Oh yuck. We are so soggy here. It has rained and rained and rained. It is dank and dreary, but the lawns are such a brilliant green from their frequent watering that they make a cheery contrast to the gray sky. I spent the afternoon at my mother's helping her pack for her new move to a lovely assisted living facility in Hartford. The process probably takes a little longer than it should because each item that we try to decide what to do with also comes with a story about it's past. I love to listen to the stories. Sometimes you don't want to rush precious moments like that.
When I got home Paul suggested we go out to eat. I was ready for that. We decided to try the Cambridge House Brewery and Pub, a new brewery/restaurant in Torrington. It is in the old Mertz department store. They have done a fantastic job turning it into something that does not resemble an old department store at all. It seemed strange to be eating and drinking in the same spot where I used to have my hair cut so many years ago.
As we were finishing our meal a line of wait staff came out with a birthday cake for a grandfather at the table next to ours who was celebrating his birthday. As I watched him blow out the candles my mind rewound to the many times that we used to present my father with his birthday cake. In all those years I never once saw my father blow out the candles.
As children, the "blowing out of the candles" on my fathers's birthday was something that made us wiggle in our chairs with excitement when my mother brought out the cake. You can see my father in this picture beginning to spread his hands and raise them over the cake. He would then open his hands, made unusually large and strong by years of milking cows, and clap them over the cake. To our delight (and cheers) he would extinguish the candles with the backdraft. If he extinguished all of them with one clap we would cheer even louder. I wonder if there is anyone else who had this unique way of "blowing" out the candles on a cake.
Is there something wrong with the gene pool in Connecticut or is this a nationwide flaw with young people?
All the students in our school need to sign an internet acceptable use policy before they can use the internet. It is included in their registration packet and basically states that they understand that the internet can only be used for educational purposes. It must be signed by the student and the parent. Until they sign this form they are unable to access the internet. Many students never sign it as they are instructed to do.
During the first few weeks of school I see many students sit down at the computers, pound away at the keyboard, sigh and groan and eventually shuffle over to my desk with a frustrated look. "My computer's broken," they whine. I know what they mean. The computer's not broken. The problem is that they can't get on the internet. I check my list, and sure enough, they haven't signed their forms.
I explain to them about the internet acceptable use policy, give them the form and tell them to please print their name and then put their signature on the next line. "What's a signature?" they ask. Okay..........that is a long word so I will give them the benefit of the doubt. I explain that when someone asks for your signature they want you to sign your name. "You mean write in cursive?" they ask with the beginnings of panic entering their voice. "That would be right," I tell them. "But I don't know how to write in cursive," they moan. I can't believe what I am hearing. These are 12 and 13 year old students and they can't sign their name in cursive??
I can remember getting that green paper with the three lines in the 4th grade and we practiced our lettering over and over and over every day until it was perfect. We had an inkwell that we dipped our pen in and thought we were quite mature and grown up. Kara was begging to write in cursive a year before she was scheduled to in school. When the day finally came she could hardly control herself with excitement. My children all learned before they were out of the 4th grade.
I know they must still teach it in the elementary grades because there are some students who can do it. But what is wrong with the rest? Is it a skill that in not enforced anymore? Is less time spent on it? Why can't "Johnny write"?
As I watch them struggle, really struggle, to write their name I tell them to just sign their name like a doctor and that should be just fine.
I was finally able to get some pictures of our Labor Day weekend into my gallery. You can go to the second page of Gallery and click on "Labor Day Weekend" or just click here to view the pictures. Rememer to click on the picture to see a larger image.
One Saturday a few years back, when I was visiting with Auntie Barbara and Uncle Carl in their Upper Meadow dinette, Uncle Carl asked me what Paul was doing with himself that day. I thought for a minute and then I said, "He's probably fixing things." Paul doesn't cook but he does fix things. He likes to fix things. I have learned to never mention at the dinner table that something is broken because he will leave me stranded alone at the table while he rushes off to fix whatever is broken. I have often told him that when/if he ever retires I want to build a little shop for him called "He Fixes Things" where he can spend the day fixing things for people who can't fix things.
Two nights ago I was preparing dinner and put something in the microwave to cook. While it was cooking I migrated to the living room to look at something. I heard the microwave stop but it wasn't followed by the usual beeping that means your microwave has successfully completed it's mission. It just....stopped.....dead. Uh oh. This didn't look good. I went into the kitchen to check and sure enough, my microwave showed no signs of life. A stone cold microwave.
When I came home from school the next day Paul was bent over the microwave which was sitting on the floor. I should say he was bent over PIECES of the microwave because he was taking it apart. When something breaks he takes all the parts out "just in case" he needs them to fix something else. He had already cut the electrical cord from the unit. Then he told me that he had been talking to someone (AFTER he had cut the cord off, of course) who said that there is a fuse in a microwave that sometimes goes and this might be the cause of our problem. He took the fuse out and it looked like that was the culprit.
