Band-Aid Thief

I am a pretty stern hand with the bandaids at our house. I know its an American expectation that kids be given character bandaids every time they bump their shins. I'm mean. I insist on blood before there be handing out of bandages. Stickers are stickers, bandaids are bandaids. When Nib was in the hospital this past spring I relaxed my rule and let the nurses give him as many bandaids as they wanted to try to cheer him up. Mostly, he's back to my standard procedures but every once in a while I find those little plastic tabs on the floor and wonder where he put the contraband bandaid. I just found one of them. Sweet, sly boy.

In Which I Join The Neighborhood Association

There is a tiny garden down the street from us, tucked between a couple of houses, surrounded by a metal fence and a rusted gate with curling decorations, not obviously belonging to anyone.... with a plaque in it reading "In Memorium." I have wandered by many times with the boys and wondered about it, trying to place which house it belonged to and thinking curiously about the woman whose name was inscribed there.

Just tonight, looking up our neighborhood organization (which I am always meaning to join and never getting around to) I noticed her name "Beverly Eckert" in past events from 2009. Turns out she was my neighbor, she lived in the house behind us, our backyards kiss, there is a family living there now who have big happy dogs who play catch with their balls back there. This lady who has now become a name on a plaque to me, in an overgrown garden behind a rusted gate had quite an interesting story. Her husband died in the 9/11 attacks in the towers while she talked to him on the phone. Beverly then devoted herself to community life, to activism, to tutoring children and volunteering for Habitat for Humanity and planting gardens and painting murals in my neighborhood. Small things...ways to make good in her world. And then in 2009 she was killed in a plane crash, and the neighbors with the big dogs moved in.

And that's how she became a name on a plaque in an overgrown garden down the street. 

I think I'll go join my neighborhood association now.

Bindweed Beauty

I kinda like weeds. I think it all started when I read for the first time that there is no real, technical definition of a "weed," it's just what we call any plant we don't like. Certain weeds are of course invasive or exotic interlopers who go crazy in their new habitat (kudzu anyone?) and this feels like it gives them special status, but the fact remains that any particular weed some other gardener's "plant."

Yesterday I found myself eying up a sweet little specimen of field bindweed which is an Asian hobo plant, the perennial form of our beloved old fashioned garden annual, morning glory. Isn't it pretty though? The blooms are smaller than a morning glory, just little one inch cups, but so elegant and romantic looking. I am half-tempted (but only half, don't worry!) to dig some up and plant it in the somewhat empty corners of my fledgling flower beds. It twines so sweetly and it looks a bit like a miniature moonvine although it blooms during the day and isn't sweetly scented.

When we were in California their variety was larger, the size of the garden annual morning glory and all pink striped about the throat. So pretty! I tried to paint the above photo after we got home but, with dismal success...I may try again sometime. It was so pretty and they have such wonderful lines.

The Brothers Grimm had a sweet little legend about St. Mary and bindweed which you can read here.
 And this poem by Susan Coolidge, captures exactly what I feel about the little flower.

                  Bindweed

  In the deep shadow of the porch
    A slender bind-weed springs,
    And climbs, like airy acrobat,
    The trellises, and swings
    And dances in the golden sun
    In fairy loops and rings.

    Its cup-shaped blossoms, brimmed with dew,
    Like pearly chalices,
    Hold cooling fountains, to refresh
    The butterflies and bees;
    And humming-birds on vibrant wings
    Hover, to drink at ease.

    And up and down the garden-bed,
    Mid box and thyme and yew,
    And spikes of purple lavender,
    And spikes of larkspur blue,
    The bind-weed tendrils win their way,
    And find a passage through.

    With touches coaxing, delicate,
    And arts that never tire,
    They tie the rose-trees each to each,
    The lilac to the brier,
    Making for graceless things a grace,
    With steady, sweet desire.

    Till near and far the garden growths.
    The sweet, the frail, the rude,
    Draw close, as if with one consent,
    And find each other good,
    Held by the bind-weed's pliant loops,
    In a dear brotherhood.

    Like one fair sister, slender, arch,
    A flower in bloom and poise,
    Gentle and merry and beloved,
    Making no stir or noise,
    But swaying, linking, blessing all
    A family of boys.

