Posts Tagged ‘Nyel’

Remembering Carolyn Glenn

Saturday, March 16th, 2024

 

 

 

Laurie Anderson, Darlene Battles (hidden behind), Una Boyle, Lorna Follis, Sydney Stevens, “44”, Bette Snyder, Karen Clarke, Karen Snyder,  Marion Oman.  (March 27, 2009  Bette Snyder’s 86th Birthday Tea at Carolyn Glenn’s)  Photo by Carolyn Glenn.

This photo was sent to me by Lorna Follis and, I’m chagrinned to admit that even though I’m standing next to her in the picture, I have no memory of her.  I think that the occasion of this “Tea” — which I actually remember as an elegant, full-blown luncheon — was our first and only meeting.  But, she reads my blogs and wanted to share this amazing photograph.  She remembered almost all of the women’s names (I knew maybe half) and she reached out to Karen Snyder to make sure of the one or two she didn’t know!

I remember the occasion very well. indeed.  Carolyn was working in the kitchen when I arrived and had commandeered two or three other early arrivals to help her arrange salads on plates, finger sandwiches on platters and carry things into the dining room.  Our hostess gave gentle suggestions but, as usual, appeared totally relaxed with plenty of time to introduce those of us who didn’t know one another and to answer the door and make each newcomer welcome.

I remember being impressed that she was using the antique green Wedgewood plates that were identical to my paternal grandmother’s set which are now treasured and on display in our home, but never used.  Hers had faded from their forest green color to a light green — the glaze having washed off over the hundred years or so of their use.  “I don’t know how old they are,” she said.  “Marguerite always used them for special occasion, so I do, too.”  (I tried to follow her example afterwards… but I could feel my father’s concerned disapproval and wished that he and Marguerite and Carolyn and I could have a philosophical discussion about the use of family keepsakes and treasures.  But… I digress.

I don’t remember much about the afternoon except that I only knew the hostess and the guest of honor and one or two others very well.  Indeed, some of us hatched the idea of having a movie nigjht (at Carolyn’s) once a month or so which might have lasted a half year until, perhaps, one of us got sick.

That the cardboard cutout of Obama was “part of our group” was typical of Carolyn during those years.  I remember that she brought him (affectionately called “44”) to one of Nyel’s and my Christmas parties and he was there, of course, when Carolyn and Guy brought in the New Year with eggnogs for the masses (or so it seemed to me.)  Always, Carolyn was the relaxed and interested hostess — whether it was a Tea for the Senator’s wife or a “Coffee” for a candidate for local office.

And for the last several years of Nyel’s life, she was his most faithful visitor — both here and in Seattle.  She mever failed to bring a half dozen of his favorite dark chocolate bars, always including a “new discovery” and wanting his expert opinion on its merits!  Her generosity of spirit, her gentleness of personality, and her forcefulness of belief were a combination that I at once admired and approached with awe.  I am so glad she made me a part of her life!

 

I can’t believe it’s been 20 years!

Thursday, October 26th, 2023

Cannon Salute 2011

On October 9, 2003, Nyel sent out this letter:

