Monday November 23 2015  MORE TO THE STORY…

When I opened my computer this afternoon I found an email from my older sister regarding yesterday’s blog.  It was interesting to read her review of what I wrote yesterday.  She was about 15 years old when we moved into the government housing and so she has a better memory and perspective than I would from age six through twelve.  I will include her email so you can read an eye view from someone who was familiar with that area from age 16 through twenty one.  She only lived in the apartments until she graduated and moved away from home at about 18.  I thought her comments lent an older more mature reason for some of what I talked about.

The following is borrowed from her email:

“Comment: A good interesting blog to me – almost like a short story.  I liked the child perspective but there were many reasons why there were no trees.  Those project buildings were built during war time; probably only to last 10 years or so.  Probably, hurriedly built underground utilities was a good reason not to allow any planting and digging.  After WWII people didn’t want to leave this area so they stayed where they were until they bought houses in Pleasant Hill for $4,000 to $7,000. Those houses now sell for almost a half a million dollars. Then Bayo Vista was turned into low-cost housing.  Thank the Good Lord that housing was still there for us when we needed it.  In Pleasant Hill home owners have to check with the city before they dig in their own yards to plant a tree. I could give you lots more history on the Bay Area and the effects of the war and aftermath of the war.  There were ship yards in Richmond that brought in all of the black people from the south and they didn’t want to return to the south.  Who could blame them; better climate, and no segregation; so they stayed.  Housing cost here is worse than after WWII.  People are willing to pay close to a million a dollars for a house like mine; just to have a place to live with good schools, or more than 700 square feet of living space.  You see why I don’t want to sell.  IF YOU DON’T OWN YOUR HOME YOU COULD BE ON THE STREET IN A NANO SECOND…
Time: November 22, 2015 at 11:10 PM”

There was more but I used only what I thought pertained to the blog and a bit of the area as it is today.  I thought what she added was quite interesting.  I think I would like to find out more in the future.  Most of our communication is through email due to my sister’s hearing loss.  I can hear her on the phone but she has difficulty hearing what I say. 

Today is a work day for me.  I have three days to finish the order I need to get to the lab in order to deliver on time.  Waiting for a call back from the lab before I can continue.  Dave and I also have a commitment this evening so my time will be cut very short in my office.  Not having to cook a Thanksgiving meal for company has been a great relief for me this week.  I am so looking forward to eating out (less work for me) together as a family.  Not quite the same thing but it will make this week work for all of us.

Can’t wait to have my retirement party!  The one I’ll celebrate in my head!  When I send off the very last of everything I am going to dance a jig.  After the first of the year I will tackle what must be done to prepare for my  spring sale of studio equipment.  I’m going to try to have EVERYTHING REGARDING PHOTOS accomplished by December 1^st and then take the month of December off so I can do my duty and watch one Christmas movie per day.  You see, I have recorded a lot of them on the DVR and I must get them off before we start dropping the programs that Dave likes to watch.  So, I must do my duty!

It is cold here folks.  I know some of you who read this blog also live in cold country so you can commiserate with me.  I’m not complaining, just reporting the facts.  My favorite place to be on cold winter nights is tucked into bed under comforters and quilts so heavy that it is an effort to turn over.  But, oh it is so warm.  I love it.  I wear my little fuzzy toe socks and they keep my feet nice and posty toasty!  I think just looking at the snow in the dimming lights lends my brain to thinking it is colder than it is. 

AND THAT IS THE REASON

By Kathleen Martens

November 23, 2015

Tis the month of November

And already under snow.

The winter is coming

More quickly than slow.

The nights come early,

The days end quickly.

We eat hearty and healthy

To avoid being sickly.

Jackets, coats, scarves and mittens

Are winter’s favored attire,

So we don’t freeze to death

And then too soon expire.

Wear stocking caps and socks,

And pull out the quilts.

And we turn up the heat

Without any guilt!

A warm cup of tea

Before we don our gloves

Getting ready for December

Because it’s filed with such love.

For that is when we celebrate

The birth of God’s son

So salvation could happen

When His crucifixion was done.

