Category Archives: BCMA (Book Club, My Ass)

wordless wednesday week of wonder

dune(perfect weather and no one set the dune afire)

fiberfest

(we go to the Michigan Fiber Festival, home of the headless chicken)

sheep(when your animals become commodities and people become consumers, all the spirit and soul of the matter is lost. These were all loved and valued, each and every one)

roving(color…)

morewool(more color…)

pumpkinwool(I find the perfect colors for a fall pumpkin felting class)

wheel(the colors of friendship)

peaches(“You may come from Macon, but you ain’t no peach.” Only Red Haven and Lake Michigan blueberries will do for a cottage breakfast)

martins(better than DEET, any day)

optimus(I go to Chicago and see many dear friends, including Optimus Prime…)

pritzker-pavilion-2(We go to the Frank Gehry Pritzker Pavilion at Millennium Park…)

danm(…and I see my son play to a standing ovation.)

We’re off to visit with Bud. I hope you are all well and happy!

If I were already there…

I would be  sitting on the deck, feet up on the wood rail, looking out over the broad expanse of dunes and vast Lake Michigan-watching the Perseid meteor showers. Isn’t it clever of BCMA to gather the week that they peak, in a place along the Western Michigan shore where we will be able to enjoy midlife insomnia with the quiet company of dear friends and the mother of all fireworks? We’re foxy like that.

Off to the airport…perseid-meteor-shower-2009(I didn’t take this, but it was the featured photo in an article on the 2009 Perseids visible in Western Michigan, this very week. Obviously, the heavens were only waiting for BCMA to convene…)

Absence and fond hearts

mime-attachment

(Obviously, one of Edward Curtis’s finer photographs)

Sally was  driving home from one of her businesstrips in Northern Arizona when she saw an elderly Navajo woman walking on the side of the road.

As the trip was a long and quiet one, she stopped
the car and asked the Navajo woman if she would like a ride.

With a silent nod of thanks, the woman got into
the  car.

Resuming the  journey, Sally tried in vain to make
a bit of small talk with the Navajo woman. The old
woman just sat silently, looking intently at
everything she saw, studying every little detail,
until she noticed a brown bag on the seat next to
Sally.

‘What in bag?’ asked the old woman.

Sally looked down at the brown bag and said, ‘It’s
a bottle of wine. I got it for my husband.’

The Navajo woman was silent for another moment or
two. Then speaking with the quiet wisdom of an elder, she  said:

‘Good  trade…..’

____________________________________

Shriveled grapes, sour grapes, stomped fermented grapes, raisins- I’m leaving town. Bonnie is oh-so-right about my attitude and Mary is citing the adage about absence making the heart grow fonder. I’m banking on it. And, yes, Bonnie- we did go see Julie and Julia. What a splendid film! I especially liked the part where Julie blogs about the great falling out with her husband, the one where he leaves because she’s too busy cooking and blogging to have sex with him. Ah, me. And that Paul Childs was a saint.

The truth about marriage is that it’s tough sometimes- really tough. I think we have a seven year itch thing going on around here, that involves scratching the eyeballs out of the other. Kidding. Really, I’m kidding. But here’s the thing: in seven short years together we have been through end-of-life illness and death of two parents, menopause, skin cancer, getting another parent into nursing care, two moves, three job changes (one that included loss of benefits and other securities that are important to 50-somethings) and children really, truly, once and for all leaving the nest. Rich has re-written the direction of his life’s work, along with a book. He’s transitioned from a life on the road as a single business man to married man with inherited diabetes. I have retired from a professional life that was more than a profession, that I loved with such passion, one where I had functioned as a successful and independent woman for decades. One that defined me. I loved my work the way Julia Childs loved hers. I have had to re-define myself as a zoo docent, a raptor rehabber, a fiber artist- and as a wife.

