Archive for the ‘Nyel’ Category

Out of nowhere the thoughts come…

Sunday, October 15th, 2023

You know that something is coming.  Something — a specific, dire, and awful something–will happen.  You envision it, you push it away.  It rolls slowly, inexorably, back into your mind.
     You make what preparation you can.  Or you think you do, though your bones know the truth — there isn’t any way to sidestep, accommodate, lessen the impact.  It will come, and you will be helpless before it.
     You know these things.
                            Prologue: “Go Tell the Bees That I am Gone” by Diana Gabaldon

I began Book Nine in “The Outlander” series today but…  I had to stop after reading the prologue.  Suddenly, in front of me was not the book but the year or two before Nyel’s death — right up until the last words he said to me.

The day had begun well.  It was the second or third day Nyel had spent in his “new” hospital bed which was located in the room with the TV.  Neither of us really liked it in there — never mind that the room is just across the hall from our bedroom.  We had already arranged for the North Coast Home Care folks to come and move it into the bedroom.  It would be situated where the fainting couch is, just steps away from me and with a view out the window to the bay.

I got up about seven and went into the “TV Room” to find that Nyel was already up and dressed and in his wheelchair — just heading toward the kitchen.  “Wow!  Have you already taken your pills?”  “Yep!” was his smiling answer.

So I went to take my shower and get ready for the day.  When I got to the kitchen Nyel was sitting at the table, a smoothie about 1/4 gone.  “You made a smoothie?!”  I was impressed (being the non-foodie that I am!)  “Yes,” he said, not quite so smiley as he’d been earlier.  “But now I’m not very hungry.  I think I’d like to go back to bed as soon as the guy comes to move it.”

I honestly don’t remember much about the next few hours.  Maybe I went to get the mail… It was a Wednesday so the paper might have been involved.  As soon as the bed was situated, I pushed Nyel into the bedroom but he couldn’t stand to get in.  Somehow… I lifted him and got him settled… About then the Public Health Nurse came to check his vitals and do a blood draw as she did every Wednesday.

Nyel — in plummier times

As she moved the stethoscope around his chest she said “It’s so quiet.  It’s so quiet.  His electrolytes must be off.” I remember thinking “electrolytes?” and  that we must be generations apart… And she then suggested I call the EMTs.

Nyel looked at me and said, “I feel so bad.  I’ve never felt this bad.”

“Do you want me to call the EMTs?”  We had long ago decided ‘no extraordinary measures’ and he shook his head.  “But if the hospital can help you feel better?” I asked.  And he  slowly nodded an affirmative.  They took a very long time to get here — they weren’t from Ocean Park.  Nyel died as 2:22 that afternoon…

As Gabaldon wrote:  It will come, and you will be helpless before it.
     You know these things.

 

 

 

 

 

With apologies to Nyel and all chefs at large!

Wednesday, September 6th, 2023

Propane Tank, 2020 — Unsightly After 20 Years

Yesterday was a red letter day for me!  I bade a fond farewell to our propane tank and to all its connections to my kitchen range.  But I did send silent apologies to all the wonderful cooks and chefs out there who know better than I about the wonders of cooking on open flames!  I acknowledge your artistry and (to me) your bravery.

Me… not so much, even though I grew up with gas stoves in California without giving them much thought one way or another.  In fact, I think I lived with gas being the only option — both on stovetop and in the oven for my first 42 years.  It was natural gas, piped in from under the streets in every house where I lived.  I never gave it a thought.

But, when I moved full-time to Oysterville and built my own house, I found that I had a choice.  Electric everything, or “gas” which was provided by propane tanks.  I don’t know why that seemed scary to me — perhaps because I’d heard of disasters caused by the combination of leaking gas and a spark.  (But why I’d never focused on that where natural gas was involved — and surely there must have been disasters now and then — I don’t know.)