A full month of joy

To remember Christ’s birth.

And that is the reason

Christmas has worth.

It is almost dark at 4:50 p.m. so I will close with a wonderful GOOD NIGHT AND GOD BLESS YOU!

Sunday Sabbath November 22 2015  MY FAVORITE TIME TO WRITE

I so love sitting here in the sunroom looking over the snow covered ground with the sun dipping below the tree line.  I am on the second story level looking out over the back of the house and the yard slopes down so it gives me an even higher perspective.  I never tire of looking out these windows.  The scape is never the same from day to day.  Actually it is never the same from hour to hour.  As I look out in the quickening twilight there is movement and change taking place even as I write.  Cotton puffs of snow cascade to the ground as wind ripples through the branches.  Squirrels turning in for the evening hasten to their nests.  An occasional deer will lope across an open space, only to be totally hidden from view a few seconds later as it camouflages itself in the darkening woods.  The sky changes from vibrant deep blue as it softens to pastel shades with hints of pink and violet.  It’s as if God is orchestrating my own personal video in true life reality.  And I think He is really doing it just for me.  I sit here and think that no one else in the whole world is seeing what I see now.  It is just for me.  And I love it.  It is my favorite time to write.

My formative years as a child, ages six through twelve, was lived in a little California bay town, population about 3,000 at the time.  We lived in a government owned housing project.  My father was an illiterate laborer, my mother stayed home watching over five daughters.  The projects were called Bayo Vista, which were located in a hilly area situated directly across from a 76 oil refinery.  The buildings we lived in had been built as government housing during World War II.  Needless to say we often had foul orders and heavy black smoke billowing into our living area.  The smokiest times were when the oil tanks exploded, which resulted in billowing, noxious, black smoke which lasted for days and sometimes weeks.  The school I attended was even higher up the hillsides.  We had to close all the windows (the schools were not airconditioned) until the fires burned out.  The school has since been closed and torn down due to the toxicity of the refinery (which has far greater emission standards in recent years than were in place when I was young).  Even the trees in the entire school yard were destroyed.  The area is now a brown field and enclosed with high razor wire fencing.  I found out a number of years later that it was reported that many people suffered serious health issues which were caused from the exposure to the refinery emissions and smoke.  Fortunately for me, I was six when we moved in so was not affected as greatly as my baby sister was.  She lived her first six years there and has been sickly with lung problems and other illnesses that very well may have been directly caused by being exposed to the toxicity at such a vulnerable age.

Now, I said all that I said above to just set the stage as to what I am going to say next.  In all the hills of Bayo Vista there were no trees.  Not one tree to drop its leaves.  Exploring with friends we found there were some evergreen trees just beyond the chain link fence that separated Bayo Vista from the refinery.  We would scoot under the fence and go exploring on the government land and play under the trees.  There was always a fear and a mystery of what would happen if we were caught trespassing.  I was more afraid of my mother’s wrath than what the government would do to me.  Once we came close to being caught but we all got back under the fence and the man chasing us was too big to fit through.  I never went there again.  You might say he put the fear into me!  But anyway, back to my topic of having no trees anywhere around the apartments.  I missed trees.  I longed for trees.  I loved trees.  I actually felt a loneliness in my soul for lack of trees and beauty.  It was a very stark place to live.

