As The Butter Churns

October 24th Chantilly Lace And A Pretty Face

 

Hi to Everyone,

Met Dave and Jeannine at Charles de Gaulle, played my cornet as they emerged from the arrival exits--causing a bit of a commotion in the arrival terminal for a moment or two..

    Took a couple shots as we shared a drink at their Airport Marriott Hotel. They leave for LeHarve in the a.m. by touring bus. Party is next Friday.
(Dolsons)

On the way back to Paris on the metro I got acquainted with some stewardesses from Air India who were staying at the Marriott. They heard me giving somebody some directions and wondered where I learned to speak English so well!
(Grandpa Horn and Flight Attendant)
The two young ladies' names are Rekha and Megha. They promise to e-mail me and want to hear jazz in Paris on their next trip from Bombay.
(Grandpa Horn and another Flight Attendant- he looks younger and happier in every picture)
    I of course love you all oh so dearly, but every day here is, it seems, something new and it's a wonderful way for your ol' man to live out his life. Especially, now that the word on my health is excellent.

I'm hoping to hit some really big-paying jobs eventually so I can afford to fly you all over here for a fun visit. I know, it's just a dream, but I've had many dreams come true, so...don't tell me to forgetaboutit.

G. Horn

October 19th Blowing In The Wind

(Grandpa Horn and Esmeralda)

 Dear Everyone,

I'd like to introduce our "new" (about a month now) singer, Esmeralda Vere.  She started out so shy she could barely face an audience but was determined to be able to make a fool of herself as I do on a daily basis.  I told her, you're a pretty young lady with a nice figure, it'll be nice if you have a voice but out on the streets it's even more important to be able to sell the song--if people think you're having a ball and you want to share it with them, you're on your way.

 

(Philippe & Esme)
(Esme and Alan)

She is attending university here and is bilingual, so she'll eventually include some songs in French.  She's from south of London and "Mum" talks  to her all the time, sends regards to the band and is coming to Paris for (long time friend and musician from L.A.) - Dave Dolson's party.  "Mum" sent her some "wooly tights" for the cooling weather and I told her I'd pay Mum to be able to get a pair on Philippe.

 

I forgot to get some songs of "Esme" singing this day but I got some last Sunday and will send them out with my next batch.  She's got a good voice and she's excelling in selling.  Crowds like her very, very much.
(Madeleine)

Place again is Abbesses exit, Montmartre area, with the kiddie carousel and Madeleine prominent. 

 

(More  shots of us getting our pictures taken)
As you may remember,  Philippe takes care of Madeleine and she goes everywhere with him and simply loves to dance.  Thus, when Philippe's with us Madeleine is definitely part of the show and crowds simply adore her.  I keep telling the crowds we can stop her and they applaud all the more.  She also keeps an eye on the money in the instrument case and sells CDs and makes change, etc.  When we get way too many bills on the pile she will skim a few off and put them in a bag so we don't look too successful (it also keeps them from blowing away in a strong breeze, which has happened).

 

( He refused to face the band.  His owner said he's strictly a classical music fan.)

 

bon soir.

Grandpa Horn

August 4th The Show Must Go On

(Playing in the evening.)

(Ahh Paris - reminds me of Bellingham)

Dear Everyone,

Music was a bit uneven Wednesday due to a sub banjo player (our wonderful banjo player had an accident and was in the hospital), but it was not evident to the crowd as we consistently received enthusiastic applause. The banjo player played a couple decent solos but he was consistently uneven with his rhythm/beat, driving Philippe and me nuts all evening. If we hadn't had steady Pascal on bass who did a marvelous job of holding the rhythm together the night would have been a disaster.

One very bright spot during the evening was my great friend and the banjo player the night before (which of course probably made the sub player sound even worse to my ears than he was), Ziggy, surprised us by showing up unannounced with his darling daughter, Lee-Lou. I was taking a solo when I spotted Ziggy's smiling face across the bridge and when I saw Lee-Lou, I walked over and played right in front of them. Zig got a shot of me--awful, of course, I look like a Neanderthal with a cornet.

The last shot will be of our late crowd after the rain stopped. Here's the story for Thursday:

It was extremely warm and muggy and rain had been predicted. Yet, all day--no rain. At approximately 7:45, just as everyone had arrived (Ziggy and I arrived early and held down a great spot on the bridge near the Isle of St. Louis side), it started to rain!

We stood around in the rain awhile (about five minutes), then Philippe suggested he drive us to our favorite Chinese place on the Left Bank and perhaps the rain will have stopped by the time we've eaten.

The rain did stop. We returned to a fairly vacant bridge.  Began playing about 9:15. When we played our usual opening number, "Spanish Shawl" the bridge was empty except for people passing by in both directions. By the time we finished "Shawl" we had a crowd! So from an evening that looked like it was going to be a big zero, we returned and we so afraid to lose the wonderfully large crowd that we didn't take a break until 10:30.

We picked up the instruments and played until about 11:05.
(Pont Neuf - on a better day)

Grandpa Horn

July 14th Make Room For Daddy

 

(Playing Le Petit Journal with Alfred & band)

 

Dear Daughters,

Reception by Laurence and boyfriend Gille (father of both her daughters, Otilla, 18, and Theoxane, 14) is nothing short of overwhelming.  Bedroom fixed up on 3rd fl., girls are going to country on vacation in two weeks, and Laurence and Gille go entire month of August and I'll have the entire place to myself until about Labor Day.

 

I'll be feeding their fish, their birds (number of finches), three cute chinchillas (the largest and cutest is Maurice) and two cats, Sandy and Carmel.

 

They absolutely refused to discuss rent money.  She agreed I might be allowed to help with some plumbing costs for the 3rd floor eventually.  She said "we just want you take your time and settle in and know this is your place again so you can play good jazz and enjoy Paris.

