Landscape Changes

That's today's theme.  This morning CG the landscaper arrived around 9 AM and was peeved to see that the phone-line Digger's Hotline guy had already been here planting flags.  He'd wanted to talk to the guy to glean more info than a bunch of flags stuck in a swath of aerosol paint conveys.  I got up at 7:30 and hadn't seen anyone so he called and I guess he talked to someone.  He wheelbarrowed tools into the back and got started digging.  He had said "we" when he talked about digging but he was alone all day digging by hand.

 
I went to lunch with the St. Agnes class of '65 and when I got home my tree was gone!  CG said they'd come and cut the tree skeleton down in short order and hauled it away.  Hopefully the stump grinder will come soon and then the tree replanter soon after that.  I'm amazed at how quickly they came after I called. Musta been in the neighborhood.



Also while I was at lunch seven pallets of cast stone blocks were delivered.  That's a lot of heavy stones.  He said it'll take about a week to finish the job.  Tomorrow the crusher dust rocks arrive which will be the base of the wall and CG's son and maybe his partner will be here to work too.  I hope so.



I was thrilled to see a flash of orange out the window this morning.  Mr. Oriole came for a visit.  At first he was up in the apple tree but then he flew down to perch on the edge of the grape jelly dish for a nice snack.




Yesterday I made a seedbed on top of one of the bales and planted carrots and radishes.  As soon as they start sprouting I'll dig out another length of chicken wire, bend some hairpin shapes of wire, and fence it off to keep the bunnies and chippies from eating my crops.


I stopped at ALDI for pretzel twists, caramel rice cakes, and goldfish crackers on my way home from lunch and spent an hour or so counting them into 2 WW point baggies for ease of snacking and not overserving myself.  While I counted I watched the movie, The Upside, on Amazon Prime.  I enjoyed it.  I should watch more movies.



After supper I knitted on the Fake Isle Hat, getting through Chart 1 and started the rounds of even knitting before beginning Chart 2 which is the crown decreases.  That should be a lesson in frustration.




3 June--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon. 

            By the end of the second night of class, I felt as if I was making friends, that I might actually fit in.  A couple of the other women in the group had recognized me from my years of working at the school.  And I got a kick out of Floyd Marley.  He had developed the habit of leaning on my left shoulder while I painted, giving me tips and lavish compliment-- and not just on my work.  Since he complimented all the other women in class almost as often, and some of their work was truly awful, I figured he needed new glasses.

On the third night of class, one of the students suggested we all go out for coffee afterwards.  At first, I told them I thought I’d just go home since I had a pretty long drive, but Samara touched my arm and said, “Please, Gail, come along.  You’re the only one I really know.”  Surprised that the young woman I saw as fearless might feel shy in unfamiliar situations, I agreed. 

We spent a hilarious hour sipping decadent decaf mocha lattés with real whipped cream and listening to stories of previous classes and teachers.  At one point in the conversation the students discovered that everyone, except for Samara and me, had taken a class from a particular teacher none of them liked.  “I should have known she was a fraud when she brought her dog, a Shi Tzu named Kiki, for a model on life-drawing night,”

As the reminiscences got louder and crazier, Samara turned to me.  “I brought something for you.  We made jewelry last week in Art class so I made these for you.”  She held out a tissue paper bundle.  “They’re not much.” 

“Why, thank you, how nice.”  I unwrapped the tissue and lifted out an earring that looked like a tiny chandelier.  Red, gold, and black beads dangled from silver wires.  “They’re beautiful, but I can’t imagine what I’d wear with them.”

            “Anything.  You’ll look awesome in them.  And, if you don’t mind my saying this, you could use some different clothes.  Your stuff’s so… so old-lady-ish.”

“I am old.”

“You’re not old.  You’re mature; that’s what my granny says about herself and she’s way older than you.  Your head’s stuck in some old-lady idea of what you should look like.  But your heart’s young; I can tell from your painting.  You should dress with your heart.  You need some jeans and funky tops.”

            “Jeans?  I wear jeans when I work in the garden.  Jeans are for kids.”

“Hah.  Jeans are for everybody.  We should go shopping.  I’ll find you something.”

I stared at the eager face, searching for ridicule but found none.  I heard myself say, “Alright.  When do you want to go?”

“Saturday afternoon.  It’s the best time to hit the shops I have in mind.”

Before I had a chance to reconsiderI had a chance to we made a date for the following weekend.

           The shopping trip was a revelation.  I rediscovered an interest in clothes that made me feel good about myself.  And Samara learned that even when you’re in your fifties you worry if your butt looks big.

            It turned out that despite the forty years difference in our ages, Samara and I wore the same size.  That led to the odd experience of us in side-by-side changing rooms leaning out into the hallway exchanging things we thought the other one should try on. 

We spent a lively few hours in and out of thrift shops and resale stores.  Samara found some jeans I was comfortable with, that didn’t squeeze me so much my middle oozed over the waist, and a whole armload of sweaters and tops in bright colors and geometric designs.  My favorite thrift store find was a sweater with every primary color swirling on it and long, bell sleeves.  Samara even coaxed me into some leather boots with not-too-high heels we found at the discount shoe store in the mall.  When I dropped Samara off after our spree, she extracted a promise that I’d wear my new things to class on Tuesday.

           That evening at home, I surveyed the purchases strewn across my bed--bright colors, natural fibers, and non-traditional designs.  I stood there thinking, what possessed me?  Now, when I’m fifty-seven years old, I give in to peer pressure?  When I was seventeen I worked hard to blend in, even when my friends tried to get me to change my clothes.  So how come I’m listening to a seventeen year old now?

           I pulled on a pair of the jeans, my favorite sweater, the boots, and hooked Samara’s gift earrings in my ears.  I looked in the mirror and barely recognized myself.  But there was something slightly wrong with my new look.  It’s my hair, I thought, I have old lady hair.

           That sunset, on the slat below the stripe I painted on the porch railing, I wrote, “New clothes, new image?”

Fifty years ago today I graduated from high school.  Can you believe it?  I can't.  Where did all those years go?  Although since my children are 40 years old and almost 38 years old I have to admit that I'm old enough to be their mother..
--Barbara