Dear Friends and Relatives,
Oysterville is gearing up for its 150th anniversary celebration — the Oysterville Sesquicentennial.  Events will begin on Sunday, April 11, 2004 with a reception for Oysterville resdents and participating sponsors.  The big community-wide celebration — which we hope you will come to — is scheduled for the weekend of July 31/August 1 2004.
On April 12, 1854, R. H. Espy and his partner, Isaac A. Clark, paddled up the bay for a rendezvus with Chinook Chief Nahcati.  The Chief showed them the stands of native oysters on the tide flats in front of what was to become Oysterville — and the rest is history!
Accounts of early celebrations in Oysterville often mention that R.H. Espy, dressed in “linen duster and beaver hat,” began the festivities by giving the signal for a cannon to be fired down at the bay  We have not been able to find out what happened to that cannon, but it seems fitting, in honor of the  Sesquicentennial Celebration that we try to re-enact that interesting bit of Oysterville’s history.  All we need is another cannon!
When Sydney and I visited Gettysburg last year,  I learned that a cannon and carriage can be purchased for $5,000 to $8,000.  We are going to try to raise the money for these items by forming an Honorary Oysterville Militia and selling commissions to interested friends of Oysterville.  Enlistees will receive a special certificate (suitable for framing) and all ranks above sergeant will receive an Honorary Oysterville Militia cap with appropriate logo.  Founding members of the militia will have their names inscribed on a plaque to be displayed with the cannon.  If we do not make our goal by the kick-off event on April 11, all monies will be refunded and the erstwhile Oysterville Militia disbanded,
I urge you to join now and enlist your friends and family in this worthwhile and historic enterprise!
Sincerely,
Nyel Stevens

The upshot (so to speak):  We made our goal; cannon and plaque are on display (and, in the case of the cannon, in “ceremonial use”) from May 1st through October 1st each year and for all important holidays, memorials, and other events.  At the present time, despite attrition through “loss in the line of duty” over the years, we currently have 83 active members and are still selling commissions to interested supporters.

Lieutenants Scott and Jenny Mundine, Recent THOM Enlistees

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

“Sing me a song…”

Saturday, September 2nd, 2023

Marais and Miranda

I was so pleased that my friend Mary followed my blog suggestion yesterday and looked up Josef Marais’ song, “Pity the Poor Patat.”  She made no comment about it, but I was happy to know that someone “out there” had connected, perhaps for a first time, with Joseph Pesssach (1905-1978), a folk-singer from South Africa whose stage name was Joseph Marais.  For many years he sang with a partner and they were known as “Marais and Miranda” — and if you don’t remember them, you may be old enough to recall the Doris Day/Frankie Laine rendition of their song “A-round the Corner (beneath the berry tree}.”

I first learned of Marais and his music from my college roommate Sandra Peters (who, some years later, was to become my sister-in-law, making our children first cousins.)  Sandy came from a musical family, but more importantly to me, a rather quirky one.  Not only did she and her sister share an attic room with a pet bat (!), her dad played the musical saw and Sandy knew more off-the-grid folksongs than I’d ever heard of.

Sydney and Nyel – Wedding Picture 1987

However, it wasn’t until I met Nyel that all those songs (and more) came bubbling forth — perhaps because he said he didn’t sing (and, indeed, I never heard him do so — not even when standing beside me at church during the hymn-singing) — but he always asked me to sing!!  Me!  The one who can’t carry a tune in a bucket but remembers all the words — especially the kookie ones.

Mostly, his requests for “musical entertainment” came when we were on car trips.  Since I have always been pretty much night-blind, he would drive after dark and it was my “job” to keep him awake.  He didn’t seem to mind my tenuous tune-carrying and he enjoyed the lyrics — which often led to discussions about where I’d learned them, from whom, and about the years before we had met.  (It’s hard for me to believe that even as late-in-life as we did meet, by the time Nyel died, we had spent nearly half of our lifetimes together!)

Sydney and Nyel — Oysterville Sesquicentennial, 2004

It both amuses and pleases me that music was such a huge part of our lives, though both of us professed to a severe “lack” in that area of accomplishment.   But… I did follow my mother’s advice to “Make a joyful noise” and, somehow, ended up with the perfect appreciative partner!  And… back to yesterday’s potato patch discovery:  you can never tell what will trigger a song and a whole host of fabulous memories.  They don’t say “music makes the world go ’round” for nothing.

 

A Surprise Gift from Farmer Nyel!

Friday, September 1st, 2023

Where’s my berry bucket?

I asked the Garden Girls if they’d keep an eye out for blackberries.  They like to hide themselves (the blackberries, not the Garden Girls) among the rhododendrons and other shrubberies and then come twining forth about this time of year. If they aren’t nipped in the bud (or more likely in the berry) they’ll soon be out of control.