When I was in the second grade and we had been given an assignment to bring a leaf to school from a tree in our yard.  Wherever my mother lived, even in the projects, she planted seeds.  That year she had planted a nasturtium plant and the vines curled up a little fence she had put behind our apartment.  She later had to take it down because we were not allowed to grow anything around the apartments.  But, for that assignment I had some nasturtium leaves to choose from.  After all, it was a leaf and that was what I was supposed to bring.  And, it was from “my yard”.  I remember picking the fragile, vibrant green leaf before running off to school, pleased as punch that I had a leaf.  I didn’t suppose the teacher would have a clue as to what kind of trees all the leaves came from so I was pretty safe in taking this leaf.  I was a little unsure, but I didn’t want to go empty handed.  Several of the other children had no leaves and all those who lived in the houses surrounding the school all had their token leaf.  The teacher looked down at me and asked if I got this from the tree in my yard.  I looked up at her, held my chin up high, looked her in the eye and said “yes”.  She looked at me, frowned a bit, looked at me again and smiled.  She then said, “This is a very nice leaf”.  I knew then that she knew the truth and yet she chose not to embarrass me.  I have loved Mrs. Higgins from that day forth.  She must have had her eyes opened at that moment to the bareness of the world in which the project children lived.  She chose not to disgrace a little eight year old girl in front of all her classmates.  A lot of what happened that day I didn’t understand totally until years later when I looked back.  But for some reason that memory has never left me.  I even remember the little blue dress I wore that day.  It was one of those moments in my life when life seemed to stand still.  And I have always loved the nasturtium plant to this day along with Mrs. Higgens.

And now I will fast forward to a time thirty plus years later.  I will never forget the first morning after we moved into the house we live in now.  The house was 26 years old, had been residence to six boys and two girls, had its original carpeting, a ramshackle kitchen, worn out linoleum, psychedelic foil wall paper in the bathrooms and kitchen, a putrid no color paint on all the walls, and the windows desperately needing to be replaced.  But we loved the location so we bought the big empty monstrosity of a house.  I was up early the day after our furniture arrived.  I remember walking to the large picture window in the formal dining room and looking out over the view that I can also see from my sunroom.  I stood there with tears in my eyes as I thanked God for all the trees in our woods that He had taken care of during all the years I lived in Bayo Vista.  He had cared for them for just for this very moment.  I thought back over the stark years of childhood knowing these beautiful woods had been growing just for me, for this very day.  I tear up even now as I think about the graciousness of God for fulfilling a desire of my heart that had lingered for close to 40 years.  Yes, I had experienced living a few places during those years where I had always planted trees, lots of trees, too many trees!  But they never really seemed like they were mine or that I was theirs.  We left many trees planted in the yards of the three previous homes we owned before buying this one.  I left the trees behind without looking back.  It wasn’t until moving here that I truly knew I was home.  Just as I have a love affair with beauty, I also have a love affair with a tree.  Not just any old tree but a very special, very, very, old tree.  I used my real camera equipment to take the photos of “my” tree so I do not have any available at present to share on this blog.  I shall retrieve a few from my files so I can share them with you at a later time.  There is a story that goes with “my” tree (which lives on someone else’s property). I will share the story with you at a later date.  I’ll need to do a pictorial story so it may take a little time for me to work it up.

And now it is dark.  I cannot see my woods any longer so I might as well end this diatribe without further ado.  This was just a little story of my life that somehow wheedled its way out of me.

THE HEART OF A CHILD

By Kathleen Martens

November 22, 2015

The heart of a child

Is such a fragile place.

And as adults,

We forget that space.

Perhaps we should take time

To reflect on the child,

That still lives inside

Tucked away, neatly filed.

Remember what it’s like

To be seven or eight.

So young and carefree,

Not imagining your fate.

Think of the times

When your voice was not heard,

Even when you spoke

So many words.

Summon up the confusion

Of being misunderstood,

Not being allowed to do things,

When you thought you could.

Recall the feelings

That you felt deep inside

And it seemed you had no one

In whom to confide.

And then look at the children

Who inhabit your world,

Do you do unto them

What on you was unfurled?

Do you take time to listen

To hear their small voice?

To validate who they are,

And to give them choice?

Do you respect them

Though they are so young?

Or do you play over

Your song that was sung?

Show them compassion

When it is needed.

Let them know they are special

When their words are heeded.

Teach them about life

And allow them to be heard.

It is sometimes the young,

Who speak wisdom in word.

Thank you for listening to the reminiscing of my heart.  I write as my words come, and sometimes do a bit of meandering in telling my stories.  My goal this past week was to write about aging but it seems a bit of the past reared its head instead. 

