It is seldom that a week goes by without Life being interrupted. Sometimes the interruptions are cataclysmic like 911 or the recent fighting in the Middle East and sometimes it is just a minor disruption at some personal level. Sometimes its even a combination of size and personal impact that gives the interruption greater meaning. Such was the case with my own heart attack two years ago. It definitely was not on the scale of terrorism or regional war, but for me it was nearly the end. To modern medicine's credit, a quadruple heart by pass operation and I am feeling renewed and living life fullest again.
This week, the interruption was much much smaller than the heart surgery, but still it has disrupted my comings and goings for most of the week. I had been having some gasteric discomfort due to a dysfunctional gall bladder which since Wednesday this week, has joined that list of things that will not happen again for me. Again through the wonder of modern medicine, my gall bladder was removed beginning at 7:31 AM on Wednesday and I was home sitting on my couch at 1:30 PM! A few hours labor by the fine doctors at University of Michigan Hospitol (literally my neighbors to the west), four small laproscopic incisions, some "super glue" sterile closures, and one less gall bladder.
My brother, who had his removed a several years back, spent three or four days in the hospitol for the same operation and I was barely from home 6 hours. Granted, I'm sore and tired, but generally pain free and quickly recovering enough to return to normal activities early next week.
However, this interruption does mean that any major work planned for this weekend will be delayed until next weekend when I should be better able to continue the Studio construction, getting the gardens and landscape settled for summer, and the like. I will however, be able to use this time off to make a few new plans for the coming months and start to visualize the new greenhouse that will be started this Fall.
With "Hats off" to modern medicine, I'll sit back this week, continue my brief recovery, enjoy the interruption, and will be back on track next week.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Hello, my old friends
As one moves through life, it is not common to remain friends for years and years. As I rested during the 90 degree weather this past week, I was able to spend some time with two of my oldest friends. We really didn't have much to say, just long enough to say "Hello" and to spend a few moments together. Over the years, our friendship has been much like that - stolen moments here and there.
My first friend is nearly as old as I am - 55 years old. A Siberian or Chinese Elm it is the only one of several that were planted in the early 1950s to provide shade for a new home that my uncle had built. Since my uncle passed away in the 1980s the home and its trees have passed to me.
Like most Siberian Elms, this one is multi-trunked and reaches some 40 feet toward the sky. Every year it sheds loads of sticks and twigs as it continues to grow onward.
While it may not show well in this photos, the trunk at chest height is massive and easily over 15 or 20 feet in circumference. I'd guess the diameter to be 6-8 feed.
This monster has survived summer and winter storms, sheets of ice, blowing gales, and just the rigors be being road side since what everyone remembers as 1951 or 1952.
Someday, I'm sure I'll lose this old friend. I only hope it falls to miss the house which sits precariously close by.
My other friend is likewise massive, but is a few years younger. Like my elm friend, this one also reaches toward the clouds with multi-arms. And like my elm, it too offers a great shady spot under which it influences both plants and animals around it. This one is a Silver Maple that I planted as best as I can remember between 1957-1960. At the time, I planted several rogue maples that appeared growing one summer and were destined to either be moved or uprooted during brush clearing. During its youth, sibling trees of this one were given to friends and lined the streetside of several homes nearby. Sadly, this is the only on that remains.
With wood that is tighter than the elm, the size of this trees trunk is not nearly as large as the elm, but still ranges in the 10-12 foot circumference and probably a 4-5 foot diameter. This tree lives in a side lot well away from the house and has it roots deep into the river's flood plain where it has a perfect supply of water regardless of the weather.
Offspring from this tree are planted elsewhere on the property also providing respite from the summer's heat and sun. Because it is so close to the river's edge, the air is always cool and refreshing around this old friend. In its shadow from where the picture was taken, I bench sits inviting one to stop and spend some time with the cool breezes and rustle of its leaves.
I have plans for the ground under this old friend for the coming months as I hope to plant in among its feet a new shade garden of perennials to keep my old friend company during the rest of its long life.
Not many trees get to live out their natural lives year after year, providing shade, comfort, and counsel for so long. Few friends remain throughout one's entire life providing a trusty, loyal, and unquestionable friendship. Long live friendships and long live my old friends, the maple and elm.