But it wasn’t only blackberries that were discovered.  And not among the rhododendrons, either.  “You have quite a crop of potatoes,” they said.  “We’re not sure what kind they are — they might be the red ones.”

One Potato, Two Potato…

And, sure enough, back behind the little tool shed, nestled among the tubs of York Roses… potato plants a-plenty!  And in bloom, too.  They are quite a way away from Nyel’s old kitchen garden but close enough that I’m sure that’s where they came from.  I couldn’t be more pleased!

As a matter of fact, I’ve been hungry for potatoes lately, but every time I think of them, I’m at Jack’s and I have my choice — a gazillion-pound bag of russets or a by-the-each baking potato that would easily accommodate a family of four.  Once I mentioned it to Mark Bolden who was working in that area and he handily slashed open a bag of russets and said, “Take however many you want.”  But I haven’t had such an opportunity lately.

So, thank you, Farmer Nyel!  It’s been at least three years since you planted even a postage stamp garden, but the bounty lingers on.  I wish I could tell you in person.  I’d give anything to see that smile of pleasure.  You can be sure, it’s reciprocated many fold!

And, if you were here, I’d probably launch into the Josef Marais song, “Pity the Poor Patat.”  Do you remember it?  It begins:

The tree he has a bark,

A bark that’s thick or thin.

Pity the poor patat,

He’s only got a skin.

But it’s the last verse that’s best.  I hope readers will look it up and realize the depths of my gratitude to my ever-thoughtful Farmer Nyel!

Replicating Nyel’s gazpacho recipe! (Maybe.)

Wednesday, August 16th, 2023

Nyel’s Gazpacho Recipe

There was a lot of peeling and chopping and dicing and pulsing in my kitchen this afternoon.  And laughing and wondering, too.  My neighbor, Carol, came over to assist me with a recipe for a soup she’d never heard of and one I’d never attempted.  After all, it was Nyel’s recipe and he, of course, was the chef extraordinaire of the household.

Gazpacho!  It’s  a spicy soup that is usually made from chopped raw vegetables (such as tomato, onion, pepper, and cucumber) and is served cold.  Year in and year out, I never think of it — until the weather turns hot and my taste buds get to hankerin’… Plus, there is no such thing as making “a little” gazpacho as far as I know.  So with house guests coming for a weekend which promises to be sunny (and maybe still hot), I got out Nyel’s recipe box and… voila!  (Almost.)

Carol Wachsmuth – July 10, 2016

The problem as I (the non-cook of the family) saw it, was that the “recipe” was simply a list of ingredients with their amounts and a one-word direction saying “pulse.”  So, I called Carol.  “Do you have a food processor?” she asked.  “Maybe…” was my unsatisfactory answer, “but I’m not sure where it might be.”

She realized way before I did how hopeless things  were and she said, I’ll bring mine over and we’ll make the recipe together.  Which we did, though it was mostly Carol.  “Do you think the cucumber (or tomato or red bell pepper) chunks should be bigger than this?” she would ask. “Well, I’ve seen them bigger… but I’ve also seen gazpacho that is completely smooth,” was my less-than-helpful answer.  And then we’d laugh some more.

End result:  it looks beautiful; it tastes terrific; by Friday night dinner it will have blended to perfection!  (At least, I hope so.)  Bless Carol!  Bless Nyel!  And bless whoever “invented” gazpacho.  In fact, gazpacho predates the 16th century arrival of tomatoes (and peppers) in Europe; most culinary historians say that its roots go back to Islamic Spain, sometime between the 8th and 13th centuries.  So there you have it!

 

He’d have been 80. We celebrated anyway!

Friday, August 4th, 2023

Nyel at the 2012 Oysterville Regatta

Today marked the 80th anniversary of Nyel’s birth.  I wish he’d been here to celebrate with us.  He’d have been “sore amazed.”  Actually, he was quite astonished that he lived to be more than 70.  He was 78 years, 10 months, and 2 days old to be exact.