 

This has absolutely just floored me.  I did buy a bunch of groceries with Othilla including some good Cabernet, and have insisted they allow me to take them all out to dinner this weekend and they agreed, selecting Sunday.

 

Jeez, does your ol' man stumble into things or what?

 

Meanwhile Ziggy (my best friend and guitar player) is putting the word out to musicians.  He's tied up until Tuesday, with gigs, but we're having lunch Tuesday.
t is of course 1 o'clock in the morning and 10 a.m. Paris.  You can read this, perhaps over your morning coffee.

 

Philippe delivered about five musicians home in the wee hours throughout the city, and because I live the closest to the Peripherique (the beltway surrounding Paris, which I've seen spelled a variety of ways on signs--an "f" instead of "ph"), I was the last dropped off before Philippe returned to the Peripherique, the quickest route for him back to Fortenay-sous-bois.  As I waved good-bye while he made a U-turn it was 3:20!  Thus, I'm presently huddled closer to my hot cup of English breakfast tea than the laptop.

 

In brief, the evening went great.  I played every number of the evening except two, featuring Philippe, which I requested to give my lip a rest.  The lip only came close once to not delivering, but it was during the second set which lasted an ungodly 90 minutes.  The crowd kept responding enthusiastically so Philippe kept calling tunes instead of breaking after the usual 45 to 50 minutes.  Wonderfully he took my advice and featured himself at about the 75-min. mark, allowing my lip to recover for the final ten minutes before we broke.

 

(Auriel at the bar and with Madeleine)

I took a number of pictures and Oralie, the cute waitress (there are of course several of her), took some for me showing me playing and listening as someone took a solo.

 

I received nice applause from the audience for my singing as well as for solos. I sang "Deed I Do" plus two Hoagy Carmichael tunes, "Rockin' Chair" and "New Orleans".  "Rockin' Chair" got the biggest response because I add a few words of my own at the very end.  I gesture for the band to slow down (ritard, NOT retard) and to hold the final notes... while I sing:  "...yes I'm chained, chained to this rock-ing chair (and as the note is held, add) but with a little bit of Irish whiskey...and the ladies next door..."  It seemed everyone in the audience understood the words and produced the desired laughter and quite loud applause.

 

(Practicing in a loft)

Five additional musicians sat in near the end of the last set of the evening for about 20 minutes.  The cohesiveness our original unit had all evening suffered, but as is often the case the crowd has consumed a good bit of alcohol by this time of the evening/morning and usually responds to the unavoidable rise in the sound level by accepting "loud" for "good".  (Dolson would second this.)

 

(The band with guest washboard player - am in red suspenders)

The BAND:

 

Philippe "Alfred" Audibert (clarinet and tenor, alto and soprano saxophones);

 

Jacques Schneck (a pianist who swings, plays tasty solos and who kept absolutely flawless, perfect time, locked in perfectly with the string bass player who stood directly behind him); 

 

Edmond Caruana (string bass, or as the French call the instrument, "contrebasse", who performed some terrific solos, at times bending the strings to produce double harmonies);

 

(-green dress- Madeleine and her late husband used dance to our band in 1995.  After her husband died Philippe "Alfred" Audibert, our hot reedman, took her in and looks after her.  She tags along to all the music events and you'll see her in later pix dancing to our band as we play the streets. She's quite a crowd-pleaser and creates a wonderful off-beat look to the band, say, as this 80-year-old dancer gyrates to Oriental Strut and Spanish Shawl.  She also handles selling the CDs while the band is playing.  She refuses to take a cut of the money because she feels she owes everything to Alfred)

Benoit de Flamesnil (trombone, a very quick ear and smooth; not the earthy player of a Glenn Caulkins who played with the Golden Eagles and not the genius/monster type of Pierre, who plays with Gary Kiser; Benoit is somewhere in the middle, playing smooth solos and producing perfectly harmonic backup behind others as they solo.

 

And your daddy (cornet and vocals)... but you knew that.

 

Am returning to Le Petit Journal tonight and meeting Philippe there as he wants me to hear the band led by Jean-Pierre Morel.

 

The band features two cornets (Morel is one of them), trombone, three saxophone/clarinet players, piano, banjo, tuba and drums.  A 10-piece band featuring the music of King Oliver, Fletcher Henderson, Bennie Moton, among many  other legendary musician/leaders.
 
Will write more, so much is happening - and I sheepishly have to admit it's been raining off and on since I've been here and understand it's sunny and warm in Bellingham.

(mostly Americans in Paris)

Yesterday's music location came about because Philippe knows a keyboard player who plays daily (6 p.m. start) on the west side of the Musee d'Orsay, the beautiful museum wherein the largest collection of the French Impressionism paintings are displayed.  He wasn't going to be there yesterday so Philippe told him we'd take his place (usually between a couple of sketch artists and a guy who has a cardboard Mona Lisa set up and people can stick their heads in place of her's and have their pix taken; I believe this can be seen in the background of one of the shots).

 

While we had a nice large crowd that was very receptive and responsive, the problem was that they were too comfortable on the steps and too few got off their tushes and dropped Euros into the sax case.  It wasn't a bust,  but for roughly an hour and a half of playing we took in 58Euros (with the U.S. dollar in the toilet and now at $1.7 to 1 Euro that's about $98.60)  For the size of the crowd it was a bust. 

 

We couldn't get a bass player today.   Alain, our anesthesiologist bass player, was at his home in Normandy for a couple days.  He'll be with us today and tomorrow before leaving on his 15-day jaunt to a luxury hotel in Luxor, Egypt with a French jazz band.  How great a gig is that?

 

What was needed in this instance today was a young lady passing the hat as Madeleine Peyroux did for us in 1990 when she wasn't singing and Jamilla O'Shea, an Australian singer, did in 1995.  On the Left Bank people are strolling by and standing very near the band, and even though passing the hat will always make more money, people are much more inclined to throw something into the sax case when they're close to the band on the street.