My first friend is nearly as old as I am - 55 years old. A Siberian or Chinese Elm it is the only one of several that were planted in the early 1950s to provide shade for a new home that my uncle had built. Since my uncle passed away in the 1980s the home and its trees have passed to me.
Like most Siberian Elms, this one is multi-trunked and reaches some 40 feet toward the sky. Every year it sheds loads of sticks and twigs as it continues to grow onward.
While it may not show well in this photos, the trunk at chest height is massive and easily over 15 or 20 feet in circumference. I'd guess the diameter to be 6-8 feed.This monster has survived summer and winter storms, sheets of ice, blowing gales, and just the rigors be being road side since what everyone remembers as 1951 or 1952.
Someday, I'm sure I'll lose this old friend. I only hope it falls to miss the house which sits precariously close by.
My other friend is likewise massive, but is a few years younger. Like my elm friend, this one also reaches toward the clouds with multi-arms. And like my elm, it too offers a great shady spot under which it influences both plants and animals around it. This one is a Silver Maple that I planted as best as I can remember between 1957-1960. At the time, I planted several rogue maples that appeared growing one summer and were destined to either be moved or uprooted during brush clearing. During its youth, sibling trees of this one were given to friends and lined the streetside of several homes nearby. Sadly, this is the only on that remains.
With wood that is tighter than the elm, the size of this trees trunk is not nearly as large as the elm, but still ranges in the 10-12 foot circumference and probably a 4-5 foot diameter. This tree lives in a side lot well away from the house and has it roots deep into the river's flood plain where it has a perfect supply of water regardless of the weather.Offspring from this tree are planted elsewhere on the property also providing respite from the summer's heat and sun. Because it is so close to the river's edge, the air is always cool and refreshing around this old friend. In its shadow from where the picture was taken, I bench sits inviting one to stop and spend some time with the cool breezes and rustle of its leaves.
I have plans for the ground under this old friend for the coming months as I hope to plant in among its feet a new shade garden of perennials to keep my old friend company during the rest of its long life.
Not many trees get to live out their natural lives year after year, providing shade, comfort, and counsel for so long. Few friends remain throughout one's entire life providing a trusty, loyal, and unquestionable friendship. Long live friendships and long live my old friends, the maple and elm.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Making Due with Summer Time
One of the things that I've noticed during Summertime is the unevenness of it, and I've never figured out where it comes from. Some days its hot, and sunny, but with a breeze the humidity only seems slightly uncomfortable. Other hot days it pains to just move through the air walking along the flower beds. Then there are are the repreive days with the heat and humidity are both lower and it is almost refreshing to walk. The effect of these variations is that some days drag along seemingly moving slower and slower and others will spend along at firefly speed coming and going before one can sit an enjoy them.
And the speed of the day has nothing to do with the amount of work to do or the amount that gets done. Some "fast days" contain long lists and great satisfaction at the end and so do some "slow days", although I have noticed that it is more noticable at the end of day if it was a fast one and it is during the day that the slow ones stick out.
The affective of all of this is an unevenness to what is completed any specific day. Consequently the work sees to move in a herky-jerky fashion - some days much is completed and other days it seems like nothing is done.
Take, for example, the work on my soon to be hopefully finished riverside Studio. In the beginning, with the mixing and pouring of cement foundations and setting the floor joists, work seemed to stretch over many days, ever so slowing progressing from week to week. Once the floor planks were laid, the walls seemed to jump up from the piles of 2x4s and were constructed in one weekend. But this past weekend, the work involved the placement and construction of roof rafters and the snail's pace of Summer returned. Working early morning to well into the night, only half as much work was completed as had been hoped. Even with the extra light of day-light savings and the hot weather of early July, the work snailed along - a slow day to be sure. And at the end of the day, it seemed little movement forward was had.
In order to finish the Studio and to be able to enjoy the fruits of this labor, the remaing weeks will need to be those satisfying, fast days when shingles and trim boards will jump from the piles of supplies and every workday will show a jump in progress as the Studio birth is completed.