Very briefly I will tell you something about last evening.  As I mentioned yesterday it was John’s 70^th birthday so we joined them with a few others to celebrate.  When we returned back to his home after dining out I asked the others the question I asked Virginia and Joe earlier this week, “What surprise did aging bring to you that you were not expecting”?  I believe I received an answer from each one and if I can hear them on my voice recorder I plan to share them in the next few days.  No space or time to do so tonight.  I think they are worthy to be shared.  The diversity of answers was quite interesting.  I also found out that I am just a “baby” in the aging department.  More on that later.  At least I am learning!

Good night and God bless you.  I pray that every moment, of every day, is special for you.  Remember, it is not what happens to you that counts, but rather, its how you take it that counts.

Saturday November 21 2015  WHEN TIME STANDS STILL

When I awaken to a first snow of the season it is as if time stands still.  It always makes me feel like a child on Christmas morning.  I can hardly contain myself until first light so I can get up and peer outside to see the world blanketed in white.  The first photo that I took this morning was from our bedroom window, looking out over our terrace below.  It was at 6:40 a.m..  It was as if there was an unnatural or supernatural hush hovering over the earth.  All was still.  All was quiet.  The limbs were laden with thick outlines of heavy wet snow.  The branches bowed as if in prayer.  I just stood there for a couple of moments allowing the tranquility of the peaceful morning flood into me.  I have a love affair with beauty and it was as if today I received a beautiful bouquet.  And so, I told God, “Thank You”.

A day to snuggle in, curl up on the couch and do nothing.  Which is exactly what I didn’t do.  Instead, I baked.  And then I stirred up a second batch and baked it again my way.  My way was better.  I plan to give the cookie bars to a neighbor tonight when we celebrate his surprise 70^th birthday party.  I’m giving him the second batch.  I gave my neighbor the first batch. 

The next endeavor was to create a birthday card for him.  Now that is done.  My next thought was to clean house and then remembered I should write a short blog as I will not want to stay up late tonight when we arrive home.  I love days like this.  I love not having the stress of so much work over my head (just a little bit of work is okay).  So, not too much done but enough that I had a good day doing it.  Sort of a take it easy day.

GOD’S AMAZING ART

By Kathleen Martens

November 21, 2015

A white world of wonder

A blanket upon the earth.

All is well is silence,

Of peace there is no dearth.

Deep within my spirit

Beauty feeds my soul.

The intrigue of perfection,

Nature’s purposed goal.

Within my heart is praise,

Gratitude, and thanksgiving

For God’s amazing art,

In which I am living.

Yes, it is cold.  Yes, it is sometimes laborious to live for months dealing with snow.  But, an ever so louder “YES” is the fact that it is so beautiful I don’t really have a hard time living with it for months at a time.  I love being snowed in (as long as the heat works)!  When you live in a northern climate there are preparations that must be made in advance in order to make life as easy and as safe as possible.  Freezing to death is a real possibility if precaution is not taken in times of blizzards and even milder storms.  A car must be prepared and stocked with certain items for survival, and wise decision made, before venturing onto the highways in severe weather.  It is serious business.  I choose to enjoy each day, prepare for the worse that can happen, and make wise decisions to not put myself or others in jeopardy.  We have taken some chances before but I think we are past that stage in our life now.  I do know that it is sometimes very difficult for some who live so far north.  Perhaps it is not so hard on me because if the weather is bad I have the option of staying home because I do not work off premise.  For the last 27 years I have always had a business in my home where people come to me.  Oh, I did have a few times when I had to do Christmas and New Year’s weddings and driving became quite dicey.  Those years are now past and I am so thankful.  I guess I am just so grateful for everything! 

Dave went to the gym with me the other day to weigh himself and a man that also works out there told my husband that “your wife isn’t normal”.  Dave said he knew that.  This friend had come up to me and was bemoaning that we had seen the last of the good weather and winter was upon us.  He was a bit put out by it.  I told him that I loved the weather and looked forward to winter and how much I loved the snow and the short days and dark evenings.  The friend says he is always grumpy about everything (said in good humor and part jest), and that I am just not normal.  And he told Dave the same thing.  I thought it was funny.  Later, I told my friend that I too was married to a man who was “not normal”.  Mr. G. (that’s what I’ll call my friend) said he had already figured that out.  He said he could tell that Dave was really a very nice and pleasant man and he was happy that I had such a wonderful husband.  Now I am paraphrasing what Mr. G. said, but that is what I heard.  I think being “not normal” was a very nice compliment.  Thank you Mr. G.  And oh, by the way, I enjoy the grumpy you.

