Jewelry Diversion

Instead of writing about our recent Florida trip*, I’m writing about jewelry. I love jewelry and have lots of it. I like it because I don’t have to try it on in a tiny room with ugly mirrors, and it lasts forever.

Two special items:

On New Year’s Eve, 2000, my husband and I were in a nasty traffic accident when a guy in a pickup ran a red light, totaling my car and sending us to the emergency room, where we greeted the new millennium on adjoining gurneys. Released in the wee hours of New Year’s Day, we had to wait hours for a taxi (in retrospect we should have called a friend or relative to pick us up). When I slid across the taxi seat, I found this pinky ring, and considered it a talisman of survival. It’s a trifle loose and I’ve lost it several times but it’s always turned up again.

Talisman

Last November I lost it in my car while negotiating a twisty driveway. I knew it had to be in the car but could never find it, even after thorough vacuuming and searching through the vacuum bag. I had given it up for lost this time.

Getting into the car at a grocery store in Florida, I thought I must have lost an earring when I saw something metallic on the mat. I was flabbergasted when I picked it up. After all those months it was shaken loose from whatever crevice held it.

The main reason for the Florida trip was to see my sister Pat, my cousin Kay, and members of her family who were visiting my sister and brother-in-law from England.

Our grandmother came from Whitby, and I love visiting there, especially looking at the beautiful jet jewelry in the shops. Kay brought me this necklace, a sweet reminder of her, of Whitby, and of our Gran.

Jet is hard fossilized stone that was used for buttons, jewelry and the like before plastics were available. Queen Victoria made it fashionable, and it is the origin of the term “jet black.”

UK and US relatives. The three cousins, Kay, Pat and I are at the right front.

* The visit to the relatives was wonderful and we laughed a lot. I like to think someday I’ll also laugh about the rest of it, but for now I’m still trying to recover from the heat, humidity, mosquitoes, crowds, illness (severe sinus headaches) and Disney World with an eight-year-old. It falls into the category of “a supposedly fun thing I’ll never do again” (thank you, David Foster Wallace), or “what was I thinking?” or, simply, “just shoot me.”

Bittersweet end of day at Disney World.

Nature presented us with a goodbye gift as we left Disney World.

OK, so I wrote about the trip after all.

Thanks to my sweet, patient husband for his trip planning, driving and generally being a good sport through it all.

 

 

Life’s a B—

How you fill in the blank may depend on whether you’re an optimist or a pessimist, or maybe whether you love or hate the beach.

Last week I swung between the two views. The grand-kids, 11 and seven, are cousins, and are as different from each other a their mothers (my daughters) are. Grandson is smart (and sometimes smart-mouthed), bookish and pretty self-sufficient. Granddaughter is a little sprite,  flitting around wanting to play and be entertained. Fortunately they both love the water.

Bryan reading in the car

The actual beach time, at Port Aransas, was as much fun as ever. The water was a nice temperature, not sea-weedy, and the beach was clean and fairly uncrowded. The surf was perfect–fun but not scary. I’m grateful my grandchildren love playing in the surf as much as I do. I even taught my granddaughter how to body surf, and the kids bickered over shared a boogie board.

Gary and Bryan

Chloe and me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bryan was less camera-shy than Chloe 

 

 

A rare moment of repose for me (photo by Bryan)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But because the July Texas sun is brutal, beach time was limited to three or four hours max, with frequent shade, snack, re-sunscreening and water breaks. That left many other hours to fill. Early morning and evening were good for walks, especially on the fishing pier at the house in Rockport where we stay. The poison hours were late afternoon, after the ferry ride back from Port A and a little quiet time. I admit I caved and let Chloe watch more TV than I would have liked, thereby exposing Bryan to more screen time than his parents would approve, but Nick and Cartoon Network provided a relatively harmless reprieve, along with a kid-friendly movie an evening or two. (“Up” was so much funnier this time, watching it with the kids, who loved the crazy dogs and the huge [female] bird, “Kevin.”