So off he went to get a new fuse. But now we have a problem, Houston, because he has cut the electrical cord from the mother ship so even a new fuse would not infuse life into this vehicle. No problem, says Paul, as he flies down to the hardware store to buy a new cord. Paul is now really into this project because there is a lot to fix. An hour later he proudly displays the put-back-together microwave with it's new cord. He installs the new fuse. He plugs the microwave in as I stand back. (Sometimes I don't always trust his work). BINGO........display lights on the oven. It's working. It's working. Paul is smiling. "Why don't you try turning it on to see if the turntable is working," I quietly suggest to Paul. "NO PROBLEM". Paul presses the button. BZZZZZZZTTTT...........lights dim and go out, microwave heaves it's last, fuse is blown again. "Hmmmmm, I think there is something seriously wrong that can't be fixed," Paul sighs. All that work and the fix-it man just couldn't fix it this time. But he did take it all apart again to save the parts.......just in case.
Can anyone think of a use for a microwave turntable? Paul thinks maybe a skylight in the car....................
At 8:30 tonight the humidity was 93%. The temperature was a sultry 75 degrees. It was the kind of day that makes your hair look like a brillo pad exploded on the top of your head. The first day of autumn is only a week away but the weather isn't telling me that. Today has been hot and sopping wet humid. The air was as close as you can get to raining without actually raining.
The weather didn't stop me from working outside. This is the first totally free day I have had in a long time and I was going to take advantage of it. I worked all day dead-heading my flowers and clearing my gardens of the summer mess that I never had a chance to get to this summer. The butterflies were loving this weather and were keeping me company as I worked on my butterfly bushes.
Did you know that the flower of the garlic chive is incredibly lovely smelling? I have never noticed that before. I planted a garlic chive several years ago but never took the time to smell the white flower. As I was weeding around the plant my nose happened to brush against the flower and, mmmmmm, the smell is so sweet. Such a contrast to the garlicky, oniony smell of the chive itself. A very pleasant surprise.
School will be unbearable tomorrow. The air conditioning does not work in the library and when the sun beats through our sky lights the heat is truly uncomfortable. The rest of the building is so cold that people keep scurrying into the library to get warm, while I keep going into the hallway to get cool.
With Hurricane Hannah on my heels, I drove to Falls Village on Saturday to do some family archiving with my cousins Steve and Cally. There is a wealth of family photos and letters in the large attic at my aunt and uncle's house. For the past two summers, when Steve has been home, we have gotten together to scan this material into our computers before age takes it's toll on them.
Cally and I set up our laptops and scanners across from each other at the dining room table that has been the setting for years of family gatherings. We mostly worked in silence, except for the bssssht bssssht sound of the scanners doing their work. There is something about reaching back into past lives that lends a quiet reverence to the atmosphere. The quiet was broken from time to time as someone found an interesting or humorous tidbit to share with the others.
The room became darker as the storm grew closer, with only the laptops providing illumination as the rain began to pelt the windows. We were so immersed in our work that we didn't notice that we had been working almost seven hours and the day was turning into night. It was cozy. We were a family reaching into the past and turning the pages of a family legacy. We were discovering a part of ourselves that we didn't know existed.
As I sat there quietly scanning letters and pictures over 100 years old I thought of the priceless gift our ancestors had given us when they wrote and then saved these family letters. Too often letters and pictures are thought of as "taking up too much space" and are tossed in the trash, thereby erasing a family history. Reading and touching the letters that were written by your grandparents, great-grandparents and great aunts and uncles gives you a connection to the past and completes life's circle.
When my father moved from our old farmhouse I packed some old letters and papers of mine into a box. I told him he could get rid of everything else of mine but it was important to keep that box. That was the last time I saw the box. I do not know where it's final destination was. He couldn't seem to remember where he put it when I asked years later. There is one last place where it could be that I haven't looked. If I don't find it maybe it will be found years from now by a family member who will pull out the old letters and begin the process of completing that circle of life.
Our quiet afternoon came to a halt when the house was plunged into darkness as the electricity went out. We packed away our equipment by candlelight and headed home. But we will be back together again. There is still much to do.
In this age of technology we seem to have lost the art of letter writing. You can't save a text message. And even if you could, who would understand what you were trying to say 100 years from now? So....write more letters. Save the letters you receive. Someday, someone will be very glad that you did.
The other night when we were taking our evening walk a car pulled up next to us and slowed down. It was one of the young men who lives on our road. He leaned out the window waving his digital camera in the air. "Mr. and Mrs. Cortesi," he said, "I have something to show you." "Oh...what is it?" I asked as I smiled and pranced over to the car. If someone stops you on the road to show you a picture from their camera it must be interesting, right?
"A rattlesnake", he grinned. Okay..........I_am_ out_ of_ here. I did a very quick 180 and scampered back to the side of the road. Paul is still hanging out with the camera guy and gazing into his camera....."Oh wow. That's a REAL BIG one."