Well, I’m off to beautify myself for the party tonight.  It is going to be at a interesting local restaurant.  It is on a farm (where I have photographed many weddings) and their menu is exquisite.  The building is the old farmhouse made of stone and has an underground tunnel  (all stone) that leads to the outside.  Makes for a beautiful place for wedding pictures.  The party is for our neighbor through the woods who is Dave’s closest longtime friend.  He is the one that nearly cut off his fingers and thumb in a saw accident in his basement about two or three years ago.  I’ll tell  you more about that incident later.

Time to go.  It is still daylight so I will say have a great evening!

Friday November 20 2015  HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMY

Unfortunately our daughter-in-law was not able to come over this evening as planned.  Her husband, our son Courtland, attends law school in Minnesota and some weeks he is not able to live at home.  Tonight’s agenda was a planned birthday dinner and party for Amy including the boys, Dave, and I.  But, the youngest grandson became very sick with some sort of a virus with a fever.  We haven’t been able to make contact with Amy via phone lately so I don’t really know how he is faring.  The concern was that he may still be contagious or the older boy would come down with it and expose Dave and me.  This would be difficult for Dave as he is still healing in the abdominal incision area and does not need to be violently sick like Xander was (is).  So today our plans changed.

In Amy’s absence and missing her birthday party I would like to dedicate this blog to her.  I will write the poem that follows as a tribute to her.  I thank God that she was born “blank” years ago today (it is for her to share her age if she so chooses).  Because of that special day when she was born, we have our two beautiful grandsons.  Thank you Amy for all you do as mom.  I am proud of both you and Courtland for being such great parents to our grandsons.  We love and appreciate all you do.  Here is a poem to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMY

By Kathleen Martens

November 20, 2015

Happy birthday to a special lady,

The love of our son’s life.

What a special person you are

Both as a mother and wife.

A tribute to you on your special day,

You mean the world to us.

You gave us our grandsons

Who often bicker and fuss.

Up at nights to walk the floor

With sick little boys.

Thanks for all the work you do

And for giving us so much joy.

Just wanted you to know

On this, your special day

How very much we love you.

AND WISHING YOU A HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

As if you might have figured it out by now, it is my pleasure to do spur of the moment events if time allows.  Well, I no longer needed to cook a birthday dinner, the birthday treats were already taken care of (in the freezer now), we are expecting a snow storm tonight and may not wish to venture on the roads tomorrow, and we are retired!  Besides, I have another birthday to plan for next week so I needed to do today what needed to be done.  Our oldest grandson will turn 8 years old next week.  We plan to do his party on Thursday afternoon when we arrive home from eating Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant.  I needed to make a special trip to buy something I want to give him on his birthday and I can only purchase it at an Amish store about 56 miles away.  The roads were clear and the day was still young when I arrived home from the gym, so we (well I guess I mean me), figured it would be a good day to do what needed to be done!  It ended up being an expensive trip.  Our destination?  Mischler’s Country Store in the Amish community north of us.  They have great prices on most things, and a variety of fresh grains and rice and a variety of other perishable items that I can’t seem to find elsewhere.  Some specialty shops may carry their products but they are always so much more expensive.  We had a shopping cart full as we do not make the trip more than about 3 times a year.  They have great spices, the best freshly ground peanut butter, and the world’s most delicious popcorn.  This popcorn is called “mushroom popcorn”.  It is a big kernel, and pops very large, and has the shape of a mushroom after it is popped.  I drizzle coconut oil on it and a touch of salt and it is magnificent.  Rebecca requested that we get her some mushroom popcorn when we met in Branson.  That was her one request.  We brought her lots of popcorn.  It is too heavy to ship economically.  We purchased many different grains as I love using them in my soups.  Mishler’s Country Store also has the best raw sunflower seeds I have ever tasted.  I bring them home and freeze them until needed.  We eat a variety of seeds at this house, our favorites being sunflower, pumpkin, flax (ground), hemp, and chia.  I believe Dave’s favorite is the ground flax.  I stocked up on that.  So you might say after reading this paragraph that we had a good time today and accomplished quite a bit.

