13 years later, but not forgotten

I've been sorting through boxes of old papers and memorabilia at our condo in California –– so much time and space and distance from our very old, family cottage on Seneca Lake –– when I came across a crumpled up piece of paper with my hastily written remarks from a memorial ceremony we held for her in 2005 at her home in Valois.

I decided I didn't want these memories to be buried so I'm sharing them with all of you.

Here it is:

"Some of you have heard me say that my mother was ahead of her time. She was an early feminist –– wearing Birkenstock sandals before any of us knew it was cool to wear comfortable shoes, and to work with a hammer and saw. She was no fashionista, no makeup, all tops/jackets/vests were based on the size of the pockets.

Louise in her garden

I've felt my mother's presence these past three weeks as I sorted through her things and worked on her home, especially in her garden.

I had the opportunity to remind myself of who she was –– not just over the past few years as her body started to fail, but the artist, the gardener, the collector (I wish I had bought stock in contact paper when I was 18!), the daughter, the sister, the wife, and yes, the parent.

It's been a great pleasure to go through her artwork from when she was an art major at CCNY and to examine her other palette –– her gardens. Spectacular, as you can see. So many of the plants were bartered with other gardeners, and I remember going on treks around the countryside where she would identify where the front of a old home must have been located, just from looking at the vegetation. And then we'd dig some up and take it home to plant around the cottage.

My most loving memories of my mother were of my childhood years when she served as Pied Piper of 'the cousins', a motley crew of us kids that she took creek-climbing and up slippery waterfalls, encouraging us to slide down the rocks into a natural pool of icy water. All the while carrying her little satchel with her cigarettes and lighter and anything else anyone was foolish enough to forget in one of our pants pockets.

Later we had so many laughs playing Twister on the porch, or singing 99 verses of Hey Lady, Lady, doing jigsaw puzzles or playing Euchre or Hearts. About a dozen kids of ages. And mom. By late evening heading up the hill to Sheik's Oasis, our home away from home, a local tavern where all ages were welcome.

She's given me a great extended family.

I keep waiting for Mom to come barreling up the hill to the house to see what changes I've made to the house that day. Or to see what I've thrown out. I can still see her peering into the dumpster as I clear out the back room, an exercise that was a great source of discomfort for her. I apologized. A lot.  But kept heaving. I told her what I had told her many times over the past two years –– 'Yes, it's a treasure. It's just not OUR treasure anymore.'

Many times over the past few weeks someone has told me, "You're just like your mother." Usually it's when I have a strong opinion or I'm encouraging someone to carry, fix, pick up or otherwise do something for the house.

I used to take that as criticism. But now I've decided to accept that comment as praise for a women who had a lot of strong opinions, who passed along the belief that most rules only applied to other people, and a sense –– based on her hope for me –– that the world was filled with endless opportunities.

Most of all, today, I'm grateful to my mother for passing on her love of Seneca Lake and for sharing a community that, despite a 30-year absence, still holds a place for me at the table, just because I'm Louise Schwartz's daughter."

Witnessing a migration at an old lake cottage

Newly mowed lawn in front of the cottage

Today we finally quit looking at the grass growing at our lake cottage and busted a move to cut it.  We fired up Dan's brand new self-propelling lawnmower, definitely the best lawnmower this place has ever seen. Michael and I had quit mowing the half-acre here a while back and hired a lawn service after I had mowed over a yellow jacket ground hive and ended up with a dozen stings. And Michael ended up in the emergency room after getting stung by one of those really nasty white-faced wasps. Right through his clothing.

And then there are the ticks.

But the grass was growing. The mower was new. And rain is predicted for tomorrow.

This lawn is so familiar. I've mowed it so many times over the 60-some years our family has owned the place. I know the dirt patches where things don't want to grow. Watched the mint migrate around the bottom of one of the big locust trees. Then some lily of the valley, now some lovely hosta. We have wisteria vines the size of rope wrapped around our big sycamore tree, which grows and travels like kudzu vines.

All suited up for lawn duty

It was the first time in a while I had put on long pants, shoes and socks, long sleeve shirt. Hair up in a pony tail, ball cap to protect my head. And then started to sweat. Which attracts all those itty bitty bugs that like to swarm my eyes and face. Aha. I remember what else I didn't like about mowing!