Chloe and Gary fishing (unsuccessfully)

 

The kids were fascinated by a dead fish being eaten by a blue crab. (I took closeups of it but I’ll spare you the gore.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I swear every time we go that it’s the last time I’ll take those two together, especially in the teeth of summer, but it’s kind of like childbirth–you forget the pain and appreciate the results. On the last day, the kids, who had spatted and bickered like siblings, got along beautifully. Bryan commented that they’re either at each other’s throats or, “What’s the opposite of that?” “Playing nicely,” I replied.

One of the days in Port A we took a long break for lunch at the ultimate beach bar/restaurant, Moby Dick’s, and mooched around the souvenir shops. I gave them each $5. Chloe bought some sand dollars and a necklace for her mom; Bryan bought only a $1 sea bean and kept the rest.

Taking on a shark Moby Dick’s

Gary and his pirate bud.

Chloe modeling the necklace she bought for mommy

My new friend

Into the belly of the beast, where at least it’s shady.

 

Gamma Gramma

This is my “off” week with grandchildren. We had Chloe all last week, and her cousin Bryan, 11, for a couple of days. We went to Hamilton Pool, one of those iconic Texas swimming holes that’s been loved to death. We had to wait an hour and a half just to get IN, in the hot car. The kids were more patient than I was. Even with limited admissions it was very crowded,  and the water is murkier than I remember. But the kids had fun and I don’t ever plan to go back.

Crowds at Hamilton Pool

I love these two “babes.’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Later they had a good time in the condo pool.

Inventing wrong ways to use a toy…

… and enjoying it the right way, sort of.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the morning they made yarn harnesses for Chloe’s stuffed lamb and Bryan’s stuffed manatee (named, of course, “Manny”) and bungee jumped them over the loft railing. They also got into the costumes and came down one time as Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus. Next time Bryan wore the scary “Fly” costume and Chloe was a little devil, with red horns and tail. (This stuff has become so “normal” that I forget to take pictures. We’re taking them both to the coast later this month. I will take lots of pictures!)

When Chloe is here we do a lot of art. She wanted to do a big painting, so I gave her an 18×24 piece of poster board, a palette with acrylic paints she picked out, then spread a plastic table cloth on the floor and let her have at it. Even the palette and the water containers were pretty.

Even the water is pretty…

… and the palette (which I dried and kept).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Showing off her work.

 

The result.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We also have fun with Lammy, who has appeared on these pages in the past. Lammy lives with us now, and she seems like a member of the family. Chloe likes to pick leaves from the patio herb garden to feed her (“ivy,” from the song Mairzy Doats). She made a chart of Lammy’s day.

Lammy’s flowchart

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One morning she told me she dreamed Lammy tapped her on the shoulder and told her to wake up Grandma. Lammy was alive! We unzipped her back zipper (Lammy is a Scentsy, so she has a cinnamon pouch in her back), and found she had a beating heart, lungs and other organs. I nearly wept. Am I maybe just a bit too attached to that lamb?

The last night of her visit her mom dropped off their dog, Stella. I told her it was like having two Chloes–two sweet, crazy, rambunctious blond puppies. Her mom calls herself the Alpha Female. I briefly explained to Chloe the meaning of using the Greek alphabet, and said she must be the Beta. Later I realized that makes me the Gamma Gramma!

 

Who’s the alpha now?

 

Lammy in her spot on the sofa, awaiting Chloe’s return

 

 

Poem: Baths with Keir

“Poem of the Fortnight” is still on an erratic schedule. I hope to get back on track after a big deadline passes in April.

Baths with Keir
For Keir Blackley

We weren’t real cousins—
our dads had been best friends
since their India days in the RAF—
but we sloshed around in the tub together
too young to notice our different body parts.

I never knew him as an adult.
Brilliant, by all accounts,
math major.

When we were old enough to know the difference
would we have been friends, lovers,
or only barely remembered acquaintances?

He was dead at 21.

We may not have been this cute, but we had this much fun (along with my brother)

Art from Katie J. Williams’ web site

Home again, twice in a summer

Of course Thomas Wolfe was right–you can’t go home again because it has never stayed the same.

Wolfe notwithstanding, this past summer I was able to revisit, within a few weeks’ time, both the place of my memories in England until age eight, and the small Ohio town where I finished growing up. At my age I’m far enough removed that it’s moving to revisit these old place, without distress. Sometimes the changes are so vast as to render them unrecognizable anyway.

