daughter of a remarkable lady who, at 97 years and seven months, is still in reasonably good health but who I know is not going to live forever.

No, I won't be turning this blog into an advice column. Wiser minds than mine are just a few mouse clicks away.

But I do plan to reflect more on the very human situations that can drive us up the wall or, I hope, make us more compassionate people with more giving, grateful hearts.

Wish me luck, and please check back in a few days. I promise you: I'm not dead yet.

Warm food, warm heart

OK, I admit it: I microwave ice cream.

It started when I had a particularly sensitive tooth. I nuked a small dish of ice cream, just enough to turn it into a pile of glop I didn't have to bite into to consume.

I never looked back.

I microwave cereal, too. Blame it on that tooth. Despite being one-fourth German, I don't like to start the day with cold food.

German breakfast, as I experienced it the first time I visited some relatives there, is apt to consist of cold cuts and cold slices of cheese. Yum.

When one of my relatives visited the U.S., he had just two complaints: how quickly "the dollars" disappear, and all that warm food Americans serve for breakfast.

Microwaved cold cuts, anyone?

St. Patrick's Day, a little early

We took all three of the small people in our lives to a St. Patrick's Day parade today. The local parade always comes early so the pipe bands from New York City can come up and do their thing, along with those bands from the community and nearby cities. Unlike past years, when we shivered in biting early-March winds, today was graced with sunshine and temperatures that hovered near the 40-degree mark.

The best part about being in the presence of very young children is that no matter what passes by -- fire trucks, bagpipes, marching cops and firefighters -- they're enthralled. Well, at least for awhile. Before long they were equally enthralled with stomping on the popcorn they'd spilled on the sidewalk. This was quickly followed by short-lived attempts to pick up and eat what they hadn't stomped on. Lesson of the day: Never eat ANYTHING you've dropped on a city sidewalk.

The down side of being in the presence of very young children is that there endurance isn't equal to your own. Within an hour of our arrival, it was clearly time to head for the car.

For what it's worth, the wee ones got a taste of bagpipes and big crowds. We'll try to stay a little longer next year.

Waiting for the thaw

We dodged the "hurricane" effect of the latest snow storm. We've got 13 inches of fresh snow in the back yard, but the fierce wind gusts we'd been warned about didn't reach our neck of the woods. We didn't even lose power.

Still, we spent the day after the storm hunkered down at home, making the best of a messy situation with sledding, snow angels and birdwatching. Good thing we didn't have to go anywhere: The first plow through here didn't arrive until after 9 a.m.

I headed out early to attack the fresh 6 inches of snow that had fallen overnight. An hour later, I decided that half a cleared-off driveway was better than none. Still, it felt good to be outside in the morning air, getting my day's exerise out of the way.

Now, sitting in the den with the 3-year-old in my life, I'm just as glad to be warm, dry and, well, not exerting myself. There's a mug of Ovaltine waiting to be made and a new bag of marshmallows in the cupboard.

Somewhere under all that snow, a patch of small white flowers called snowdrops is waiting to push through the soil. In a few weeks the plants could be in bloom. And a week or so after that, winter will be over -- at least, officially. (We know better than to believe the calendar.)

But right now, looking out at the quiet woods decked with snow, thinking about that mug of hot chocolate, I'm almost glad there are a few more weeks of winter left.

Snow-icane

At least, that's what the local paper is calling the storm that's supposed to hit here tomorrow. To hear some of the hyperventilating weather people on TV you'd think we were facing Armageddon.

Or snow-mageddon.

Me? I'm ready for it. Not in the sense of having all we need to stand up to what Ma Nature throws at us, but ready to slow down -- even if it involves some shoveling.

I'd love to wake up tomorrow and find that every place I normally go is closed -- school, day care, stores, highways. I'd love to roll over, turn off the alarm and go back to sleep.

There is something magical about such a day. Humbling, too -- nature's way of saying she's still in charge.

So bring it on. Snow us in. We'll make snow angels once the wind dies down, and gallons of hot chocolate with marshmallows to keep us warm as we watch the flakes fall.

It's the end of February. We're not likely to see many more such storms before the crocuses push through the soil and tell us to shake off our winter selves and get moving again.

T-shirt weather

I saw a boy on a bicycle today. Not that remarkable, I suppose, though it has been a long time since I saw anyone riding a bike.

What was remarkable was his choice of attire: He was wearing a T-shirt.

It is sunny in my part of the world today, sunny -- and in the high 30s. Not exactly T-shirt weather.

Still, seeing that boy thumb his nose at winter by riding his bike while wearing a short-sleeved shirt was a welcome reminder that the dark days and dreary skies can't last forever.

Ride on.

Score one for parents

USA Today carried a story last week that ought to give anyone attempting to raise a teenager a shot of confidence.

Citing a couple of recent studies, the writer notes there is growing evidence that parents who set limits and enforce rules really do make a difference in their children's lives. In an age when "experts" seem to second-guess parents at every turn, it's encouraging to see parents being given credit for, well, acting like parents.

What caught my eye was the conclusion by researchers that "authoritative" parents seemed to have the greatest impact on their children -- not those who rule with an iron fist ("Because I said so, that's why") but who set firm rules AND take the time to explain them, the USA Today writer says.

Some parents, the writer notes, don't set limits or hesitate to enforce them because they fear conflict. A friend who works with troubled teens says too many parents want to be their kids' pal. Too often, she says, the teens in such situations gain the upper hand. Not a good thing.