But the glorious part of mowing was discovering that the black raspberry bushes from up in the vineyard had migrated to our front and side rock wall because too many shade trees have moved in above us.  And my mom's delicious red raspberry bushes had traveled from the back corner of the yard to mid-yard along the wall to catch the necessary sun needed to grow those berries. So amazing to witness these slow migrations necessary for its survival.

Black and red raspberries

The side yard is just a part of the yard I don't hang out in. Too sunny. No view of the lake. But now, berries!

It's been ridiculously hot and humid here in New York. Dangerously hot unless you're living on the shore of a glacier lake and can catch a bit of a breeze off the water, can sit on a dock and dangle your feet in the lake. Now that the chores are done, our plan is to spend this lovely Independence Day with friends, keeping cool until the weather breaks.

Happy Independence Day, friends!

Probably a hundred year old rock wall borders our property

Sweetpeas and lilies and berry bushes all in a lovely mess

This pileated woodpecker is the size of a hawk!

Stopping for the sunset is a daily ritual

Vacations still need a routine

The view from our porch

The differences between my life in Point Richmond and Valois Point are radical.

Both good. But radically different.

Michael and I have traveled so much, relocated so much, lived half and half the year in various places, or sometimes four/four/four months for a few years that the minute we hit the ground, our goal is to get a routine going.

One of the things I've learned from all the moves we've made is that I can't move to a new place or stay somewhere on an extended visit and act like I'm on vacation. It's crazy-making for me anymore and unhealthy. Immediate immersion and routine saves the day, saves my sanity.

Our first weekend back we were lucky to land at our good friend Amanda's house, just in time for a weekend of rain and cool weather. No guilt about hanging around the house, staying indoors, getting rested. After 18 days in the teeny tiny trailer, the space felt huge.

A really good friend cleaning our window

By Sunday we were back in our family cottage, a old fishing and hunting cabin built in the late 1800s. And not built very well then, either. All the familiar creeks and groans are mostly still present. Michael was a little startled when the front porch screen door didn't slam with a screech, as it had for decades but he reassured when the wood stairs still creaked and groan just exactly right.

But there are big differences between condo living in San Francisco and living in our little wood-framed cottage in the country.

For one, the bugs. Our cottage has them. Not so much in our hermetically sealed condo in San Francisco. The first thing I did was vacuum up every bug/web/ant/crawly or flying thing so I could sleep at night. I didn't used to be so picky.

Second, our cottage is in a gorgeous rural area of the Finger Lakes in New York. We're right on the lake, surrounded by vineyards and orchards and trees and grasses. Extremely quiet. Except for the squirrels living in the ceiling and using it either as an autobahn or a soccer field. Not much people noise. But a fair amount of birds, squirrels and other wild things.

Because it's so rural, it's also a place where you have to have a car and you pretty much can't walk if you want to get there the same day. Watkins Glen is 14 miles. Hector is probably three or four.  At our cottage, a walk for exercise has to be scheduled as  'a walk'. A walk around the block here is two miles. In Point Richmond, I can walk the two miles along the shore or over the hills to get to Body Wisdom Studio in the mornings to teach or to take classes. It's integrated into my day. I'm finding the concept of 'taking a walk' requires more discipline. I haven't mastered it quite yet.

And our lovely cottage –– a source of family legends and stories and familiarity –– is as basic as she comes.  So daily chores takes organization and routine. The beach well water from the lake gets pumped up to our very old thousand gallon cistern to run the house, which Michael fills almost daily by going downstairs to our musty and dusty cellar to turn the pump on. It's not drinking water, so jug water also always has to be available.

Definitely no automatic dishwasher –– and no maid service. There are so many minerals in the water that the machinery cruds up pretty fast. I'm finding the water here definitely agrees with my skin and hair. Our city water is pretty sterile in California, like almost anywhere. A friend among friends, Sue Wolf came over Sunday morning and helped me de-buggify the place. And even cleaned our windows!

But as much as country living takes some adjustment each summer,  it's also fun to have everything around here stay so much the same. For decades.