 

ANYway, hope  you enjoy the pictures.  I just love the elephant!

 

Hugs to all,

Here's looking at you sweethearts!

Love.

Daddy
aka Grandpa Horn

July 2nd Disney Endings

(July 2007)(July 2008- still needs shutters and paint)

(old kitchen with my stove)

(kitchen as it was- can't really see mismatch of cabinets- gunk etc))

I woke up to the blazing hot mountain sun shining in my window. As I lay there I took a moment, today marked a year. I was a real Washingtonian. I’d paid taxes, gotten a speeding ticket, fought with city hall, made it through a winter and lived here when “Annie” (who lived in her truck) was relocated to highway 9 for feeding a bear and running tourists away. It was only 7:30 AM and my room was already feeling warm despite the fan churning over my bed. I peeked in Maryruth’s room. The bed was made. I went downstairs. Dean, who’s always been an early riser, was sitting in the kitchen. He said he was trying to be quiet so he wasn’t watching TV.

(kitchen with  new cabinets etc) As I brewed a pot of coffee, he chatted about his mom and how she wanted to take him to Disneyland™. I found this interesting, because Toby and I have never agreed on Disneyland™. She was always full of disdain when she spoke of The Magic Kingdom™. She had undoubtedly seen the error of her ways. Living in Canada had helped obviously improved her perspective. I was happy she’d come around when Dean announced he didn’t want to go. He felt at twelve he was well past Disneyland™. Stunned, I felt this kind this was bordering on child abuse. How could she? How did she transfer her petty Disneyland™ feelings to a child? It couldn’t be genetic as he is adopted. I would speak to her about this. Almost feeling personally insulted I poured a cup of coffee, sat down and calmly explained “Dean, Disneyland™ is for children of all ages. You are not too old.” Just then, as if on cue my brainwashed child walked in the room and said, “Yeah, have you ever been on Space Mountain™ or Indiana Jones™ huh?” Dean didn’t respond. He sat there blinking at us. He knew he was beat. This is a Disneyland™ home. We’ve got a framed “E” ticket on the wall – just like the Donaldsons (of course, Chris had theirs hanging by the toilet for a while, but that’s been remedied) and I have an Enchanted Tiki Room™ ride replica in the game room. I have this because Pea absolutely hates and despises the Tiki Room™, but he goes to demonstrate the depth of his love. He does not do this silently, he mimics the birds and the clacking of their beaks, but he does do it. I’ve not gone four-four times, but not far from it. We try to go every year – until now.

    (note: Enchanted Tiki Room)

I worked for the mouse for a while, I was in charge of the Princesses, you know Cinderella™ Pocahontas™, Snow White™ and Ariel™ and it wasn’t always an easy place to work. There are all sorts of nicknames for it like Mouseshvitz and Duckhow and The Tragic Kingdom- but that’s different.

Disneyland™ to me is a place where the details are thought of. In each of the different lands everything works together. The flowers, the railings, the costumes, the buildings, the names and the appearance of the restaurants and even the trashcans are themed. There are people who pick up trash in very small areas all day long to keep the place immaculate. I appreciate this. While working on Fort Flashback, I learned from one of the men who agreed to be a history consultant for us that several years back, Disney was attempting a similar venture. I think it was going to be named “Disney’s America”, a history-themed park where they would re-create the Boston Tea Party every hour on the hour kind of thing. Their misstep as I saw it, was trying to do it on the East coast on historic land. Why would you go to the Disney version when you could go to the real thing I wondered? I felt great knowing they’d thought so much of an idea and pursued it so far that we were truly on the right track. I sipped my coffee as Henry rattled off all the reasons I should take HIM to Disneyland™.

(The kids pictures done @ Disneyland)

    Mike arrived, had a cup of coffee, gave the geese fresh water and poked through all the trash, and old books he left behind. I guess I’m supposed to get rid of it all. I packed Dean a lunch for the road and Mike graciously took Dean to SeaTac for me. It made the books and trash a little easier but not much.

I poured another cup of coffee and looked out the window. It was dry as Lusk, Wyoming. Evil Evelyn stood in the middle of my dustbowl with her pink bandana flapping.

I stayed in my pink pajamas all day puttering about the house tidying things up and putting things away. There were a million projects to do and things to take care of, but I’d think about that tomorrow. Instead, I spent the day chatting on the phone with Barbara as I cleaned the kitchen. This was a day of rest and reflection. We arrived a year ago – today. So many things didn’t happen this year I thought would happen. But so many others I didn’t expect did. I guess that’s life in a nutshell. The house isn’t done, but it’s come a long way. Henry doesn’t want to go back to Los Angeles unless it’s to Disneyland™. He’s excited about school.

    My father has come and gone and now is living in France. Naturally, he’s landed on his feet and is residing in an entire third floor apartment in a house in Paris with friends. He’s been invited to play with a “hot-hot reed player” at Le Petit Journal St. Michel and seems Notre-Dame-stomping-S.C.-kind-of-happy.

    Mike got a call today after Dean took off. He has a great job opportunity and he’s only lived his new place two days, so he’s excited about the prospects and feels the move was exactly right for him. Maybe he’ll meet a nice woman in Tacoma; there are a lot of women in his apartment complex he can dazzle with all his Jeopardy knowledge. Hmm.

    My mother’s friend, Marie called wanting to know, now that’s been a year did I regret anything. “Are you sorry you moved?” She queried. Still in my pajamas, I sat in the sunroom looking out the window while we talked. I mulled it over. Did I regret anything? Yes. I regretted a few decisions early on, people I hired, people I trusted. Money I might have spent differently-things like that, but did I regret the move? No. Absolutely not. I love the farm, the animals and the work. Do I regret pursuing a dream? No.  My mother used to say physically she wasn’t strong enough she’d never made it as a pioneer – they’d have left her on the side of the Oregon Trail, but it occurs to me now that she assumed she’d go. I guess that’s how I’m wired, I have to try. If things don’t work out that’s OK. But I have to try.