I'll stop short of actually planting it in my own garden but, if I do find it has climbed in, I think I'll lean more towards training it and culling it than extermination. How do you resist those little paper thin funnels of white?

Related articles

• What's The Story, Morning Glory? (brooklynroofgarden.com)
• Weeds are distracting me (gardeningafterfive.wordpress.com)
• A new way to look at weeds (gardeningafterfive.wordpress.com)

Glimpses of History

Am thinking all the time about the history and story of our 1920's colonial. Who lived here through World War II? Who was born here? What did the gardens look like? How was it decorated? All those sorts of curious thoughts. I am inspired in my wistful wonderings by spending too much time looking through the pictures at the Flikr group "Looking Into The Past." 

Sure wish I had some authentic, black and white, pulled from the pages of history photos of our old place from its heyday. I wonder if somebody does, out there someplace.

This photo in particular strikes wishful chords for me. What a gem, to have that kind of a shot of the front of your place! Gotta get myself down to the historical society and look up our home's history and also call the previous owner's granddaughter for the interview she promised me about the house. So much journalism, so little time.

House Quirks

As far as I am concerned, an old house isn't worth diddly unless it has quirks. The more mysterious, humorous or confusing the better. Nothing enhances the idea of a place having a story more than a few unexplained bits and bobs.

Here's a tour of some of the things that make me scratch my head and wish the walls could talk around our "new" abode. If you can solve any of the mysteries, please speak out! I'd love to know whatever I can.

Whaddya think this doohickey is on the outside wall of the kitchen|? It's maybe a foot square or so.

Here's a little peek under a window sill where people re-paint less carefully. You can see at least the last two layers of paint the house wore before the current, white trim color. There used to be a lot of that mint green color all over, inside and out...all the trim.

There are two of these big "there once was tape on the wall" gummy residue x's in the master bedroom. Wonder why.

I am also curious about these little burn marks in the upstairs wood floor. They look the same size and shape as the radiator feet except they are in the middle of the room which doesn't make a lot of sense.

I have deciphered that this nubbin in the top of the kitchen door-frame means that there used to be a swinging door there.

What do you think this is? It has a little lever on the side there that can move up and down. The whole box is maybe four inches by three inches or so.

I'd guess smoke detector except it is older than one ought to be and has been painted over several times...now quite melded to the wall.

And that concludes our tour of the first round of "House Quirks." Thank you for joining us, please tune in next time to see a strange hole in the floor, a little button on the wall and an antique bottle from the basement.

Road Stories

One of the really fabulous things that happened when A's mom was visiting us this past weekend was storytelling. I have mentioned before that we have a little tradition of using long drives and boring times in the car when the kids are wiggly and nobody can be good anymore for storytelling. I am a pretty verbal person so the notion of telling tales together for fun is pretty appealling. There's also something in my that connects the concept to my Native American ancestry. I can trace my relations back to a genuine chief's daughter and I imagine hopefully that my predilection for the spoken word has some connection to old times around tribal fires and huddled evenings amongst the furs in the wigwam.

Anyhow, it sure does the trick for my small boys in the car. They stop wiggling and they listen astoundingly. There is far less fighting and far more giggling (if its that sort of story) and as a bonus, they've learned a lot about moral truths, the exploits of their relatives and the beauty of the spoken word. They know how to build suspense, how a good story begins and ends and on the sly I sometimes catch them spinning little story worlds of their own behind the bookcase, in amongst a labyrinth of Lego or snuggled down in a pile of pillows, giggling away on their bunk beds. Story is contagious and powerful and clearly special.

Ru is in the habit of asking for stories whenever the drive we're taking appears longish and even though the answer isn't reliably "yes" he  tries to get the story mill grinding. He asked in front of A's mother and I hastily explained the idea while planning on shutting him down for sake of adult conversation and instead she beamed and said, "Oh! What a good idea! Lets have some stories!" She was not only a good sport, she was a fabulous contributor. I told her that the core plan was the relate real life stories, with an emphasis on our own familial past (our childhoods, our parents, our grandparents, ancient family lore...etc.) and she dove right in with all kinds of magical tales about her children having tension filled adventures, her brother's wild exploits in nature and the time a turtle tracked paint all over her childhood basement. Wonderful stories that I hope I can remember well enough to repeat and repeat so that they become a part of our canon.