And the speed of the day has nothing to do with the amount of work to do or the amount that gets done. Some "fast days" contain long lists and great satisfaction at the end and so do some "slow days", although I have noticed that it is more noticable at the end of day if it was a fast one and it is during the day that the slow ones stick out.
The affective of all of this is an unevenness to what is completed any specific day. Consequently the work sees to move in a herky-jerky fashion - some days much is completed and other days it seems like nothing is done.
Take, for example, the work on my soon to be hopefully finished riverside Studio. In the beginning, with the mixing and pouring of cement foundations and setting the floor joists, work seemed to stretch over many days, ever so slowing progressing from week to week. Once the floor planks were laid, the walls seemed to jump up from the piles of 2x4s and were constructed in one weekend. But this past weekend, the work involved the placement and construction of roof rafters and the snail's pace of Summer returned. Working early morning to well into the night, only half as much work was completed as had been hoped. Even with the extra light of day-light savings and the hot weather of early July, the work snailed along - a slow day to be sure. And at the end of the day, it seemed little movement forward was had.
In order to finish the Studio and to be able to enjoy the fruits of this labor, the remaing weeks will need to be those satisfying, fast days when shingles and trim boards will jump from the piles of supplies and every workday will show a jump in progress as the Studio birth is completed.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Remembering when
There are always certain acts as a child that seem to get lost in the whole of being an adult. Occassionally, as an adult, when you encounter these acts, you stop and smile remembering when times were simplier and there were no worries. This happened to me recently and the feeling lasted for a couple of weeks.
While out for a hike through my favorite nature park, I can upon a stand of Common Milk Weed plants. In fact a stand is what it was with many plants, each with stalks as thick as your thumb and leaves the size of hands. Something caught my eye under one of the leaves facing trail side.
There worked a large Monarch caterpillar munching away at the Milk Weed leaves. Immediately I was transported back in time to when, as a boy, Monarchs were as common as robins and every summer they'd be collected into mason jars with holes nailed into the jar tops. Every day, Milk Weed would be collected as the ravenous caterpillars ate their way through leaf after leaf. With their striped suits of black, yellow, and white, they grew larger right before eyes - each time going into a kind of stupor only to emerge slightly larger each time.
And in a matter of just a few days the growing would stop and the caterpillar would seek its refuge to make its final change. Seeking a protection location under a leaf or on a bent stalk, the caterpillar would spin a small web to attach its tail, hanging upside down in a "J" shaped hook. With gyrations and wiggles it would hang until its skin split one last time and emerging was not another simply larger caterpillar, but instead the creature that emerged looked nothing like its ancestor. In place of the black, yellow, and white striped creature now hung a different creature:
An eerie green almost waxy structure hung motionless where the caterpillar once was. The edges of its top outlined in black with jewels of gold that also speckled parts of the orb. The caterpillar had become a chrysalis: That somewhat "teenager" stage that butterflies and moths go through. Unlike human teenagers, these remain motionless and still on the outside. But like our teenagers, the insides become a swirling mass of ooze and a soup of life that will slow and gradual disolve away the body of the caterpillar and reconstitute into the body of an adult butterfly. The mysteries of what happens inside this protective shell are unknown and remain one of nature's true enigma. For two weeks or so the orb hangs in its protected location, not being affected by heat, cool, wind, or rain.
It waits until that day when all of the changing is done and the adult is ready to emerge. In the days that proceed, the opaque, jade colored orb begins to clear and slowly, over the next few days it continues to become clearer and clearer until the day of the hatch. That morning, in the early light of sunrise, the once clouded orb is now a clear drop revealing the adult hidden away inside. As the drop warms, the adult begins to stir and with a sudden burst of energy the once jade cell splits from bottom to top revealling the adult that somehow was transformed from the caterpillar of days gone by.
When first released, the adult butterfly wings are crumpled and folded upon themselves, but with each beat of its primitive heart, the wings expand:
While out for a hike through my favorite nature park, I can upon a stand of Common Milk Weed plants. In fact a stand is what it was with many plants, each with stalks as thick as your thumb and leaves the size of hands. Something caught my eye under one of the leaves facing trail side.