Time passed.  Nyel entered my life.  Nyel who loved to cook and lamented that we hadn’t the proper cooking facility.  So, when it came time to move to the family house, the first thing we did was to remodel the kitchen and install a duel-fuel stove.  And propane.  I was not a happy camper but, of course, Nyel’s wonderful meals more than compensated — even when we did, indeed, have a gas leak early on! (But no spark.  No explosion.  And no repeat performance.)

In August 2020 Nyel did his magic paint trick — the next best thing to a propane tank disappearing act.

As the years  went by and the tank grew rusty, Nyel painted it white to camouflage it a bit — for my sake.  He talked about building a  latticework screen around it but it was one of those things that we never got around to.  I’m sure he knew full well that eventually I would revert to an all-electric stove if ever he could no longer manage the cooking duties.  I’m so glad that never happened as long as he lived.  And now…  Now I’m sure he would be cheering me on.  He was just that kind of guy!

All of A Sudden!

Monday, June 12th, 2023

York Roses

I’m sure it was just yesterday — but maybe the day before —  that I looked out our bedroom window at the tubs of York Roses and there wasn’t a blossom to be seen.  It’s been that kind of a Spring, all the way around.

But today I looked and there they were, almost bursting at their seams or whatever the equivalent of seams are for roses.  AND, I was amazed to find that they are right on schedule.   I looked back in my past blogs and saw that on June 16, 2012 I wrote:
This year the roses are finally back in full force.  They are blossoming like crazy in their tubs, their distinctive red, white, and variegated blossoms brightening our gray June days.  Three cheers and pip pip!

Dorothy Perkins Rosebuds

Apparently, my concern had been our losing battle with the Deer People.  But then I had discovered “Liquid Fence” which smells REALLY bad (but fortunately only for a few minutes to humans and more like two weeks to the deer and rabbit folks) and allows roses and hydrangeas and camelias and geraniums to flourish.

Nyel’s Peony Buds

This year my concern was just the lateness of things.  As in will we have any roses to put up at the cemetery when Charlie and Marta come and we take Nyel’s ashes up to tuck him into his place for eternity.  Traditionally — or at least for my mother and father — we took the Dorothy Perkins roses with us.  But those buds are hardly visible right now.

We  have a couple of weeks yet … and the peonies are still coming on!  Wouldn’t they be perfect?!

 

It Probably Stands To Reason

Thursday, April 13th, 2023

Fern didn’t even look at me. And she didn’t have to say a word. Not really.  But, nevertheless, I heard her loud and clear.  “It’s time for you to take me back inside,” she said.  “Back where I belong.”

And so I did.  I moved the Christmas poinsettia (even though she still seems to be thriving) and I put Fern back in her rightful place — on the sewing machine table in the bedroom where she gets the full benefit of the north light from the bay windows.  She should have come in a month or six weeks ago, but the poinsettia wouldn’t hear of it. I feel a little guilty that I didn’t put my foot down.

Fern has been with me for almost forty years.  Sue Cowell would know.  Fern came from a cutting at the Timberland Library in Ocean Park back when Sue worked there and when Bonnie Sayce was the Head Librarian.  I fell in love with Fern’s grandmother the first time I saw her.  It was shortly after the new library had opened and Sue and Bonnie were transplanting her to a larger pot.

She was  gorgeous — a huge Davallia canariensis, commonly known as hare’s foot fern, Canary Island hare’s foot fern, or deer’s foot fern.  It was love at first sight and when Sue offered me a cutting, I was ecstatic.  Fern II seemed to like my little house on the bay just fine.  Ditto my cat Bowser.  An ditto me.  But when Nyel came into our lives, Fern II only had eyes for him.

Christmas Poinsettia — Still Thriving

Fern II lived with us for almost twenty years and, by the time we sold the house to Ann Chiller, she was much too big to move.  Besides, she and the house seemed perfect for each other and we didn’t want to break up such a happy relationship.  So, Ann inherited the plant.

Some years ago, Ann, in her turn, sold the house.  Before she moved, she brought us a present — a small cutting from Fern II.  And so Fern III began her sojourn here in Oysterville.  She is surrounded by books which must resonate in some primordial fashion hearkening back to the library of her grandmother’s time.