   
(game room then) (game room now To celebrate our anniversary Henry and I decided to watch “The Golden Compass” as we’d finished listening to it a year-ago as we were driving up Mosquito Lake Road. Before we could watch a movie, the animals needed to be taken care of. Henry went out looking for the geese. “Mom! I can’t find them!” he yelled almost frightened. I ran outside as I had a hunch my apron-string geese hadn’t gone too far. Sure enough they were in the shop looking for someone anyone to supervise or talk to. They get a little clingy. We herded them in to their cozy enclosure. As always Quackmire was the last one in. We were just clipping the pen shut when we heard a crash in the barn. “The goats!” We both yelled. We ran to the barn. Pea’s big barn doors he’d made had been left closed all day to keep the heat out and provide a nice cool respite from the sun. Luckily, as I guess I didn’t close one of their gates all the way. We walked in and it was goat pandemonium. Riley was king of the hill on top of the round bale. Goat poop everywhere – Henry noticed this immediately as he was barefoot. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. Miracle was braying her head off as if she’d been trying to tell someone all day about these hooligans. She wanted extra pellets for the day she’d had. No harm done as the packer pellet bin was still secure and all they’d done was eat hay.
  

    “Riley, you come down from there this instant.” I commanded in my teacher voice. Riley looked at me with his big brown eyes. Bleated a time or two and jumped down. I opened the gate and told them to get back in their pen. Sheepishly, they complied. They were full and ready for bed.

    “Well, I guess we don’t have to really feed them much.” Henry said looking on the bright side.

    The goats and Miracle closed up for the night, the geese nestled in the garage, Irish asleep on the porch, Emmett snoozing on the back of his chair, Vivian at my feet, Deli lounging in the sunroom, Alvin & Scarlet curled up in the cat tree, the cow bells clanging in the field and Luther snoring at my side, Henry sipping his cookie dough milkshake we were just about to pop the movie in when the phone rang. It was Lisa. “I’m just leaving work and I smelled a smell I haven’t smelled in a year!” She said excitedly.

    “What?”

    “You know that smell, the smell of rain coming down on dry, parched earth.”

    I went out onto the porch. “I smell it too.” Moments later, the sky lit up with lightening, thunder cracked “We have lightening.” Rain began to pour down. “It’s raining!”

    “Maybe your corn will make it after all. Don’t put a way those pumpkin seeds just yet. Maybe there’s still time.”

    “Maybe.” Maybe my friend, Gary did that rain dance I asked for.

    “Happy Anniversary.”

    “You too.”

June 17th What Tomorrow Will Bring

    We waited and waited, my father paced and paced, finally I sent him out on the porch with a book promising to call him the moment the doctor phoned. We waited. The clock ticked. Nothing.

    "Maybe they didn't get the results back yet. That happens. The pathologist could have been slammed."

    “If I don’t hear anything in an another hour I’m going to call.” My father said in a tone that implied he was simply going to confirm he was death’s door. Another hour passed and another and finally he called. Nothing, someone would call him back.

    After about an ice age around 3:00PM the screaming phone broke the silence. We all froze. Henry and I were both upstairs without a phone. Henry dashed down the stairs on the level of Michael Johnson, but my dad beat him to it. We listened. My father stood there in silence, his eyes welling with tears, he hung-up. A sound like a wounded animal came from deep within him.

    "I’ve got it. I’ve got another cancer.”

    "Tell me exactly what was said.”

    “Well, it wasn’t the doctor. He’s on vacation, he’ll call me later, but of the two sites, one was malignant. Stage one bladder cancer. I can’t go to Paris. My chance is over.” He stood there crushed. Defeated.

    “Don’t panic yet. Remember - Mom’s was stage three and aggressive. I don’t think it’s going to kill you I think it’s an inconvenience.”

    I guess I should call your sister.” He said haltingly.

    “I’ll call her.” I did and she as usual had some interesting things to say. She wondered if he couldn’t be treated with oral medication and perhaps he could be checked at the VA in Germany, as well as great questions. She started my wheels spinning and I hopped on the computer ending up on a medical website giving full descriptions and statistics as well as treatment for bladder cancer. Over many bouts with cancer, I’ve learned you’ve got to be informed and ask the right questions. The more I read, the more I wondered if my father hadn’t already had treatment. The description on the site of TUR was identical to my father’s biopsy procedure and follow-up.

    “Dad, I think you’ve already had your first treatment. When the doctor calls ask him about this” I showed him the site. He sat down with a glass of scotch and began reading.

    When the doctor called, it was confirmed. He had done all he could do when he did the biopsy and no further treatment was recommended for four months.

    My dad announced with twinkling eyes he was leaving for Paris in the morning. “It might be my last chance. My last hurrah, who knows what the future will bring?”

    “In the morning?  You’re ready? You’ve cleaned out the apartment?”

    “I only wish I could have gotten the stove cleaner.”

    “I’m flying standby on Jet Blue so I might as well take a shuttle down to Seattle.”
I called Lisa. “He’s leaving.”

    “He is. When?”

    “In the morning.”

    “That’s dad.”

    “Yep. Grasshopper. He wants to spend the night at your house and have you take him to the shuttle at the ValuInn in the morning.”

    “Hmm. Tell him, I’ll take him to Seattle.”

    “He said he was going to take a shuttle, because he’s on standby. He got a pass from Erickson.”

    “No. I’ll take him and I’ll take the kids to the aquarium. We’ll make a day of it.”

    “I know Henry will be thrilled. He loves aquariums. Remember when he went on a date with Kemi (my friend, his second grade teacher) I think he wanted to marry her after that. I’ll have Mike drop him off at your house after gymnastics. I’ll throw a box of CapriSuns™ in his bag for the ride.”

    This meant, my father was leaving in less than an hour for his trip because he had a practice/good-bye session with some musicians.”