My walking buddies still meet every morning at 8

Monday morning I drove up to Satterly Hill Road to join my walking buddies, who I could count on would still be meeting to walk at 8 a.m. Mondays through Fridays. I didn't have to call anyone to confirm.

I knew that Monday night most of my extended family and half our Hector friends would be at Blues Night at Rasta Ranch, where my cousin Brett Beardslee plays music and various local friends join in on the deck of the winery owned by his mother-in-law.  Today I get to see old friends at a book club that I helped launch many years ago. 

Michael's days are equally full. But the next phase, as the temperatures heat up at the end of the week, is to descend to the dock and appreciate lake weather. The summers here are so short that no one wants to miss a minute.

Scott Adams and Cousin Brett Beardslee singing the blues

Today is cool and rainy again, making it so much easier to stay in and prep for my class, blog, sweep up some more bugs. Tomorrow cousins start arriving in droves for the weeklong (or longer) Fourth of July festivities. And tomorrow I teach my first Dynamic Aging workshop at a Watkins Glen fitness studio.

My goal for the remainder of this visit is to keep a routine going, stay healthy, and still have a bit of spontaneity. It's a worthy goal.  Stay tuned.

Blues Night at Rasta Ranch with Cousin Brett

My lamp, bought at an antique shop, now lighting up Rasta Ranch

Michael's books on display at the winery

Many local fruit stands still sell on the honor system

Lunch at the Village Marina, at the end of Seneca Lake

18 days on the road. Now rain. And rest.

Made it all the way home to Seneca Lake.

We left Point Richmond, California on June 4. And somehow we put the pedal to the metal during the last few days (in perspective, maybe the Red Writer rolled down the highway at 62 mph?) to get to New York before some big storms rolled in behind us.

So, 18 days of travel in our little Red Writer T@b trailer!

The only funky night we had on our trip was a late night stop in Indiana at the Sand Creek RV park, way off the beaten track but somehow also in the middle of the 'burbs. Exhausted by a rainstorm along the way and needing safe haven, Sand Creek did not live up to its description. Never saw a creek. Pool empty and under repair. No shower heads. No pump out station. Serious sulphur water –well water – which I had to remind myself during my shower that as much as it was a rotten egg gag-a-thon, my skin and my hair probably loved all the minerals. But it wasn't water we could put in our tank.

Sand Creek RV Park is a field.

The next morning we stopped at a rest area as we got back on the toll road to discover Indiana and Ohio offer overnight parking for RVs, with power, wifi, restrooms and picnic tables, separated from the tractor trailer parking.

A serious head slap. Shoot.

As navigator, I realized it wasn't that much of a push to get us all the way across the New York State border and to dinner at Bemus Point on Lake Chautauqua, where Michael grew up. It wasn't our final destination but would certainly feel like home. So we pushed on and got to Bemus in time for a leisurely dinner on the deck of The Casino restaurant (not an actual casino). Then moved down the highway for another 100 miles to park in the lot of the Seneca Allegheny Casino.

The Casino is right on I-86, but there isn't much night-time traffic, the lot backed up to the woods and it was nice and quiet and safe. Another time we would have checked out the restaurant and facilities and dropped a dime or two into the slots. But not this time. Park. Sleep. Done.

Brother Dan getting his pontoon boat ready for lake duty.

Early the next morning we headed the final two hours to meet my brother Dan at his shop, check out his new boats and make a plan for the day.

Lucky us!

By mid-afternoon we were out on Seneca Lake with he and Kathy and the whole fam-dam, including my  brother David, Kathy's daughter from Cleveland, Kathy's granddaughter and her friends.

We went north and ended up at Miles Winery, one of the few wineries on Seneca Lake that has a dock (and wine tasting on the water). A lovely stop, nice shade trees, and the winery is in a beautiful historic home overlooking the lake.

A perfect first day back home on Seneca Lake.

Made it back safely to our family cottage in Valois and headed back down the hill to Watkins Glen, where we are staying for a few days until it's our turn to move up to the cottage.

It rained in the night and the forecast is for two more days of rain. It's a great excuse to get caught up with sleep, blogs, correspondence, sleep, organizing, visiting with old friends. Sleep.

All in all, it was a successful cross country.  Everything worked, no breakdowns, no drama, Michael and are I still speaking. But I noticed neither of us complained when we slept in a queen-sized bed last night.