But it was always Nyel who trimmed her feet and who took her out to the back forty to rest for a few months each winter.  I know she missed him this year but she didn’t complain.  Still… she let me know that it was time to come back in. Perhaps it’s my imagination, but she seems to be looking a little frail this time around.  Maybe a little liquid fertilizer?  Nyel would know… 


 

I’m not exactly a foodie, but…

Tuesday, March 21st, 2023

Chef Nyel and The Lamb Roast! April 17, 2022

It seems like I’ve been hankering for lamb for four or five years now — leg of lamb, lamb chops, rack of lamb… you name it.  Lamb chops, especially, were a staple in this family.  Broiled with a dash of salt, pepper and dredged in oregano flakes!  Yummm!  The best.

But then the local butchers said lamb was costing too much to keep it in stock.  CostCo held out for a while but then said they could only get it from Australia and supplies were limited.   And then came Covid and we just stopped looking.  Mostly.

But yesterday I found THREE loin lamb chops at Freddy’s!  Count ’em: one, two, three.   Tucked way out of sight, they were, almost like they didn’t want to be found.  I do so wish my closest girlhood friend, Joanne Bruner, were still among us.  I’d call her and ask her to come up from California for a meal!

I so clearly remember when we were Freshmen or Sophomores in high school and I asked her over for dinner.  “We’re having lamb chops!” I enthused.  Her face fell — just a little.  She’d never tasted lamb.  Her folks “didn’t believe in it” she said.  Something about them being from Colorado and “beef country.”

At Gulley’s Butcher Shop, Astoria, 2022

Huh?  I didn’t get it at all.  I still don’t — probably have the state wrong.  But she came to dinner and I have to say, one bite and she was hooked.  We had her to dinner on lamb nights many times after that…

I also remember that I was seven or eight years old before I really understood that beef and lamb were different from one another.  They both tasted great to me.  It must have been about the time that we tried horse meat that I noticed all meat wasn’t the same.  (It was during World War II and meat was rationed so you managed the best you could.)  I remember that mom used it in a stew — the chewiest stew ever! From then on, I paid a little more attention to just what kind of meat we were eating and I realized that I liked lamb the best.

Last year, Nyel wanted to do a lamb roast for Easter.  We ordered it from Gulley’s Butcher Shop in Astoria.  Four pounds boned and rolled! .  “Money is no object,” Nyel said.  And it wasn’t.  I’ve totally forgotten what it cost but I’ll never forget the pleasure Nyel had in cooking it and our subsequent enjoyment at Easter dinner.  I haven’t had lamb since.  But, soon!

…And everywhere that Sydney went,
Some lamb was sure to show!

 

 

 

“Time, Daisy!” Words to live by…

Saturday, February 25th, 2023

Every household probably has a catch phrase or two of the sort that Nyel and I always called “words to live by.”  One of our favorites, “Time, Daisy!” was from “L’il Abner” in which I played Mammy Yokum opposite Scott Cowell as Pappy.  It was not long before Nyel and I married and, as I prepared for my role, he often ran lines with me.  “Time, Daisy!” — a line delivered by Abner — was a cue for Mammy and Pappy to do something or other (which I’ve long ago forgotten) and became the words that Nyel and I forever used instead of “Hurry up!” or “We’re gonna be late!”

Those thoughts from the early 1980s came wafting back to me when I read today’s New York Times “Morning” email — an article by Melissa Kirsch titled “Going Downhill.”  In it she explores returning to the once-rewarding, now-abandoned, activity of skiing and in her ‘evaluation’ speaks about the value of “just hanging out” with other skiers — on the slopes, in the lodge, wherever.  She likens that part of the skiing experience as a way to “reclaim time as something other than a raw ingredient to be converted into productivity” — a description of “chilling” used by author Maggie Lange in her own recent NYT article.