He’d told me more than once that when he was five or six, the doctor diagnosed him with a heart murmur.  Noting Nyel’s mother’s concern, the doctor told her not to worry and assured her than little Nyel would no doubt make it to 70.  That seemed a very long time away to little Nyel and when he did reach 70, he considered each additional year a gift of immeasurable value.  So did I.

For a number of years — when he was in his 60s I think, we used to go on an “overnight” to the Tokeland Hotel with our friends Petra and Michael.  We would take a picnic lunch and eat out on the hotel grounds or find a spot down by the water.  Then, we’d go for a walk around town or sit in the hotel living room and chat, taking a time out to go choose our rooms.

Tokeland Hotel 2012

Usually we were the only overnight guests.  (On at least one occasion, not even the proprietors were on the premises and they left us the key to the hotel in a “secret place” and said they’d be there in the morning to fix our breakfast!)  Since the bathrooms were of the “down the hall” variety, we chose rooms in separate halls so that each couple had a “private” bath.  It always reminded me of the houses in Oysterville when I was a child — not quite up to the 20th century mark and always smelling just a teensy bit damp and mildewy. For me it was those overnights were the epitome of nostalgia!

A few weeks ago Petra wrote and suggested we go out to lunch for Nyel’s birthday celebration this year!  So we did!  Not  to the Tokeland Hotel, mind you, but to a place on the Peninsula that we’ve been before but maybe won’t go to again.  Way too loud.  But Nyel wouldn’t have minded a bit.  And deep down… neither did we.

Sydney, Nyel, Petra – Tokeland Living Room, 2009

This evening I’m going with the Wachsmuths to the opening reception at CPHM for Amiran White and her photography exhibit “Chinuk Ntsayka!” We Are Chinook.  I know, even before seeing it, that this is an exhibit Nyel would love.  During our courtship days when he was “commuting” between Oysterville and the University of Washington, he was taking classes on Northwest Coast Native Art from legendary professor Bill Holm.  What he learned during those classes informed the rest of his life.  (There is still a box of porcupine quills in our garage — painstakingly extracted from a road kill for “some day” use.)

He would have enjoyed celebrating “his day” with me and with our friends!  I tried to enjoy it doubly for us both even though we were only half there!

 

The Bad Patch Continues… with good friends to brighten the way!

Tuesday, August 1st, 2023

Ray and Nyel and Sydney

So, after being an entire week with no kitchen sink — well the sink was there but the faucets and spigots were inoperable — yesterday the plumber came with a spiffy new unit and installed it. “Voi” — but no la!”  Water, but not much pressure.  As I understand it… old, corroded pipes are most of the problem.

Today, the insulation team came to repair last winter’s damage under the house caused by a… drumroll!… broken water pipe.  They were fast, efficient, and neat.  But… just as they were finishing up, they asked me how to turn off the water main.  I told them I was on my own well and the best I could do was to unplug the motor.  Which I did immediately.

Ray and His Wood Glue

Apparently, they had uncovered a 3/4 inch galvanized pipe about three feet long under about four inches of sand.  “It was totally corroded and I just touched it and it split right along the pipe for about three feet and was leaking like mad,” said one of the workers.

He was so distressed, I found myself reassuring him over and over that it would be all right. I immediately called the plumber whose scheduler informed me that it would be next Monday before they could fit me in..  Oh boy.   Maybe not so all right. No flushing.  No showers.  No dishwashing.  No icemaker.

Well… not really.  I do have a water supply in  large bottles.  I’ll be able to take care of essentials…

And then Carol and Ray Hansen dropped by!  It was SO great to see them and their beautiful dog, Sage!  Ray helped me hang Nyel’s picture — a gift from Maggie — and then worried about the rocking chair I was sitting in.  “It’s going to fall apart!”