He was hiking on the Appalachian Trail not too far from here, in Lime Rock, and came across one right in the middle of the trail, rattling away. "Nearly stepped on it," he said. "Scared the heck out of me." No kidding. If it had been me on that trail you wouldn't have seen me hanging around to take a picture.
Lately I've been thinking that I would like to do some hiking. I'm rethinking that idea.
Every summer, when we were children, the Frueh family would gather at my grandparent's summer home in Sharon (known as Belly Acres) for an annual picnic. My memory is good to me when I think of these times. I have idyllic memories of gathering around the old picnic table to savor Grammie's homemade spaghetti, circling around a pot filled with dirt and lilac leaves to play Banta's magic game of "Lollipops Grow", renewing friendships with the Chicago cousins, planning a talent show put on by the girl cousins, swimming in the old cold swimming hole in the brook and sampling a sip of Banta's homemade wine. Time has made me forget the swarms of gnats and the snake-gathering of the boy cousins.
While the activities would vary from year to year, there was one constant. The children were always lined up on the old stonewall for a group picture.
We started with just a few of us...........................................
Steve Bornemann, Lauri Frueh(?), Midge Frueh, Jonathan Frueh, Geoffrey Bornemann.
And grew.........................................
Michael Bornemann, Jonathan Frueh, Steve Bornemann, Geoffrey Bornemann, Midge Frueh, Cally Frueh, Julie Bornemann, Timothy Frueh, Lauri Frueh.And grew................................
Michael Bornemann, Steve Bornemann, Jonathan Frueh, Midge Frueh with Ellen Frueh on her lap, Geoffrey Bornemann, Cally Frueh, Tim Frueh, Julie Bornemann, Henry Frueh, Lauri Frueh.until we were young adults..........................
Geoffrey Bornemann, Midge Frueh, Lauri Frueh, Cally Frueh, Julie Bornemann, Jonathan Frueh, Henry Frueh, Ellen Frueh, Liz Frueh.
This past Labor Day weekend the Frueh clan gathered again for the first time in many years. The stonewall is gone but the cousins who were there migrated together for another photo shot...........................
Steve Bornemann, Geoffrey Bornemann, Midge Frueh Cortesi, Cally Frueh Gourley, Lauri Frueh Cardinali, Julie Bornemann Mueller, Henry Frueh, Liz Frueh Sundet.They came from as far away as Vancouver and Seattle and Oregon and Arizona. Through marriages and births our family has grown. What fun it was to see the wonderful members of this expanding family. The oldest member was 94, the youngest.....18 month old twins (the first twins this family has seen). We ate, we relaxed, we played volley ball, we swatted at gnats and talked of how Grammie used to slather us with smelly citronella,
we laughed, we caught up on all the family news. We risked poison ivy, snakes and aggressive brier bushes to find the old swimming hole. We goo-gooed the babies. We shared old pictures of reunions past. We met new wives, husbands and betrothed. The afternoon went so fast. I wish I had had time to sit down with each and every person for a long chat, but the sun was setting too quickly. I'm working on putting some pictures of the day in my gallery. I'll let you know when it's done. For now I'm basking in the happy memories of the weekend. I am no longer the child in the photos. I'm now the adult. My children and my children's children are now the little ones. Life goes on. The family continues to expand and grow. I hope the younger ones realize how important "family" is. May they never forget each other. May they never undo that tie that binds.
On our 25th wedding anniversary, in a rather unromantic gesture, Paul presented me with two toilet seats. Not one, but two. That was it. Nothing else. Couldn't he at least have bought silver instead of just plain old porcelain!? We did need them. But to give them for a 25th wedding anniversary gift? He didn't win alot of points for this occasion.Sunday Kara and Sean were celebrating their 6th wedding anniversary. They were visiting us for the weekend. Sean snuck out on Saturday to buy an anniversary gift for Kara. On Sunday he asked me if I had a decorative bow to stick on the gift because it was too big to wrap and he wanted something on it to make it look festive. I went with him to the basement as he took the ribbon down to attach it to the gift. I was interested to see what this big gift was. When I saw it I laughed aloud. "You didn't really do this, did you?" I said to Sean.
I have always said that Kara married her father. Now I know she did. But at least Sean went one better. He gave Kara the whole toilet bowl, not just the seat. And he did sweeten the pot (no pun intended, honest) with a big bag of chocolate and a great cookbook.
As children, the "blowing out of the candles" on my fathers's birthday was something that made us wiggle in our chairs with excitement when my mother brought out the cake. You can see my father in this picture beginning to spread his hands and raise them over the cake. He would then open his hands, made unusually large and strong by years of milking cows, and clap them over the cake. To our delight (and cheers) he would extinguish the candles with the backdraft. If he extinguished all of them with one clap we would cheer even louder. I wonder if there is anyone else who had this unique way of "blowing" out the candles on a cake.