No doubt it's easier to loosen up on the limits. No doubt your teenager will conclude that you're "cool" if you do. But as a parent who survived -- just barely -- the raising of two teenagers, I promise you it's a mistake.

It's often said that limits equal love. Believe it.

S'no joke

I have steadfastly resisted the temptation to chortle over the tizzy much of the East Coast has been thrown into by the recent blizzards. (Amateurs.)

I mean, what good would it do to gloat as I watch the videos from Washington -- the stranded motorists, the shuttered government buildings, the weary Washingtonians shoveling snow? (Cry-babies.)

Here in the frozen north we laugh at snowstorms that dump a measly foot of snow on us. Hah! we say, as we glide down the road in our 4-wheel-drives or crank up our snowblowers. We are made of sterner stuff, we who know what it is to go months without seeing a blade of grass. (Softies.)

It would be rude -- nay, heartless -- to scoff at the mess these winter neophytes are contending with, even as we dust off the latest 6 inches of snow to grace our neck of the woods. No, these victims of what has been dubbed "snowmageddon" need our understanding, our patience, our compassion ...

(Aw, suck it up.)

It's 4 a.m. ...

... Do you know where your dog is?

Actually, I did know where my dog was at 4 a.m. a couple of mornings ago. She was standing at the front door, barking her head off. When I heard her, I hopped out of bed and headed for the stairs, hoping I wasn't too late.

I was.

The living room carpet was dotted with, well, let's just say the dog had had diarrhea since the night before and had already given our carpet steamer a serious workout. Silly me, I thought she was over her intestinal distress. But no.

Two days earlier I had taken our 17-year-old cat to the vet for her annual checkup. As usual, she freaked out. This time was extra special, though: It took three adults to hold her down while the vet gave her her rabies shot. I was not one of them, by the way. Having already had my hand bloodied by this tyrannical old feline, twice, I was excused. In fact, the vet thought it best that I step out into the lobby and wait. Several loud screeches later (from the cat, that is), the deed was done and we were on our way.

Back to 4 a.m. ... As I was scrubbing the living room carpet by hand (because I didn't want to wake everyone else up), I thought about the dog. I thought about the cat. I doubt they were thinking about me.

So it goes.

I've brought animals into my life because I appreciate their companionship, because I don't know whether I would like my life as much if I didn't have pets in it. I would, no doubt, have cleaner carpets and fewer scratches on my hands if I didn't have pets. But it sure would be quiet around here.

Especially at 4 a.m.

Flexing my muscle

Somewhere between Monday morning and Monday night, a particularly nasty bug found an opening somewhere, a chink in my armor, and within a matter of hours I went from reasonably healthy to sick.

I can handle colds. They come and go in a pretty predictable fashion. But this, this was something along the line of bad-cold-meets-mono. At least, that's the way it left me feeling last week -- the first week of the semester at the university where I teach. Which is another way of saying it was a long week.

Aside from the cough, the congestion and the feeling of having recently been run over by a piece of heavy equipment, I'm fine and glad to be back to sharing this space with you. Writing, for me, is like a muscle: When I stop using that muscle it grows lazy, flabby. And "tomorrow" becomes too easy to say.

So here's a status report: This last day of January, with its deep blue sky and bitter cold, finds me happy to be getting back into some sort of routine -- at school, at home, with my family, with my writing.

Running out of Kleenex, but happy.

Not dead yet

I've just emerged from teaching an online course in which I attempted to cram a semester's work into three weeks. As you might imagine, I was pretty sick of writing, editing and thinking by the end of the day.

Fear not. I AM recovering.

More soon.

No, really.

Just January

We packed Christmas away today, much to the chagrin of the resident 3-year-old. He kept asking why he had to do this, why we couldn't just leave everything the way it was.

Well, we told him repeatedly, Christmas is all done. Then we reassured him -- repeatedly -- that it really will come back again one day.

The fact is, I hate to pack in Christmas, too. Keeping the tree up until the sixth of January is a long-time tradition in my family. This year we managed to stretch that tradition a few days longer, wrapping up the holidays with a family turkey dinner last night.

As I look around at my living room and dining room, now devoid of Christmas decorations, I ask myself: Now what?

January, that's what.

Time to burrow in for some serious weeding out, shaping up, catching up ... and then there are all those tax forms to contend with.

Oh, hell, I know why we keep our Christmas tree and lights and other decorations up so long: The longer the place looks festive, the less it feels as if it's just January.

'Twelfth Night' chills

Parts of the U.S. are said to be "in the deep freeze," struggling to cope with weather they seldom experience. Here in upstate New York, we don't have to worry about saving our citrus crops. We don't have any. We never WILL have any -- unless global warming happens in a big way.

What we do have is a certain resilience when it comes to winter weather. So, it seems, do Britons.

According to The Guardian newspaper, the people of Odiham in Hampshire, "southern England's snowiest village," are coping quite well with the unusually nasty winter weather they've been experiencing.

The Rev Gary Keith, vicar of a church in Odiham, told The Guardian: "It's absolutely beautiful here: there's snow in the trees, on the ground and on the church roof. There must be 30-40cm now (around 12-16 inches), and it's still snowing. ...

"It's been lovely being outside and seeing people out with their kids playing on sledges or walking their dogs. The reader from the church rang me on his way back home from a meeting at 10 o'clock last night and said that people in the village were building snowmen or just watching the snow fall."

The folks of Odiham are clearly making the most of a bad situation, and having some fun in the process.

We might as well follow their lead and try to enjoy the cold and snow -- 'cause I doubt they'll be going away any time soon.

Stay warm.