Have you sat and told the stories of your own adventures or the high times of your distant relations? Its a great thing to relive all the incidents, but even better to tell it to a small eye sparkler who will stop breathing for the tense bits and giggle-shriek over the embedded jokes.

Incoming Grandmother!

And then Little Grandma arrived. 

 

A's mom came whooshing in on a plane this morning and we promptly scooped her up and spent the whole day at a mad gallop. Everything from hanging out laundry and taking the baby for a four month check-up and four thousand things in between. Tomorrow we stay home.

The benefit of lots of time in the car dashing to and fro was that we lured Little Grandma into joining our new tradition of family storytelling on the highway. She told us some of the most fabulous stories...laugh out loud side groaners, scary tension filled tales and all kinds of curious familial legends that will live forever in the minds of my children. I think I am going to be able to relax just beautifully.

Storybook Series

Just sifting photos today and noticed this wonderful set of shots that Ru took of his little brother reading his favorite book of the moment. I love that his big brother thought this was a good subject, I love that he's so absorbed that he's reading standing up, I love that we see him through the handle of the broom and framed by the cupboard he's standing next to, I love the way the book moved up and down in the shots, I love that you can see me making dinner on the counter behind him and I love the myriad little expressions he makes under the story's spell.

Love the way he's absorbed in the back cover page here and letting the story bits fall open also digging the inquisitive angle of his head.

Something serious here...

Love the furrowed brow sticking out over the book

Focus on the book now....his little head is blurry background...cute, cute.

Cute little jolly emotion here

Get a load of that cute little bit of hair sticking up...and those tiny fingers curled around the cover

Having children is such a wonderful business. Its super fun to watch them "become." I love watching to see what shapes they unfurl into. Its like those little gel cap, sponge animals we played with as kids (did you play with those?) that melt away on contact with hot water and slowly uncurl and then Tada!!! You can see that your red capsule was a hippo! So cool! I feel like I did when I was five with my chin up over the edge of my grandma's bathroom sink, watching to see what the capsules I've been given become. You know all the shapes are good....but golly...who knows what they'll be! The fun is in the revealing. I love watching Ru learn to love photography and seeing through his eye when I upload his pictures, I love seeing Dee pick favorite stories and watching what special bits he loves and why. Its just really darn cool watching my boys be them! I can't wait to see what Nib becomes. Maybe he'll be a little red hippo! You never know! Mommyhood is cool like that.

Miq The Fairytale Genius

So, I've mentioned before that A has this brother, Miq who is utterly splendiferous in his own right and is married to the equally wonderful Penny. Lately, one of the big events in our extended family has been Uncle Miq's deployment to Iraq. (Ru is very impressed) All of us have been watching Facebook for the little updates he throws Stateside and doing what we can to stay in touch with Penny and their daughters. His little girls who are my boys cousins are now down to just one utterly fabulous parent which, is not as bad as it might be but, is obviously far less than ideal. We're all thinking of them often and watching (as much as you can watch when they live in Germany and we all live on this side of the pond) and wishing them all the very best.

But that Miq is a clever one. Never the type to sit on his hands mournfully in the middle of all that burning sand...he's been dreaming up one of the most creative and lovely daddy gifts I've ever seen. Sandstorms must be good for the imagination. He's been writing (from scratch mind you) lavish, bedtime fairytales for his daughters and recording himself telling them. If they half as big a hit with his daughters as they are with my sons, his special stories will never be forgotten in family lore.

At our house, we play them over and over and over.

So far, there are two installments...but, I expect there are more forthcoming. How many more? Heaven only knows...but, every one is a gem and whatever arrives we'll all rejoice.

I'm toying with sketching up some watercolor illustrations of Aclaircy's adventures. They're such beautifully imaginative stories, I'd have fun creating visuals.

Without further ado folks....The Amazing Uncle Miq:





Much love to you Miq as you wait and work and while away the days and days and days. We're rooting for you!