Author: Rene

Last night I was treated to an outdoor concert by my son. REO Speedwagon and Train were entertaining at Fiddler’s Green. It was amazing!

Usually I balk a little at what I term, “The Old Farts” tour. Too many people don’t know when to quit and continue to scratch out tunes, and I have been privy to a few of those tedious concerts. However, REO was spot-on and of course, Train is still in their prime. We danced and knew the words to almost every song by both bands. Strong voices, entertaining comments, and no political agendas. It was refreshing.

The warm-up band was a little on the old fart side, Yacht Rock Revue. But we knew all of those songs, too! As a Yacht Rock listener, I realized they had properly pegged the audience, and my son was a worthy youngster enjoying the oldies with the crowd. It was thoroughly soul-filling.

Best of all? Aside from spending the evening with my son, we got to park at my son’s place of business for free. It was two blocks from the venue! Yes, one of those evenings that will serve me well in memory.

It was tempting to mow this little patch of seemingly dead Paintbrush. However, yesterday my little hummingbird visited again, seeking the last bits of nutrition from the blooms. I will wait.

Whenever Labor Day rolls around, I feel the need to do labor. We have spent past years pruning and taking out dead trees. This year we got a jump on the weekend! The dead cherry is gone, the monstrously high weeds yanked from the ground and whacked to oblivion, and the first of a few flower pots emptied. Perhaps we’ll take a respite this year and enjoy the well-manicured property, savoring the summer warmth.

Yesterday I went to Village Inn for an afternoon coffee and plate of French fries. Ah, memories!

In college that was the favored fare for all-night study sessions. Endless coffee and an order of fries – affordable. The history nerds would quiz each other and stay up cramming all night. My friends, “Panita and Pat,” indulged me in that fond memory yesterday as I thought of those earlier compatriots and the meticulously written notes which guided our study.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll be inspired to finish reading my tome on Thomas Jefferson now?

There is something in the wind that announces a change, even before a single leaf turns. The rustling sounds differ from that of mid-summer. You can hear it the minute you walk outside one day. Then you feel it. The warmth is not like that of summer either. It is softer and more gentle, perhaps kinder, though just as heated. It makes you stop and notice, perhaps retrieve a childhood memory of the days growing shorter.

The prequel to my favorite season, these treasured days. I allow them to bestow their gifts, as I cling to the remnants of summer…

Car shopping. This is not my favorite activity. I don’t enjoy the comparison of features and figuring out “what’s what” on these beautiful new computerized models. Now, when it comes to the deal-making, I don’t mind that part at all. That’s just a game.

It was quite obvious yesterday that dealerships are still holding back on ordering certain models. Only one of the three we visited had a version for us to easily drive, and not even the exact one I would have wanted. The other two had to move mountains to get the floor model out of the showroom – and they weren’t even the ones we were interested in. It was just exhausting to look at vehicles, though we knew what we wanted to compare.

Thus, I am committed to driving my hail-ridden, zippy little car until I am really ready to find something else. I also feel certain that no one will want to steal or break into my green machine! They would just get a lot of dents and empty bags anyway.

If I were a contractor, digguh, digguh, digguh, digguh, digguh, digguh, digguh, dum…Apologies to Tevye.

My home-building advice would be to install “cleaning closets” properly situated so as to be of use daily. No running to the garage to get the mop. No hostile takeover of the coat closet to store a vacuum. And there would be plenty of hooks for hats and satchels in the “mud room,” which would be an actual room, not a walkway. I would also offer an “out-the-door” closet. It would contain storage for purses – so you can easily switch when needed, socks – so you don’t have to run back to the main closet for a pair, most-worn shoes, shelves large enough for hats – big hats, and lots of hooks for coats. None of this hanger business. It impedes the departure process.

We’re not planning on building, but if we did, most of the abode would be storage. Thankfully, we have been able to convert two closets to better suit us in our current home, so we’ll stay put. And “contractor” is off the plate for a possible career. For now.

“The Alternate Routes” is the name of the band. The lyrics are just lovely – and reminders of how we need to treat each other.

I was sitting on the porch with the beautiful sunset listening to this song. I thought of all the people who try to “sell” me stuff. The people on the phone “hawking” their promises. The peddlers looking for a handout. The politicians and their seemingly thoughtless promises, their limited knowledge of history. The hunchbacked person slowly walking for the door I’m heading towards. It’s pretty easy to just keep going and ignoring what is uncomfortable.

So, I’m sticking myself in others’ shoes. Ah. It may make no difference in this year’s election turmoil and absurdity, yet…it may help someone else, maybe me, connect to a broader scope of worth in this world. It may not change my vote, but could potentially lessen my eye-rolling a bit!

“Nothing More” *note

To be humble, to be kind
It is the giving of the peace in your mind*
To a stranger, to a friend…
To give in such a way that has no end*
We are love
We are one
We are how we treat each other when the day is done
We are peace
We are war
We are how we treat each other and nothing more
To be bold, to be brave;
It is the thinking that the heart can still be saved
And the darkness can come quick;
The Danger’s in the Anger and the hanging on to it*
We are love
We are one
We are how we treat each other when the day is done
We are peace
We are war
We are how we treat each other and nothing more
Tell me what it is that you see
A world that’s filled with endless possibilities?
Heroes don’t look they used to, they look like you do*
We are love
We are one
We are how we treat each other when the day is done
We are peace
We are war
We are how we treat each other and nothing more

Time to buy stock again. It’s hay-fever season and there is no end to the sneezing and itchy nose business. As the gentle zephyrs blow everything around I am hoping for an early frost – even though it’s still August.

These things never bothered me in my youth. Why am I becoming a delicate flower now? It’s rather annoying. At least the imperceptible tremor in my left eye is gone, another annoyance brought on by either dry eyes or stress, fatigue, overuse…the possibilities there are endless. The optometrist gave me drops and said, “Some people have found tonic water helps, too.” So I tried both.

She didn’t say whether or not to add vodka, so as a precaution, I added a pinch. At least the sneezing didn’t bother me as much and the tremor is gone. Modern medicine!

The Rice Krispie expedition led me to ponder my grandfather’s breakfast habit. Along with the daily fried eggs and bacon he would have a bowl of cornflakes. It was a hearty meal, to be sure, the most important of the day!

He was a farmer who worked hard. He needed that fuel – and apparently double that. He would pour his cereal in a bowl, then crush the flakes with another bowl on top. Removing that he would pour more cereal on, crushing that. Then he could properly douse this huge bowl with milk and sugar. That energy sustained him until coffee break at 10 a.m. when my mother, with three littles in tow, would drive out to the farm to enjoy time with her parents. This is when my grandmother introduced the substance I would ascribe to for the rest of my life – coffee.

No wonder I so enjoy breakfast. It provides nourishment for the body and soul through food and memory.

Chatting with my sister I mentioned that I had three bags of marshmallows in my pantry. Apparently there were no s’mores made on the last camping expedition. A bag just appeared out of nowhere one day. The third was actually purchased for my fudge recipe. “You’ll have to make Rice Krispie treats,” exclaimed my sister.

I have never made RK treats. My children were deprived of this culinary delight. Research revealed that the recipe only takes three ingredients: butter, cereal and of course, an entire bag of marshmallows. I now have a grocery list with one item.

We’ll see how this adventure transpires.