Now it's time for me to gear up to go back to 'work' – I'm teaching a Dynamic Aging workshop at Exercise Enterprise in Watkins Glen on Thursday afternoon. I'm eager to share with my New York friends what I've learned over the last two years of study with Katy Bowman and Nancy Burns about Restorative Exercise and moving our bodies. Contact me if you're in the Finger Lakes area and want more information.

Okay. That's enough. I've been up for at least two hours. More rain is forecast and it's time for First Naps. Zzzzzzzzzz

Indiana had Black Raspberries, common in New York but rare elsewhere

RV overnight parking registration on the toll roads in Indiana and Ohio

Brothers Dan and David at Miles Winery on Seneca lake

A Iowa reunion with Pam and Dave Tomlin, friends from Mexico

'On the road again, I can't wait to be on the road again....'

Camped at the Eugene Maloney State Park in Nebraska

Four days (and three nights) at a lovely state park in Nebraska has refreshed us enough to hit the road again. Killer temperatures continued to immobilize most everyone who left their air conditioning even for a minute until the weather finally broke last night.

Not many bugs, thank goodness, but the firefly show at night was better than most Fourth of July fireworks. Spellbinding.

Not many people were outside in the evenings, or sitting around the campfires in the state park. Too damn hot.

But then, a fantastic thunderstorm. Lots of rain. And cooler temperatures.

We made a major home improvement this week. Our beds now have memory foam toppers after two weeks of my being determined to accommodate to a harder surface. I kept thinking about what people around the world must be sleeping on, and surely I could leave my amazing king platform bed at home and adjust?

I tried.  I really tried. But it will take a longer adjustment than two weeks (and a chiropractor and deep tissue massage) to make it pain free.

Last night I slept the best I've slept since leaving our condo. Great bed. Cool temperatures. Better attitude.

We drove through a pretty solid rainstorm this morning to stay at a park in Des Moines to visit with friends from Mexico, who now live in the New Mexico mountains. I love when our paths intersect with friends from other places. Dave and Pam Tomlin are on the road with their original Airstream and we'll catch up this evening before all departing in different directions.

One of the biggest challenges for us this trip is the lack of good internet and wifi connections. But a benefit is the lack of news.

Trump Country

I've been reminded by signs and overheard conversations that I'm in 'Trump Country'. I find myself wanting to have a really decent conversation with someone who has a strong religious and/or military background about the current immigration policy that separates children from parents. I want to understand. I can't wrap my mind around it and mostly, I'm heartbroken for the children and for our country, a country that appears to have lost its national compassion.

But conversations like this don't seem possible, yet. I've started conversations with strangers my whole life, but this one seems hugely unapproachable. I sat on the couch using wifi in the lodge at the state park yesterday while the national news covered the immigration issue.  I wondered what the other people watching were thinking at that same moment. We didn't talk.

I'm not lonely this trip and I'm seeing America up close and personal. But that lack of conversation, for someone like me, someone who 'knows no strangers', gives me the greatest pause about our current political divide and the health of our country.

I have no answers, no strategy. Just an observation.

Tomorrow, we'll continue trekking east. The weather is rainy and cool and conducive to making miles. And we'll continue to look for good wifi connections along the way.

Whole Foods AND fast wifi so Michael can write his column.

The North Platte River from the Eugene Mahoney State Park

A shady campsite in Nebraska. Lots of fireflies!

A drive-thru Dunkin Donuts, cars wrapped around the back

Horseback riding, swimming, theatre. Lots of to do here.

Shade has been the most important commodity for this heat wave.

I'm not a princess. I'm not. I'm not. I'm not.

Michael and I cruised our 40' sailboat, then cruised our 48' sailboat, for most of the years we've been married. And traveled. A lot. We've had 28 years of adventure.

But there was a reason we quit cruising.
And starting staying at more upscale hotels. Ones with big, comfortable beds.
And bought an almost hermetically sealed condo.

I'm no longer as willing to be uncomfortable. I've paid my dues.

Asphalt sealer on the bike trail. Or a sign?