I was born in Newmarket, Suffolk, England, just as World War II was ending. Life was very difficult for my family: my mother was diagnosed with TB when I was six months old and was hospitalized until I was two. During that time my caretakers were my father, brother, sister, grandmother, aunt, uncle and two cousins, in an old cottage in Exning with no central heat or decent plumbing. (I think it had electricity but I’m not sure.) When I was four we moved into council housing in Newmarket, where we lived until leaving for American in 1953.

In Ohio, I visited the daughter of the folks who encouraged and helped us come to the U.S. She and her husband have acreage with crops and gardens.

When my husband and I went to England in July, I wanted to visit Newmarket, but our itinerary worked out to get us there on a race weekend. Newmarket being a major thoroughbred racing town, accommodations were difficult, so we stayed in Cambridge and took the train to Newmarket on a Sunday morning. I was pleased to see High Street bustling and many shops and cafes open. The old clock tower still stands, and (strangely) is bigger than I remember it being. My mother told stories of German planes, after bombing London, using High Street for target practice with their remaining load of bombs, so it’s a miracle the clock tower still stands. I learned that it honors Queen Victoria’s diamond jubilee in 1897.

I remember it as being just a little bit taller than me.

Of course we walked past my old house. Very few working class people had vehicles 60 years ago, and everyone had a pretty front garden. Now front yards are used for parking. Our old house was even more shocking:

Old meets new, with ugly results. English neighborhoods were not designed for vehicles, let alone boats.

We also walked past my family’s church, St. Mary’s (Anglican).

The church where I was christened.

I tried to find the old swimming pool on High Street. Last time I was there, in the early ’90s, it had been turned into an indoor pool, but now the local swimming facility has apparently been relocated.

We had Sunday lunch on High Street. Gary had the customary roast beef, Yorkshire-pudding, gravy, mashed potatoes and a veg; I don’t remember what I had, but this typical British fare was prepared and served by non-Brits. As small as Newmarket is, its central place in horseracing culture makes it more diverse than perhaps other small English towns. I remember as a child seeing Queen Elizabeth when she came to the races, and even Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie.

Less than a week after returning from the UK, I once again boarded a plane, this time for my 50-year high school reunion in Norwalk, Ohio. It was mostly dumb luck that we landed in a small Midwestern Main Street city, clean, pleasant, very walkable. Some things have not changed at all. The Huron County courthouse still dominates the main downtown intersection. Berry’s restaurant, our teenage hangout, remains in business, though a little more upscale. But there is not one other establishment on Main Street that was there when I left. No W.T. Grant’s, J.C. Penney, Woolworth’s. Walmart, on the outskirts of town, has sucked retail away.

One good change is that a 50-year-reunion is nothing like high school.

Good friends

Sixty-eight year-olds have lived a lot of life and have had egos  brought down to earth. I enjoyed conversations with people I hardly knew, some I wouldn’t have dreamed of talking to in high school, and established some new Facebook contacts.

Elvis and me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our old school still stands, although it’s no longer the high school. The “new” high school, on the edge of town, is ultra-modern and state-of-the-art. Each year it hosts an “all-class” reunion for anyone who ever graduated from NHS.

The old high school on Main Street

It’s something my sister and I both attend (I spent a couple of days with my sister and brother-in-law). The high school band played and there were speeches. Then I drove to Cleveland to visit my brother’s widow, closing out a beautiful reunion visit.

Classmates at the all-school reunion

Norwalk High School marching band

Sister-in-law and her dog

This wraps up reflections on the summer’s travel. I had intended to rail about how hot and dirty London was, with trash everywhere and a homeless camp on the Thames embankment, but I’ll leave it at that. English people are still mostly friendly, helpful, and funny. Especially my cousin Kay, her husband Phil, their daughter Jill and her husband Darren, who trade slams and not-too-sharp barbs endlessly and hilariously. And I loved seeing my other cousin Denise and her family, and the many grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

The youngest great-granddaughter in my cousin’s family

Kay and Phil’s beautiful garden provided peaceful moments:

Front of Kay and Phil’s house

Kay and Phil’s garden

 

Koi pond

 

 

 

 

 

Now I’m ready for the holidays. Merry Christmas!