The Great Outdoors – Two Perspectives: Part II

Heading off to Amicalola Falls, we looked like any other happy couple on their way to an enjoyable day of hiking and exploring the great outdoors. Our attire of shorts and t-shirts, hiking boots, and shades gave us the unmistakable air of authenticity, and our smiles showed our delight in each other’s company (as usual). Ahhh… but wait… yes, the same path, but our strategies – now that’s a little different story…

I have a tendency to approach such an adventure in a loose style. As long as I have chapstick in hand and have had a chance to visit the “facilities” before beginning the hike, I’m good to go. I don’t think about maps because I assume that the trails are marked; and if not, plan B is to follow the person ahead of me. I think it’s a good tactic.

And then, there’s H’s approach – a little more organized and focused:

The Plan:
An eight-mile hike past the Falls to the start of the Appalachian trail!

Equipment:
iPod with built-in pedometer; iPhone (for emergency calls) with various outdoorsy applications: compass, altimeter, Google Earth, email, and the New York Times (to peruse while I snap flower pictures).

Restrooms:
As we’ve grown older, our range of travel is dictated by the distance between acceptable restrooms. H has never stepped into a port-a-potty in his life and wants to keep it that way. (His newest iPhone application, Sit or Squat, locates and rates nearby restrooms.)

Snacks:
The number of food items in our pockets directly corresponds to the length of travel. (Reach a goal? Have a treat! P the cat would wholeheartedly agree.) Today’s supplies -- water, banana, Weight Watchers brownie, nuts, M & M’s, and a foot-long Tootsie Roll – should tide us over ‘til our after-hike treat.

Actual Execution:
In fact, the hike was a bit more strenuous than we had anticipated, but not to worry – our shortened one-mile journey got us to a charming coffee shop much sooner than expected. All in all, it was a great day!

The Great Outdoors - Two Perspectives: Part I

What a great weekend! On Saturday H and I took a ride to Amicalola Falls State Park in the north Georgia mountains and hiked up to the falls – beautiful blue skies, a cool breeze, and breathtaking scenery. I love being out in nature! I have, however, discovered that communing with nature is not quite the same as I remember it as a kid. Don’t get me wrong – I have a fabulous time – but I’ve noticed that the older I get, the more stipulations I seem to have about being in the great outdoors. Wimpy might be an appropriate word to describe me.

For one thing, I’m not particularly keen on bugs. I’m not afraid of them; I just don’t want them on me, so I do a lot of arm waving and swatting. I love the exercise, but once I get tired, that’s it. I’m done, which can be problematic if we’re only halfway through the hike. I despise being itchy, and the thought of poison ivy makes my skin crawl; thus I’m careful not to touch anything that has more than two leaves unless it’s a tree I can identify. I don’t like to get my hands dirty; but even worse, I don’t even like to get my clothes dirty. And, I hate that little trickle of sweat that starts at the nape of my neck and runs the full length of my backbone, stopping only when the top band of my undies absorb it.

I don’t believe I have ever mentioned any of this to my husband. He’d probably give me the rolly-eyes. I usually try to disguise my idiosyncrasies by hiking with a smile and a joie de vivre attitude. Mind over matter, that’s the key. My guess, though, is that he’s got my number. So, as we neared the end of the trail, and H announced with gusto, “Baby, we’re headin’ for the barn!” I put a little extra skip in my step and a big ol’ grin on my face, ‘cause I knew a cup of coffee and air-conditioning were just around the bend.

What Did You Say, Dear?

H and I usually try to do something special on Saturdays just to mix things up from the week. Ideas are tossed out for discussion, and give and take is inevitable from each side. H gravitates towards anything to do with railroads, food, or airplanes. Needless to say, I’ve walked through many a railroad yard, model railroad show, local airfield and miscellaneous bakery. For me, it’s gardens – any kind of garden. Last weekend it was my turn to choose, and guess what was happening in our area – a Garden Tour of Master Gardeners’ homes! What luck!

It’s quite evident that H and I approach things from very different perspectives, and garden tours are no exception. I can’t imagine anyone not absorbing everything about a garden – the exquisite colors, the variety and the grace of a garden. And, while I know H is sensitive to the beauty of a garden, I am fully aware that his mind is thinking of other things. As I chatter along about this and that plant, he hears me and nods accordingly, but in reality, his brain is churning on a whole different thought path than mine. On more than one occasion he’s surprised me with his comments:

“Someone’s been busting their ass moving wood chips.”

“Look at this mechanical pool cover!”

“I’m the youngest guy at this garden show, and I’m sixty!”

And my personal favorite:

“She doesn’t have time to work; this is a full-time garden. Imagine if her garden has a fungus – that’s a $10,000 repair job!”

I look forward to the weekends; Saturdays are never dull.

(All images taken while on the 2010 Garden Tour presented

by Master Gardener Volunteers of Cobb County)

Celebrating a Life

A couple of months ago I had to take a very sick cat on what turned out to be his final visit to the vet. It was tough day for me, but even tougher for my nephew, who was having to face the death of a family pet for the first time. In his grief, my nephew asked that the cat be cremated, and I obliged. Big Artie now resides in an ornately carved box on the shelf above my nephew’s bed.

The whole experience started me thinking about how we honor our loved ones in death, be they two- or four-legged. My mother was cremated years ago. Until my father’s death last July, she occupied the bottom shelf of an end table that sat next to his favorite chair. Both parents now reside at my sister’s home, their boxes resting side by side atop a tall secretary's desk Dad had made in his woodworking days.