    He came over to say good-bye and give me last minute financial instructions. I was to deposit this and do that, and had I made his reservation on the shuttle yet? I explained the plan.

(giddy with excitement)

    "Well she better be able to get those kids out of the house on time. I want to be early.” This was stating the obvious. My father likes to be six hours earlier than anyone else for everything – after all he has a book.  For a 6:00 AM flight he’d leave the night before. I told him having had a flight attendant for a roommate; I knew you could check the flight loads. Shannon always did this because she flew standby a lot.  He called Jet Blue and checked. He didn’t need to be there at the crack of dawn. The children would live another day.

     It was emotional when he left. We both were stunned at how the day had turned around, but I was happy he was off to live. It was hard having him here knowing how unhappy he’d become. Smiling and waving promising to email he drove away. I looked over his apartment - there was much to be done. "didn't get the stove clean enough" In order to get it that way, you have to wipe it off. Our ideas of clean differ.

I consoled my self with the sod cutter I’d rented from Home Depot™. I was starting the new walkway to my front door. Maybe it was symbolic?

(Mike and friends)

The next day, having completed step one, I was in Lowes™ getting concrete for the path, when my phone rang. It was Henry they were having a great time at the aquarium he was going to get Lisa to send me a picture he’d taken on the phone we got him for graduation. ("Here is the picture of the skate I was telling you about. It  really was moving around  like it could see us and trying to get our attention. Looks like some alien child.")

    As Mike and I wound up the 9 with 800lbs of concrete in my van my phone rang again. I expected it was Henry over eager to dial someone.

    “Hi. I just wanted to tell you I’m sitting on the plane and they’ve just shut the doors. We’re going to taxi from the gate in a moment. I just want to say I love you and I appreciate everything you’ve done. I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I know how hard you tried."

    "Do you know what you're doing after you get off the plane?”

    "No not yet. I'll figure it out."

    "Just be safe and have a great time."

    “I will Honey, I love you dearly. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you when I land. Au revoir.”

    "Bon Chance." Click.

June 15th Wishin' & Hopin' & Thinkin' & Prayin'

Having rolled out of bed, Henry and I slopped through the wet grass to the car at about 6:30 AM, loading Tom’s suitcases while he finished a few last minute things and wrote a host of instructions for me regarding a myriad of projects.

On the way to the airport, we listened to Sissy Spacek drawl “To Kill A Mockingbird”. No one wanted to admit we were going to have to say goodbye. Again.

We stopped at Starbucks™ and picked up a couple of coffees. Tom insists on going through his medium routine.

    “You mean a Grande, Sir?”
    “A medium black coffee.” He delivers this with a straight face.
    “A Grande.”
    “A medium.”
    “I think you want a Grande.”
    “I want the medium-size coffee.”
    “Any flavoring?”
    “Just a medium black coffee.”

    The baristas get a little nervous and confused, but he won’t play. He stands there deadpan, firmly ordering his medium coffee. He’s always been this way – he says. But I remember back when he used to brew “Irish Crème”.

    “I don’t like those fruffity-doofity drinks”

    We sat sipping our mediums in front of the airport terminal. Henry had made a huge rhyming card covered in tools, which ended by suggesting Tom might want to change Henry’s name to DeWalt™(a power tool brand).

    When the inevitable came and Tom got out of the car and we were ready for a weepy parting of the hearts Tom spotted some guy in a NASCAR shirt. Suddenly, he was giving the guy garbage about his driver versus Tom’s driver in his “team” over my shoulder as he hugged me goodbye. Henry rolled his eyes and said, “That’s my dad; he’ll talk to anyone about NASCAR.” True. He hasn’t been into NASCAR for very long, but once his son, Craig, got into it Tom made a Herculean effort to find out about it and somewhere along the way he got completely addicted. I could see him still yucking it up with the guy in the NASCAR shirt in my rearview mirror as we drove off.

    We just made a quick stop at Home Depot for a few cans of paint to paint the guest room and a can of spray paint. We're going to outline the new walkway Henry and I decided we have to have. We've gotten our feet wet one too many times. Resolved, we headed home to do chores and clean up. (proposed outline)
One father down and one to go, we were actually putting on some town clothes and heading back into Bellingham to watch my dad play at Boundary Bay Brewery.

    Henry couldn’t sit in the bar so we hooked him up with a chair just on the other side of the divider where he could see his grandpa. I sipped my glass of wine and watched my father perform as I’ve done so many times before. This time was different. He looked distracted and a bit sad. I could tell he really wasn’t recovered enough to play, but that never stops him. I watched and realized why he wanted to go back to Paris so much. Although he really enjoys the other musicians, they don’t play a lot of traditional jazz. For the first time I understood what he was talking about. I only hope he can go.

My favorite memory of Father’s Day isn’t of my dad, Tom or even my grandfather, it’s of Chris. Years ago, Lisa, Chris, Quinn and Henry were driving around in the Valley heat on Father’s Day looking at houses - Phoebe wasn’t even born yet. We’d spent the day in and out of places and Chris finally complained he was starving and it was, after all, Father’s Day, didn’t that mean anything?  Lisa promptly drove through McDonalds™ and ordered up some food. When all was said and done, poor Chris crumpled up in the back seat had to share his cold fries with both kids. He’s a damn good sport.

Lisa, Chris and the girls strolled in out of the sunshine. Tired of sitting by himself, Henry and the girls got their own table in the back – we tried to order fries for both tables– now the traditional Father’s Day food in the Donaldson home. They didn’t have any. Chris was able to console himself with the sampler platter.
 