When a marriage fails early on and unexpectedly and then a woman struggles to re-organize herself as a self-reliant person who can build a life, raise children, make a home all on her own-well then, it’s hard to let go of that. Because you had to fight so hard to get there. So, I’m just saying. And frankly, people, the fact that Rich is the butter to my bread and the breath to my life sometimes becomes background noise to the sniping and spitting. Because one thing you sure as hell do not need after all those years of being the one and same person who both overstuffed the garbage disposal with fresh greens and unclogged the nasty mess, is someone in your face asking you why you overstuffed the garbage disposal with greens. Especially when you know more about plumbing than they do. I bet even Katharina Von Bora would agree.

You know how sometimes I disappear for days at a stretch from blogging? Well, I’m working on shit. As in, getting my shit together. I’m over here trying to learn how to be a married woman, for one thing. I don’t have decades under my belt as some of you do. Working on being a whole person, even minus her own income. Someone who makes a difference, even without patients. (Who I needed because they were, God forbid, analysts cover your eyes, MY therapy.) Someone who holds the gardener in her soul while contending with pavement and alley rats. A mother who can’t cook dinner for her children. And there you have the truth and the heart of the matter.

Still. He is the butter to my bread. And still. I’m leaving home for a bit. Not because of him, although I would probably take a break one way or the other right now, just to stir up that fondness, but it’s time for- wait for it! BCMA!

Yes, yes, you should all be insanely jealous. This is the week when I get to go to that small 1920s cottage perched high on the dunes of the undisputedly best lake in the whole world, Lake Michigan. And this is the week when I am with my most favorite people in the whole world, the women of Book Club, My Ass. Our baby girls went to pre-school together. Our sons played the North Seas Jazz Festival in high school together. We have been sick together, had parents die, suffered cancer, complained bitterly about spouses, dieted both successfully and not and wept together. But most of all, we’ve laughed together.

This is the week when 800 square feet fills up with nine women, more (and better!) food than was in all of Julie and Julia, plenty of chilled white wine, beach reads, scrabble games and WOOL. We will knit on our own projects, poke and knit on each others projects, lay out raw wool and debate various shadings and dyes. Everybody but Audrey will snore and deny it. We will go watch the judging of the alpaca and again consider seriously the possibility of stuffing one in the back of Audrey’s SUV to go live on her farm as our joint venture. We will watch sheep shearing. We’ll fondle smooth, one-of-a-kind spindles and needles and admire wheels and looms. We’ll go in together on a giant dye lot of expensive cashmere/merino because each of those foolish spouses back home need a delicious sweater the color of dusk over the lake, knit with love. (And then, because they wouldn’t really appreciate it, we’ll knit it up into something for each other and send it for Christmas or birthday.) In the evening, with the sun shooting blinding oranges and reds into the kitchen window, we’ll all be bustling about tossing goat cheese salads, adjusting the curry in the chicken sauce, mixing the cocktail du jour. Then maybe a long beach walk, a bon fire.LkMichSunset-793

After those healing days, I’ll drive to Chicago, spread a blanket with friends, in front of the Frank Gehry Pritzker Pavilion in Millennium Park and cast eyes and ears on my son, whom I haven’t seen in months.  NOMO ends up their tour in this magnificent setting as part of the Chicago New Music Series.

FGehry3And then the two of us- Dan and I- will go out and eat as much of the best Chinese food as we possibly can. After that we head up to Oshkosh where Bud has gotten himself healthy enough and strong enough to rebel against assisted living. He’s thinking if they discharge him soon enough he’ll be able to put in the dock and the pontoon boat, by himself, before snow falls in October. And he plans to install a new pump in the well housing, finish repairing the roof… We will need to have a family confab and the cycle of my life will resume.

I liked the line in the movie where Julie Powell (played by Amy Adams) says, “I could write a blog. I have thoughts.”

wordless wednesday wings, waterfalls, wool

peacock butt(Some guys look almost as good going as they do coming)dragon(The colors Mother Nature comes up with!)green(another from Rainbow Springs State Park. )white wool(Getting ready for the BCMA Beach and Fiber Festival Retreat. From this…)orange(…to this. The first steps in a long process. More on Marion and  wool rug design tomorrow.)