Over the years I’ve been very fortunate to travel to Europe. On each of those trips I discovered touching old-world customs serving the deceased. Many of the villages in Switzerland have graves marked with individual flower gardens, each lovingly cared for by family and friends. These cemeteries are usually connected to a church, and in some instances, watering cans are provided for individuals to tend the gardens before and after the worship services. In Italy I observed a cemetery in which the framed pictures of loved ones were an integral part of the grave markers, giving personal insights into lives being celebrated.

There’s something special about the idea of still connecting, even after death. To continue to recognize a life that was. To continue to honor someone dear to your heart. To continue to care. I believe God would greatly approve.

Images from top to bottom (click on image for better detail):
1. Schmitten, Switzerland
2. Schmitten, Switzerland
3. Monstein, Switzerland
4. Monstein, Switzerland
5. Impruneta. Italy
6. Impruneta, Italy

Still Keeping an Eye on Me

I am quite disappointed in myself. It seems I have become exactly the type of blogger that I find the most fault with – the one who doesn’t update his or her blog on a regular basis. I have never quite understood how someone could have a blog and not be able to write something, anything, at least every couple of days. Well, now I have bit of insight into how time gets away from you. . . or how you don’t post because you don’t have just the right picture to go with the writing. . . or how the ideas simply aren’t there. The excuses are endless.

As I dwell on this I find myself thinking about my Mom – how appropriate, being that it is Mother’s Day. Mom died in 1994, and there hasn’t been a day gone by that I haven’t thought of her. I hear her voice and recognize her guidance every day. She wouldn’t be disappointed in me for not following through on the writing, but, she’d tell me pretty quickly that I needed to get focused and quit piddling around, to stop whining and get moving. She’d give me a big hug and tell me, “Honey, you can do anything that you set your mind to.” And. . . she was always right.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. You’re the best!

Guy World

My husband often refers to himself as “a prince among men,” and if truth be known, he really is pretty terrific. However, as perfect as he is, his way of doing things is often very different from mine. And, on occasion, we discuss the subtleties of our approaches. I thought I’d share with you what I’ve learned about guy ways vs. the right way (oops! I mean girl ways).

Guy Driving
H and I had several errands to run last week, and on at least one occasion I offered to drive. Once in the car, I started the engine and backed out of the garage and off we went – or at least I thought that’s what we did. However, before the garage door had lowered H let out a loud chortle and announced, “Here’s the difference between guy driving and your driving. When I get in the car, I push the button (he has a keyless starter) and go. You, on the other hand, put lotion on your hands, play with the buttons, move things around, tidy up and do a little housekeeping, all before you even put the key in the ignition.” Hmmmm – I don’t remember quite so much activity, although I did think my hands warranted some moisturizer. However, I wasn’t really paying attention to myself.

Guy Grocery Shopping
H claims that men are much more logical and focused in how they hunt and gather. Their shopping lists are written in order of aisle sequence. They start at one side of the store and move in the opposite direction, up and down the aisles dropping items in the cart as they go. No zig-zagging; no aisle hopping; don’t let the endcaps fool you into bouncing from point B to F, D, Z and back to M; no backtracking (it’s counterproductive). I’m not sure what to do if you miss an item. I guess you add it back into the list for next week and hope it wasn’t an important recipe ingredient. Most of the time I shop for groceries alone, but on those occasion when “the prince” accompanies me, I try to make the list short, stay focused and keep the pace at a good clip. If I’m successful, I usually get a lot of praise – always good for the self-esteem.

Guy Clothes Shopping
I will say that I am in awe of H’s clothes shopping techniques. He is in and out of a store in less than ten minutes. He assesses a shirt in seconds and sprints back to the register with his selection, grabbing a package of undies (referenced on his iPhone for quick identification -- see above) and socks along the way. Never once does he try anything on and everything always fits when he gets home. I really try to follow his lead, but unfortunately I can spend an hour in a store trying on the same shirt, different colors, over and over trying to make a decision. Shoes are even worse.

My husband is ever hopeful that I can learn from him. On our last trip to Sears, H looked at me and pointed his fingers towards his eyes and then straight ahead to the appliance section, chanting “Focus! Focus! Focus!” I laughed and followed dutifully, but I slowed long enough to touch a couple of sweaters along the way.

Easter Joys

There’s nothing more delightful than to hear my Dutch husband – 60 years old, mind you – calling out from downstairs on Easter morning, “The Easter Bunny was here!” From the sound of his voice I know he’s excited. Sure, there’s a basket for him on the dining room table, but I know that it is the decorated table itself that has made him so happy.

I am fascinated by how family customs are so different. When we were kids, my sisters and I loved Easter morning. We opened our sleepy eyes to crinkly cellophane-covered baskets stuffed to the brim with goodies, sitting on the dresser next to our beds; a spirited egg hunt at home after church; and an Easter dinner fit for a king. Until I met my husband, I never knew what an Easter table was. For H and his siblings, the surprise of Easter morning began with a beautifully set table filled with platters of meats, cheeses and breads, soft-boiled eggs in fanciful egg cups, orange juice and a pot of tea, all dressed out on an heirloom yellow tablecloth. Small candies decorated the table; a small chocolate-filled Easter basket awaited each child.

Keeping these memories in mind, I have tried to meld both of our family traditions into our own. The week before Easter I begin gathering supplies, hiding them in closets my husband rarely frequents. I iron his aunt’s hand-embroidered tablecloth, wash my mother’s china, fill H’s basket, and dust off the few Easter things we have collected together. On Easter morning I get up early – making the excuse, when asked, that P the cat is calling for his breakfast, as if H really believes that – and head downstairs to set the table. An hour later I hear a shout of surprise and a lot of laughter. And, of course, we both pretend like we don’t know how any of this happened. It’s a terrific way to begin a joyful day.

I hope your Easter was just as wonderful!