Rocking Chair and Stool Repaired and Drying

So, he brought out his bottle of glue  — how many other guys carry wood glue in their car? — and fixed not only the rocking chair but also the kitchen stool! What a guy!  (And in case you didn’t know, it is Ray who papered every single wall in this house twenty years ago — and every one still perfect!  What a guy!

Carol, bless her, was hobbling on an almost healed broken tibia that she fell on the other night  — not a re-break but a sprain with an ankle and lower leg twice the size of her other (good) leg.  Not a whimper!  Totally stoic — though she did give Ray a few “suggestions” about the picture-hanging and the gluing!  What a gal!  And what role models they both are!  If our situations were reversed, they probably wouldn’t be whining about my current water problem!  I’ll try to do better!

 

A Final Goodbye to Nyel

Wednesday, June 28th, 2023

Gathering at the Cemetery

We gathered at the cemetery today to wish Nyel our final farewell — just a few of us — Charlie and Marta, of course.  Tucker and Carol who were with me in the immediate hours after Nyel died June 8, 2022.  And Miki and Cate, our long-time friends who spent the difficult hours a few days later going through his clothes and helping me decide — Good Will, Peninsula Players, or a keepsake for one of his friends or farmily.

Sydney says “Goodbye.”

All this time, Nyel’s ashes have been waiting in the Ginger Jar just as my father’s did in 1992 and my mother’s in 2009.  I guess it’s now a family tradition and I may well be next,

“Who will talk to me Who will answer me…” From “The Owl’s Lullaby”

Each of us placed a handful or two of ashes in the hole Tucker had dug in front of our stone and said a few words of farewell.  Cate, (bless her!) brought her guitar and sang “The Owl’s Lullaby” with Marta and me joining in as we could.

The “ceremony” was mostly solemn, yet poignantly upbeat.  Nyel would have approved.  And I think he’d have loved the tea and goodies we had at the house afterwards, as well.  Will this “closure” provide some respite from grief?  No, of course not.  Will I still talk to him, seek his advice, follow what I know would be his example?  I hope so.

Nyel LeRoy Stevens will always be the best part of me.  How lucky I am!

 

Today, I had a little talk with Dorothy…

Sunday, June 18th, 2023

The Ginger Jar

Nyel and I have waited for more than a year to  transport him to his final resting place.  Not that we are in a hurry, you understand.  He has been waiting patiently since I brought him home in the Ginger Jar more than a year ago.  I’m quite sure he is content.  My father and, eighteen years later, my mother, also waited in that Ginger Jar until the time was right.

For Nyel, the time will be right in the next few weeks when Charlie and Marta will be here for ten days.  Then we can go together to place Nyel in front of our stone — a stone he never saw but helped plan, right down to the size of the lettering.  He also knew exactly where in the Espy Lot it would go and where he and I would spend eternity together.

Gravestone

The burial (or probably properly, the internment of the ashes) for us has a bit of a ritual.  Charlie and Marta will go up to the cemetery that morning and dig the appropriate size rectangular hole.   Then in the afternoon, we will take the Ginger Jar up to the Espy Plot, take turns putting handfuls of Nyel’s ashes in the hole, perhaps saying a few words as we do so.

Last, we’ll cover the ashes with mounds of flowers — traditionally Dorothy Perkins — and, in a day or two, we’ll replace the sod that was removed to make a nest for Nyel.  This time, though… we may have to find a suitable substitute for the Dorothy Perkins.  And that’s what I had to speak to her about this morning.

Dorothy Perkins in bud

Her buds aren’t even as big as petite peas.  She is just lollygagging all over our west fence, not a pink patch of petals in sight.  What the heck?  I looked back at some photos of past years and by mid June, Dorothy was always struttin’ her stuff.  But not this year…

“You have a week or ten days,” I told her.  I hope she was paying attention but it’s hard to tell sometimes with Dorothy Perkins!

Dorothy Perkins in Ten Days?