Measuring the Minutes

Yes!  Whether or not we are directly taught to not waste time, to spend time wisely or even that time is money, the older we get the more value we seem to place on what “use” we make of our time.  And in our productively-oriented society, “spending” time without an obvious product as an end result is somehow frowned upon.  I believe I have to think about that some more.  A tangible product seems fine when spending money.  I’m not so sure that the “product” needs to be tangible when it comes to “spending” time…

And did I mention that another of our words to live by was, “Let’s think about that tomorrow, Scarlett!”

 

Oh, no! It’s the dreaded income tax time!

Thursday, January 26th, 2023

Tax Time Begins On The Dining Room Table

It’s not that I’m a stranger to the federal income tax forms with their small print and gobbledygook phrases.  I’ve done my share of filling them out, going to a tax specialist for the parts that were beyond me and, for the most part, saving what I might have need for as the year goes by and the paperwork accumulates.

But, I have to say that for thirty-five years, Nyel figured out the deductions for my office space and writing needs and, on occasion, called the IRS for a clarification on this or that.  Not that we didn’t still send a huge packet of information to our accountant — but Nyel had it in great shape for her.  And now it’s my turn.  Lordy!  Lordy!

I ask myself, “Self, is this little office worth the hassel of itemizing?”

Though I know that I may not have all the documentation I need until January is over, I’ve begun to gather and sort.  I’ve commandeered the dining room table and each time I’m at that end of the house, I pause for a few moments and try to make a little more progress.

Always I am reminded of that great episode of “The Odd Couple” when Oscar Madison (played by Jack Klugman) is called into the IRS office for an audit.  He is requested to bring all of his receipts for meals etc. claimed while he was covering sports events for his column in the newspaper.  The box is filled to overflowing with all manner of scraps of paper and other oddments — including an annotated football! — on which he has kept track of his expenses.

Oscar Madison at Tax Time

My record-keeping isn’t nearly so colorful but probably just as hit and miss.  I console myself with the thought, you can’t get blood out of a turnip.  I used to reassure Nyel that way, too, but he (the ex-banker) just looked at me with an absolute lack of expression on his handsome face,  Reassuring?  NOT!

Going Through a Bad Patch

Tuesday, June 7th, 2022

Another Ironing Day

It’s been a hard week in our corner of Oysterville.  I can tell — not because the days have been long and hard and full of pain and sickness, but also bccause my “daily” blog hasn’t been seen or heard from since June 3rd.  And, I ask you this:  which is harder — to suffer pain yourself, or to watch a loved one struggle in agony and be unable to help?

Napkins, Pillow Cases, Ironing Oh My!

I suppose I’ve spent my time doing what women everywhere do (or at least once did) when they cannot ease the suffering of a child or mate.  I ironed.  Yes, I still do that now and then.  The linen napkins, the pillow cases (but never the sheets), and once in a while (like now) the frilly lace collar and bodice of an old-timey costume I might wear again sometime.  You never know.

I used to iron in earnest — if you can count ironing to earn your allowance when you are in high school.  Even my father’s dress shirts and, of course, my own calf-length (never shorter!) peasant skirts and tailored white blouses with Peter Pan collars.  I believe I earned the grand sum of $2.50 each week for my labors.  It took a lot of ironing to save enough for those cashmere sweaters that were all the rage in the early 1950s!

Sleeping Nyel

These days, though, I iron for the pure pleasure of it — a rather mindless activity that gives me time to think (or not!) — perhaps to work out the “what comes next” parts or perhaps to think of new ways to solve old problems.  Whatever goes on in my head probably isn’t worth recounting — even if I could remember.  But, as usual, I feel rested and renewed from the activity and… look at all those crisp stacks of napkins and pillow cases that seemed to stack up effortlessly.

But… the ironing is caught up now for another season or two.  Oh how I wish we were through this bad patch as well!

It’s lambykins for dinner! Happy Easter!

Sunday, April 17th, 2022

Gerbera Daisy — Beloved by Deer and Slugs and ME OH MY!