Boundary Bay - 2008

June 14th One Man's Treasure

 

(in honor of flag day)

    An honest to goodness work from morning ‘til night Ingalls-type-family-grab-your-own-food-on-the- run-workday, plus Mike. Cement was poured, gates were built, posts painted, forests of plants tamed.
(Henry begins his task)

(Henry works hard)

  (Henry keeps going)

(Not sure if the posts had more paint)
Henry continued his manhood training as father and son worked side by side. Per usual, the geese supervised while my father poked his head out of his apartment every few hours to see if we needed his opinion. Tired and worn down from the biopsy he was like “Uncle Joe, movin’ kinda slow at the junction, Petticoat Junction”.
    (father and son)  (Not my shining moment)
    My dad is at the point where he’s getting a feeling of impending doom. He’s sure he’s got full-blown bladder cancer and will be stuck here with me for the rest of his pitiful life. Strange that my paradise is someone else’s idea of hell.
(Gander with identity crisis - thinks he's a flamingo)

(Clara stretching her wings)

    I took Miracle on a little outing in her to practice walking on a lead. She did very well and even ventured to step on the scary rock driveway she’s been terrified to cross. But when I looked up I realized she could see Tom and was determined to go visit him. She grazed leisurely on grass near the geese that spooked her a bit, but she was ok. This was the first time she was out with the dogs around. I was nervous they might rush her and we’d have a wild kicking donkey on our hands. But Luther and Vivian stayed a respectful distance away. They greeted her and backed off. Irish tried to do the same, but his overwhelming puppiness got the better of him. Despite my pleas and screams he went and sniffed her hindquarters. I had visions of her cracking his head open. I was frantic, but nothing could be done. I had her lead and I wasn’t going to get in the line of fire. Graciously she allowed this invasion of privacy, but when he decided a donkey leg might be taste like chicken and wrapped his teeth around her, she drew the line. Irish received a swift kick. It was a warning kick; she didn’t finish him off or even greatly injure him. Humbled he limped off to go lick his wounds. Ahh, he learned he there is something bigger and tougher than the giant puppy – he was shocked.

    Being Tom’s last night, we drank leftover sangria and watched a movie. Watching a movie with Tom is a little like being by yourself. Within a few minutes he’s asleep. This comforts me on lonely nights when I pretend he’s there with me. Henry kept an eye on him and woke him up every few minutes. We were watching “Mad Money” with Diane Keaton. I mention this because I kept thinking of trying to get a job. I’ve been unsuccessful at every turn. After two sessions of role-playing, Home Depot™ hasn’t called me back. I thought I did really well when the big question was “What do you do when a disgruntled customer comes in and she’s throwing a party that night and…” I thought I’m in like Flynn. That question was right in my wheelhouse. But no. It’s been two weeks and not a word.

I thought of this when I was watching the movie. The premise is Diane Keaton is a Palisades kind of non-working educated woman who hits hard times and is overqualified, but gets a job as a janitor. As a result she devises a brilliant plan to rip off the Federal Reserve. I kept wondering if this was why I wasn’t getting hired.

After the educational film, Henry begged to sleep with his daddy so I retired to Henry’s room. No dogs, no cats, no snoring, a perfect night sleep for my weary bones.

June 13th A Good Time

   (Henry's teacher's gift)

    This morning I woke up very early and began trolling dew-covered ditches, hillsides and the pond for wildflowers. My trusty companion, Irish, trotted along next to me chewing on my reject pile. When I was done I was soaked, but I had created Henry’s teacher’s gift. I couldn’t afford much, but I picked up the vase at TJ MAXX™ for a song.

Creativity, I am convinced, is born of poverty. When I bought my first home I couldn’t really afford to do much, but I couldn’t stand it the way it was, so I had to get creative. I ripped out the bathroom and went around collecting broken tile from different stores – stuff they were going to discard. Toby and I went to Home Depot™ and got a little pamphlet on how to tile and set to improving my bathroom. Much to everyone’s surprise – especially my mother’s -  it looked fabulous. Thus I realized, if I’d had the money, I never would have gone to the trouble.

The day has rambled on. Henry had his “fifth grade culmination”, which was actually a small award assembly. He went on to a swim party on Lake Whatcom while Tom and I raced back to the house to get ready for our celebratory barbecue. With barely a word to each other we furiously tidied, cleaned, marinated and set up tables.

We’d decided to have our dinner out by the pond so we could enjoy the evening, rain or shine, thanks to our covered pavilion. This meant hauling Tom’s new half-gas half-briquette grill out there in the truck. He loves it because it looks like a steam locomotive.

Meanwhile, Mike and my father are down at the hospital in Mt. Vernon. My father is having a biopsy for bladder cancer. It is an outpatient procedure so he should be home by this evening. Mike’s happy because he can sit and read while he waits and avoid having to clean the house. He calls in every few hours to update us on my father’s condition. “He’s still sleeping” seems to sum it up.

    The  “guests”, meaning Lisa, Chris, Annie, Quinn, Phoebe and Henry, as well as Diane, Jordan and Lauren all arrived late. Thank the Lord.

    Despite our best efforts, we haven’t gotten the Mosquito Magnets™ up and running so we scattered tiki torches filled with Citronella™ around. This was not terribly effective, but we made do.

    Just after everyone arrived, my tired-but-otherwise-OK father arrived with Mike. A few more guests also made an appearance. Lloyd, Matilda, Quackmire, Cleveland, Clara, Ruthie, Alfred and Mabel waddled up for their first swim in the pond. They’ve turned out to be very clingy. These geese don’t like to be left alone and always want to be where the action is. Once they arrived we all held our breath waiting to see them frolic in the pond. They didn’t. They hated the pond and were afraid of the water. Apparently, I have the only geese this side of the Mississippi with hydrophobia. We tried putting them in the water to show them how wonderful it is, but they would just flap wildly, squawking frantically until they reached land once more. Confused, stunned and full of disbelief, we left them to their own devices, not wanting to emotionally scar them. After that they flapped contentedly around the party, coming in the pavilion to check on Tom’s cooking and say hello. Weirdoes. (Lisa giving swimming lessons to Cleveland) (more lessons)

    Little Chris Donaldson showed up with Roxy, Andrea (a new girlfriend he’s had a crush on since the sixth grade), and he also brought a surprise guest – his horse. He trailered “Oz” over for Henry to ride as a present. (Little Chris & Andrea)

(Henry on Oz)

    All in all, our first summer evening was relaxed and wonderful. The kids walked the goats and rode the tractor, played badminton and floated in the boat while we ate Tom's delicious ribs, cosmic beans, corn and watermelon, sipped my sangria and downed Diane’s brownies. (Jordan and her mother - Diane)

June 12th Blowin' It

   

    Henry has decided to take beginning band in the fall. Furthermore, he’s decided to blow the cornet like his grandfather; consequently, he got a stunning cornet for his birthday from Grandpa Horn and a few lessons. Today was the first one.