In hindsight, living so many years in an agricultural village on the Pacific Coast of Mexico probably sealed the deal. I told Michael early on that if I ever left rural Mexico, it was because the scorpions and the other stingy, bitey, annoying bugs would drive me out. I knew we were outnumbered, but it's the price of living close to the land in a tropical climate.

Moving to our family's 100-year-old summer cottage in Upstate New York was leagues better. But some days we would get a hatch of centipedes in the living room, or hordes of black flies or moths that would simply appear in the hundreds on the porch. Nothing to hurt us but definitely annoying. Or going to sleep at night in the upstairs bedroom and hearing squirrels racing on their autobahn above our heads in the ceiling.

Yesterday I hit my wall. I was done with inconvenience. I was done with discomfort. I wanted to scream when I opened the fridge and the tomatoes burst out of its container and on to the floor. Getting to the showers in the campground and forgetting my towel. Hitting my head for the thousandth time in the trailer, outside at the table, around the outside of the truck. Because my spaces are never routine.

I sat and smoldered in the truck for most of the day while we drove through Nebraska, knowing that nothing I could say would be helpful or kind. Or solvable. My silence was deafening. To both of us.

By evening I told Michael I was ready to talk. And we gently pulled apart what was bothering me, and how we might approach the rest of the trip (without me hopping on the next flight out of Omaha). A lot of the solutions are simple. How much to drive. How long to stop. Where to stay. How much to explore. How to make the bed more comfortable. How we could bring
the fun factor back up to the top of the list.

I'm delighted to find that today I'm back on track, ready to see what the next adventure brings us. We have a plan, I have more patience, and I married exactly the right guy who understands my need for adventure, but also sees my growing intolerance for discomfort.

As I said, I'm not a princess. I'm not. I'm not.

The Coolest State

Six days in Colorado seems like a tease because there is always so much more to explore. And I've been visiting for years, so it's not like I'm even a newbie.

Four consecutive nights on the Colorado gave us the rest and the space we needed from all those hot days on the road in Nevada and Utah. We wanted cool. And for the most part, we got it. Cool nights and hot days.

We broke camp this morning and headed UP the highway (literally, over Vail Pass), first to spend more time with Jason, then down the pass to swing to visit Hector friends, Ann and Paul Barford, who now live in a beautiful home in Golden.

The cutest little town of Minturn, Colorado

Jason is now living in a little eccentric town just below Vail, Minturn, which reminds me of a blend of Hector/Burdett in Upstate NY, mixed with Carmel, and a little Vail and Aspen architecture. And clearly, no zoning. I tend to love undefined communities like that. This one really floated my boat, so to speak. And it does have a river flowing through it.

Tiny little wood frame houses lined the streets, interspersed with new restaurants and the occasional new condos. All tastefully integrated.

And the best –– the best! –– consignment store for a quick hit of retail therapy at budget prices, while Michael and Jason did what we call a 'blue job' (as compared to a pink job) of washing the truck and trailer. And no accusations of sexism. A blue job just means, Not My Job.  Found three cute workout tops for my return to teaching at Body Wisdom Studio in California.

Our view of the Rockies from Chief Hosa Park, near Golden

Then over and down the pass –– still a fair amount of snow on the peaks –– and a campsite just outside of Golden. Chief Hosa Park was a find, recommended by the Barfords. A herd of bison roam right next to the park, which is at 7,800 feet. Michael and I hiked at 8,000 feet this early this morning. He's asked for a Body Wisdom merit badge for his efforts, which Owner Nancy Burns has agreed to award him.

Colorado Firefighters keep the Barford's safe 

And we had just a quick bit of excitement while visiting the Ann and Paul. A fire broke out in the park just below their house. They were evacuated for a bit but back in time to greet us. Firefighters were in and out for the afternoon, making sure no embers remained. It's extreme fire danger right now in the state.

We left Colorado this morning and we're now pretty much boiling in Nebraska, as the humidity and the temperatures rise. There's a pool nearby our camp, which I'm about to try out. Then ... Eastward Ho!

Michael and Jason walking downtown Minturn

Restoration of an old Minturn House, built in 1881

The restoration of an 1881 house 

New Minturn lofts above a business in 'downtown'

The creek running through and behind Minturn

Flowers along the trail at our 8,000 foot hike

My Bedrock sandals from Pt Richmond are all I've needed this trip