This day went by in a flurry. First I was late with my morning call to Barbara Canney in Cohasset who said, “OMG!  I thought you might have gone to church!”  We laughed and I recalled the time that my dad thought Charlie really needed to know about church attendance.  So he took Charlie on Easter Sunday to Grace Cathedral on San Francisco’s Nob Hill for the “full meal deal.”  Charlie was ten.  Grandpa loved every minute of it but as I remember Charlie was silent on the matter.  Charlie’s next “church experience” was six or seven years later when he was visiting his father in NYC and went to see “Jesus Christ Superstar.”

The Cutest Easter Bunny Rab EVER – By Nanci Main

Our friends Petra and Michael came by — brought us smoked salmon and stories and lots of laughter. It was so lovely to see them!  Then Nyel got busy making dinner.  The plan was to eat at four o’clock.  As I write this, it is six-oh-one and the lamb has just gone into the oven.  Yes! A four pound leg of lamb, boned and rolled that I picked up at Gulley’s Butcher Shop in Astoria yesterday.  Nyel specified what he wanted over the phone and my mouth has been watering ever since!

Chef Nyel and The Lambykins!

To add to the ambience of Easter and the season — a lovely Gerbera Daisy from Pat Fagerland that will go into the garden when danger of frost is over (as in WHEN do you think THAT might be.)  AND the sweetest Easter Bun Rab in town from Nanci Main — I know the bread will be delicious but can we really cut into this cute little fellow?

Happy Easter Everyone!  I hope yours is as memorable as ours promises to be!

 

At Long Last!

Tuesday, April 5th, 2022

Nyel – April 5, 2020

Nyel is home and all is right with my world!!  Never mind that Little Red Hen is hardly moving at all.  And never mind that I managed to get almost-but-not-quite-all of the corrections that I wanted on the visuals for The Ghostly Tales of The Long Beach Peninsula.  And never mind that the Espy/Schreiber Family Reunion tentatively scheduled for the first week in July is in a bit of a state of flux.  Nyel is home and all is right with my world!!

Sue and Bill (Grennan, not Svendsen lest there be any confusion) picked me up at eight yesterday morning.  We had a lovely lunch at Elmer’s just off I-5 in Tacoma and I was in Nyel’s room five minutes before they had his final discharge papers and meds ready to go.  We boogied on home and were inside our house by five o’clock!  Bill (Bless him!) did all the driving while Sue supplied snacks and stories and good cheer both coming and going.

Sydney and Nyel, 1986 — a Stan Thompson photo for the Observer

Nyel is a shadow of his former self — 145 pounds by our scales.  For fun I looked up what the average person should weigh according to their height.  This is what I found:  For women, the ideal weight is 105 pounds for 5 feet of height, and 5 pounds for every inch after. For men, it’s 106 pounds at 5 feet and 6 pounds for every inch taller. Those are for medium-framed people. Some adjustments are made if you’re larger-framed or smaller-framed.  

For me at 5’2″, that worked out to 115 pounds — 10 pounds lighter than I am now and 15 pounds heavier than I was 40 years ago when Nyel and I met.  For Nyel at 6’2″, it worked out to 190 pounds which is just about what he was during his “prime” (and how I remember him from plummier times.)  Today, his appetite is better than it was in the weeks before he went into the hospital, so we are hopeful that he can gradually put on a few pounds.  Seconds on ice cream?  Thirds? You betcha!

Wedding Portrait – September 13, 1987

Last night he gloried in uninterrupted sleep — no  being poked by needles, changing batteries in his heart monitor, being wakened at 4:00 a.m. to be weighed etc.  Then, breakfast in bed and back to sleep for four hours more!  After a very late lunch we took a little drive in the Prius, went to Jack’s to replenish our ice cream supply and will have a late steak dinner… just because we can!

My list of thank-yous to people is without end — for cards and messages sent; for food and limitless TLC for us both; for cheering and uplifting words and prayers.  We are ever grateful to each and every one of our wonderful friends, neighbors, even strangers who have reached out during this past difficult month.  Blessings to all of you!