As we traveled the back roads in Delton, Wisconsin where Mishler’s Country Store is located, I stopped and took a few photos.  The Amish do not like to have their faces photographed so I respectfully tried not to have their faces show.  Dave pulled over alongside the road so I could get out and take a picture of a horse drawn wagon.  When I later viewed the photo I noticed one little child looked back and I did capture the little eyes.  Realize that it is very cold here today, actually in the freezing range, and it was only the eyes that peeked out from layers of clothing.  Open aired wagons are not heated (except in the summer).  I took another photo of a passenger buggy coming  toward us which had the driver concealed inside.  I didn’t realize how quickly he was coming so I took the picture through the windshield and almost missed it entirely.  There was one last photo I wanted to snap.   I must admit, when I took this last picture I felt a bit like a voyeur.  But it was waiting to be taken.    And what a story it told.  See if you can find the story behind the picture tells.

On the way home from the Country Store we passed through a little town called Pardeeville.  I really like that little town.  It is the same place where we purchased our used dining room chairs for the table we reconditioned this summer.  It has a very small home town feeling.  Off to my right as we were going down main Street I saw a Veteran’s Memorial Park.  Dave turned around so I could go investigate, biting wind and all (I was dressed for it).  It was such a beautiful memorial to the citizens of that town that lost their lives in the wars.  There were 80 names from the Civil War, 8 from World War I, 14 from World War II, 3 from the Korean War, and 3 from the Vietnam War.  I assume the memorial has been in place since before all the Mideast wars we’ve been involved in because there were no other names on the wall.  There was a bench with one veteran’s name who died in Pakistan in 2010.  What a great sacrifice from one small town.  The current population is 2100 people.  In 1870 the population was 205.  

I stood there before that wall with all the names engraved into the granite and I teared up.  I cried for all the mothers and fathers and wives and children who received the news about their loved one who had died on the battlefield.  No greater pain can I imagine.  There was a walkway of bricks leading up to the wall.  On each brick was the name of others who had served but had made it home.  I stopped and wondered how each of those wars had changed the lives of those young men who had returned home.  Some scars would show.  Most would not.  War changes the course of anyone’s life who has been in its midst.  Also on the walkway leading to the wall was an area where the names on the bricks were of all the people left behind that supported the soldiers while they were gone.  What a great little town.  Family, friends and neighbors coming together to support those fighting for freedom and to reach out to family, friends, neighbors and the greater community to offer help and support and comfort.  Where do we see that today?  I’ll enclose a few snapshots of what I saw at that little Veteran’s Memorial Park.  I silently sent up a belated thanks to all those who have died for our country as well as fighting for other countries to be free.  My hat is off to any of you who read this, who have served, or the families of those who have served.  It is not easy on those left behind.  I read each name on the granite wall.

I had a great topic that I wanted to write about tonight.  Dave said something to me again this morning that gave me a great place to start.  However, when I sat down at my computer this evening I could not for the life of me bring up the memory of that short sentence.  SEE WHAT OLD AGE DOES TO YOU!!!  And, I failed to write it down.  The only problem with writing it down is I would probably forget where I stuck the note.

THOSE LITTLE JEWELS OF WISDOM

By Kathleen Martens

November 20, 2015

Sometimes the brain

Gets a bit stuck.

And what you want to remember

From your mind is plucked.

I never for a moment

Think I will forget.

But the thought seems to drop

Into a deep black pit.

So once again, I tell myself

This time I’ll write it down,

And I tuck the note aside

Where it never again is found.

Those little jewels of wisdom

Are floating around in me.

And someday when I am older

Perhaps they’ll be set free.

Good night and God bless you, especially all the veterans and veterans’ families.