    I could hear them in the sunroom while I made dinner. There was first an extensive introduction to music. Henry was shown the staff and explained the “language of music” and how it’s written. He was given vocabulary words and a quiz. Then my father played some music “demonstrating” I suppose. Finally Henry tried and tried and tried. He sputtered and honked and bleated. The sounds were amusing rather than annoying. I couldn’t help but be amused as I finally realized what a good idea the little spit valve is.

    Intermittently, I would hear my father play and then back to the foghorn. I was surprised at my father’s patience. Generally, he’s not very tolerant of beginners, but today was different. This was his grandson he was passing his knowledge to. I wondered if Henry would stick with it and they would play together someday. I imagined them years from now - both drinking cabernet looking at un-shaven French women at some sidewalk café.
 

“How’m I doing Grandpa?”

    “Comin’ along, comin’ along.” Followed by sounds one might surmise a wounded moose would make. It takes time.

    “Grandpa? Did I do it the way you wanted? Was that right?”

    “Just fine. Keep practicing.” The key changed and I thought of elk during the rut.

    “Mom! Can you hear me?”

“Yeees I can hear you from here.” I called as I sautéed the onions.

“Grandpa, my lips are tingling.”

    “It’s not easy is it.” It wasn’t a question.

June 11th Getting Sleepy

(Emmett and Scarlett)

    Since Tom arrived, I have been reduced from “job foreman” to “little helper.” I’m grateful really, but it requires an attitude adjustment. Instead of holding the drill, I’m holding a handful of screws and the level. There is no question that his work is superior so I relinquish my position willingly.

    It’s light until after 10:00PM, so we’ve been working from 7:00AM until after 9:30PM furiously trying to get everything done on our home improvement list before Pea leaves. I know it isn’t going to happen but we still try. On the bright side, the front porch is now complete – well, I'll have to sand and paint it after he leaves but the steps, uprights, gate including the latch are all finished and functioning. Check.

   
Our next project is the fence we designed to surround the area that will one day be a patio. The first task of course in the fence building process is to dig the holes for the posts. The job I dread most. This was the job I was so happy I wouldn’t have to do because handsome and strong Prince Charming was here and would save me from the big, bad posthole digger. The fence is calculated to need 32 holes dug - a foot wide by 18 inches –24 inches deep. Unfortunately, my fairy godmother neglected to tell me Prince Charming has a bad back. I knew Tom wore a back brace when he worked, but I never dreamed this would mean I would be digging postholes. But there I was, in the pouring rain digging hole after hole while he came by with his giant measuring stick to tell me whether or not I'd gone deep enough. I tried to go into a Zen like state concentrating on the task, enjoying the pain. I thought of happy things like taking care of unsightly under arm granny swing - just in time for summer tees. I tried to convince myself of good forturne, after all in Los Angeles I could be paying twenty dollars an hour for this kind of torment. Of course, I wouldn’t be getting this facial and full body mud treatment at the same time, very few places offer this exclusive combination.

    My father, although in his seventies is still as strong as an ox (and I know of what I speak) came outside to survey the situation. He's not much for chores, he usually rolls his eyes back and moans. This time he took one look at me grabbed the posthole digger, and said the nicest thing I think I’ve ever heard, “Hey, I’ll dig for awhile, why don’t you take a break?” I think I heard angels sing.

    Thirty-two holes later, I found myself exhausted. We were making good progress, but discovered a rotten cottonwood about to fall down in the cluster of trees where we’re putting up the fence. We considered trying to pull them with the tractor, but when I learned the leading cause of death among beaver is falling trees they cut themselves I thought it best to call our tree guy, Nick. After all if the experts make fatal mistakes then who are we?

    In the mean time, we began mixing concrete and setting posts while the geese waddled about giving unwanted advice. We were watching them investigate what were doing when suddenly we saw Lloyd put his entire face in a glob of concrete. He pulled it out and his bill was gray. His nose holes plugged up. I ran him down pinned him on the ground and swished his head under water in the baby pool to clear him out. Silly goose.

(Lloyd eats cement)

    Strange as it may seem, Nick called in the afternoon, and was available and willing to come out right away. When surveyed the situation he told us the "leaner" wouldn't even need to be sawed it was so far gone. With the help of his friend and Prince Charming, the "Halloween" tree, the "leaner" and one I didn't even know was bad all came down lickety-split.
(Strong and handsome doing manly stuff with local logger)

("Halloween" tree coming down)

    At days end, I can’t keep my eyes open. I can barely stay awake through dinner. I couldn’t figure it out at first, then I remembered what I call the “Lisa Phenomena”- I fall asleep whenever I go to Lisa’s house – When I'm there I have no responsibilities I have no chores, no goats to feed, no stalls to clean and I simply check out. I start by just sitting down a minute. I sink back into her overstuffed sofa and begin taking long blinks. My eyes get heavy and everything seems warm and fuzzy. The next thing I know hours have slipped by.  I think having Tom here creates the same thing. He’s come to take charge and so I relax. He shoulders my burden - I suppose you could say he is the stud and I am a lowly 2x4.