There worked a large Monarch caterpillar munching away at the Milk Weed leaves. Immediately I was transported back in time to when, as a boy, Monarchs were as common as robins and every summer they'd be collected into mason jars with holes nailed into the jar tops. Every day, Milk Weed would be collected as the ravenous caterpillars ate their way through leaf after leaf. With their striped suits of black, yellow, and white, they grew larger right before eyes - each time going into a kind of stupor only to emerge slightly larger each time.
And in a matter of just a few days the growing would stop and the caterpillar would seek its refuge to make its final change. Seeking a protection location under a leaf or on a bent stalk, the caterpillar would spin a small web to attach its tail, hanging upside down in a "J" shaped hook. With gyrations and wiggles it would hang until its skin split one last time and emerging was not another simply larger caterpillar, but instead the creature that emerged looked nothing like its ancestor. In place of the black, yellow, and white striped creature now hung a different creature:
An eerie green almost waxy structure hung motionless where the caterpillar once was. The edges of its top outlined in black with jewels of gold that also speckled parts of the orb. The caterpillar had become a chrysalis: That somewhat "teenager" stage that butterflies and moths go through. Unlike human teenagers, these remain motionless and still on the outside. But like our teenagers, the insides become a swirling mass of ooze and a soup of life that will slow and gradual disolve away the body of the caterpillar and reconstitute into the body of an adult butterfly. The mysteries of what happens inside this protective shell are unknown and remain one of nature's true enigma. For two weeks or so the orb hangs in its protected location, not being affected by heat, cool, wind, or rain.
It waits until that day when all of the changing is done and the adult is ready to emerge. In the days that proceed, the opaque, jade colored orb begins to clear and slowly, over the next few days it continues to become clearer and clearer until the day of the hatch. That morning, in the early light of sunrise, the once clouded orb is now a clear drop revealing the adult hidden away inside. As the drop warms, the adult begins to stir and with a sudden burst of energy the once jade cell splits from bottom to top revealling the adult that somehow was transformed from the caterpillar of days gone by.When first released, the adult butterfly wings are crumpled and folded upon themselves, but with each beat of its primitive heart, the wings expand:
After an hour or two of resting and inflating their wings, the adults will rest one last time for the remainder of their life will be dedicated to gather just enough nectar to reproduce and begin again the circle of life that all began with a caterpillar found both today and many years ago in my youth.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Downshifting is in the time
One of the most difficult aspects of retirement and of downshift is the economy of time. While one is still in the world of work for pay, it seems as if there is never enough time to get to the efforts that one wishes to do - that's being time poor. There are two ways to overcome poverty of any kind - either learn to get by on less or devise ways to create more. In this case, however, either of these solutions may not be all they seem.
While time itself is a quantity, the way in which time gets used is its quality. When in the world of work, one can economize and create blocks of time to pursue other endeavors, but often this may suffer from qualily issues rather than quantity issues.
Once you start to either downshift or reach some type of retirement, you often do not realize that it is just as important to improve the quality of time spent as well as to utilize the newly found quantity of time available for other pursuits. Often when the quality of time suffers, the value one finds in doing a task is lessened and eventually, it becomes a waste of time to spend on that task all together. Here, the issue is a lack of quality that cheapens the value, not a lack of effort or quantity of time spent.
So as one moves toward downshifting and retirement, keep in mind that it is essential to adjust our expectations of quality as well as the quanityt of time we face.
While time itself is a quantity, the way in which time gets used is its quality. When in the world of work, one can economize and create blocks of time to pursue other endeavors, but often this may suffer from qualily issues rather than quantity issues.
Once you start to either downshift or reach some type of retirement, you often do not realize that it is just as important to improve the quality of time spent as well as to utilize the newly found quantity of time available for other pursuits. Often when the quality of time suffers, the value one finds in doing a task is lessened and eventually, it becomes a waste of time to spend on that task all together. Here, the issue is a lack of quality that cheapens the value, not a lack of effort or quantity of time spent.
So as one moves toward downshifting and retirement, keep in mind that it is essential to adjust our expectations of quality as well as the quanityt of time we face.
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