June 3rd Talkin' Turkey

    How many  nickie-new-guy-farm-folk does it take to unhook a tractor? My dad and I felt like numskulls trying to pry the stupid thing apart. I’d put the mower on twice, but I’d never had to take it off. I got the drive shaft off all right, but the two sides that swing on one arm - each on a pin - were ridiculous. And I did not want to call Duane again for more instructions. I’m sure I’m already discussed around the coffee pot in Lynden with chuckles and snickers. So we continued to pound with the sledgehammer. driving the tractor back and forth, trying any way we could think of to loosen the darn thing -  while all the time my dad kept repeating, “This can not be the way you’re supposed to do it. This is insane.” Eventually we did get it off.  I don’t know what he was complaining about. My entire life he’s “fixed” things by hitting them with a hammer – not always with positive results, but in this case it worked.

    Fresh from our success we headed down to the pond. My father drove and I walked to get some steps in, as I’d had to stuff myself into my jeans these last few mornings. I guess the elastic waist on my coveralls hasn’t been doing me any favors, so I’ve been trying to wear my jeans. It seems I’ve been rewarding myself a little too well for a hard day’s work. Unfair that I have to work like a farmhand and still eat like a city girl.
 

    The job started out much easier than I anticipated. Together we lifted one of Wally’s trees, hooked the cable around it in two places and off we went. My dad drove, and I walked back to the pasture to deposit our first load. Simple. My dad was smiling. “This is working better than I ever expected.” We went back for Tom’s next tree we were about to steal from our resident logger. I wondered what Wally would think when he woke up to find his trees missing. Would he go into a beaver rage? Would he be confused? Or was he watching us and plotting his revenge?
   
(Irish assists)

    The second log we got from the woodpile. It required a bit more effort, but not too much, and, again with Irish’s help, we put it next to the first. Another log, another thousand steps for me. Was it my imagination or were my jeans fitting better already? The third log was where we hit a snag. Wally hadn’t severed the tree from the stump completely. Shoddy workmanship. So we’d have to use the chainsaw before we could get it. Seems simple enough.

(Anna in the pasture with flowers)

    We got the chainsaw out and looked at it. Neither one of us had used this one before. We bought it last summer and either Tom or a workman used it. After much fidgeting and wiggling we figured out how to get the gas cap off. I looked in my file where I keep all the manuals, but it wasn’t there. We tried again. We pulled and pushed and toggled the switches, but not even a sputter. We downloaded a manual; we stared at it and finally we decided – like it or not, we were beat. My dad would take it back to Al’s where we bought it, and have them show him how to work the “farm boss”.

    Not wanting to quit for the day since it was only 7:30PM and there were at least two more hours of light left, I threw my coveralls on over my jeans and drove to town in the truck. I love driving Daisy the farm truck. She's got a springy bench seat and windshield wipers that have their own personality. As I'm bouncing along I suddenly start talking like I'm on Hee Haw. I sing truck songs to myself.

    I saw my neighbor Renata walking along, so I stopped. She told me there was a big community meeting tonight about releasing wild turkeys in the area. She thought that would go with our camp there perfectly. I told her it was something Tom had wanted and I drove on. No one had told me about the meeting. I guess I wasn't one of "them" yet.

    I got to Lowes™ and started loading 4X4X8 treated posts onto a big cart. I needed more than I could probably fit in the back of the truck, but I'd get enough to get Tom started on the fence for the dogs. I was feeling mighty proud of myself when I dropped a post on my fingernail. Intense pain swept over my body and I had to think to breathe. Luckily, I'd gotten a "Beef Master" tomato plant that had cool moist soil from their garden center and I used it as my makeshift "ice".

    After that, I let the nice eager guy with the gloves load the wood while I stood by chatting up another fella.  "You building a fence?" he asked.

    "Yep," I replied in truck talk. I glanced over. He had a white truck, too.

    "I built a fence just a little while ago. Real beauty."

    "Gets expensive. Lot of trips." The idea is you don't want to talk too much - no extra chitchat.

    "Yep. Never can get everything the first time." Long pause. "You grow up in Deming?" Whooo hoo.

      As I drove home, I called Tom. "I've got wood and cement in the back of my truck as I'm driving along Mt. Baker Highway."

    "Oooh. Are you wearing your coveralls?"

    "Yep."

May 23rd A Spooonful of Sugar

    (Marine Park)

    Henry had a big test from noon to three at the school district office, that combined with the heartbreak I decided not to send him to school in the morning. Instead, I let him sleep in have a good breakfast do some chores like clean the cat box and the toilets, before we headed in to town. I didn’t want to send him the wrong message about missing school, but I thought he might get all soppy and messed up if he went to sit next to Kanyisha (they’re seat partners) before the big test.

        Once he and his James Herriot book were in the testing room, I ran around and did corn and pumpkin seed research. I found a variety of answers to “how much corn seed do you need for an acre of land?” One place said five pounds and another fifteen. I made some calls and asked a couple of other farmers. I guess it’s like an airline ticket, no one really knows the price.

    While I was driving around, my dad called “I have to cancel my flight.”

    “What did the doctor find?”

    “He said he didn’t find any tumors but he found areas that are highly suspicious.”
  
     “I’m sorry Dad, but let’s not worry too much until we know for sure. There’s always plenty of time to worry. Think of how far science has come since my mom. But you’ll have to talk to the airline. It can't be too bad or they'd have seen more. I think this will just be a postponement.”

    “I know the doctor said if it was his father he wouldn’t let him go. He’d make him have a biopsy. I wouldn’t do it if it weren’t for you girls.”

    “I know. You’ve been my father a long time.”

    “I’m going to call your sister.”

    “Do you want me to call her?”

    “No. I want to talk to her. I play tonight.”

    "Don't forget to call the airline. With a doctor's note you should be able to get all the money back or a credit for your flight when you go."

    "OK. I'll call. Bye."
   
    "Dad? I love you."

    "I love you dearly."