my mentor

Sometimes I read the newspapers from the places I used to live. I read about a terrible storm out east and decided to look in the Asbury Park Press to see what's what. Right there on the front page was an article about the lady who was my mentor when I took the Master Gardener training in New Joy Sea just before we left for Washington. Van was very kind to me and helped calm my nervousness about "going back to school" at my age. How nice to see her hard work and dedication publicized!

From the Asbury Park Press:

Vandella M. is happiest when her hands are dirty. Strong and tall, this earth mother spent much of her summer as a volunteer in Rutgers University's Master Gardener program, tending to vegetables grown in a plot of land at the Ocean County Park in Lakewood.

"Along with her helpers, she has donated over 1,800 pounds of produce to community programs that provide food for the hungry," said Kerren V., a fellow Master Gardener from Jackson, who wrote a letter to the Asbury Park Press nominating Vandella as a Hometown Hero.

"Vandella is not a young woman. . . . Many of the younger Master Gardeners are awed by her physical energy and determination," Kerren wrote. "As she works, her conversation is about her latest efforts to protect her crops from groundhogs, voles, etc., as well as her favorite way to cook okra."

Vandella, 70, of Jackson, is quick to point out that she is only one of many volunteer gardeners.

She said she graduated from Rutgers' "Master Gardener" program in 2002. "I was interested in the vegetable gardening because there were too many groundhogs where I live to grow veggies," she said. "I have day lilies and daffodils in my garden at home, but only because the groundhogs don't like them."

Among the seasonal crops planted in the park's garden are collards, kale, okra, tomatoes, peppers, hot peppers, rutabagas, chard, cucumbers, squash, spinach, radishes, turnips, lettuce, potatoes and sweet potatoes, according to Susan D., a Point Pleasant resident and master gardener who is co-chairperson of the community garden at the park.

"We grew 1,931 1/2 pounds of assorted vegetables, which were donated to Catholic Charities Emergency Services, St. Anthony Claret Church, and Congregation Ahavat Shalom, all in Lakewood," Vandella said.

"But the okra got eaten up, and we didn't get any sweet potatoes. The Colorado potato beetle attacked our eggplant," she added.

Vandella spent so much time at the garden that her volunteer hours totaled 2,000 hours over a four-year period, said Debra S., a Dover Township resident who is president of the Ocean County Master Gardeners.

"It's not easy getting that many hours in such a short period of time," Debra said. "She's here five days a week during the growing season and three mornings a week in the off-season."

"She's so dedicated. When it's cold out, she's outside working while I'm watching her from inside the warm greenhouse," Debra said. "She's out here in the heat of day during the summer, too.

"I know this garden has helped a lot of people, and it's because of Van," she said.

Vandella, who has been married to Adam M. for the past 44 years, moved to Jackson 36 years ago. The couple has one daughter, Pamela M., who is a registered nurse at the University of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey in Newark.

Vandella graduated from New York University with a bachelor of science degree in food management and then went on to work as manager of patient services and sanitation at New York University for 29 1/2 years.

While living in Jackson, she became a certified home health aide and taught food management classes at the Monmouth County Vocational Technical School in Long Branch for five years. She is also a member of the advisory council of the Retired Senior Volunteer Program in Ocean County and is a surrogate parent for the state Department of Human Services, advocating for children whose parents are not able to represent them during their individual educational-planning process.

She is a master composter and sings with the Lyme Tyx, a group of master gardeners who perform at the graduation of students who complete the 60-hour Master Gardener program.

She also sings in her church choir at St. Anthony Claret Church and at the Ocean Grove Choir Festival held each year in July.

And when someone is needed to visit a nursing home or lecture about horticulture, Vandella is often called upon.

"Vandella's an inspiration," said Delores H. of Brick, a past president of the Master Gardeners.

In 2002, Vandella was one of two master gardeners to receive the Master Composter Award for Excellence from the Rutgers Cooperative Research and Extension. In 2003, she was recognized for volunteering 1,000 hours to the Home Horticulture Program of the master gardeners, and this year she was acknowledged for her 2,000 hours of service to the Master Gardener program.

You go Van! And holy hell, I am such a slacker, but she sure does inspire me to stop that crap.

we don't get out much

We went to the Kitsap Mall today in Silverdale, WA.

We're fine now. Thanks for asking.

hobbitt needed new jeans. He wanted Levi's. He wanted low-risers, as they're the most comfortable for him. And oh, did they have Levi's at the Sears store there. They had about seven hundred thousand pairs of Levi's, and about nine different lines.

They had your basic shredded in the most unfortunate places model.

They had your basic drenched in used motor oil model.

And they had your basic bleached to look threadbare model.

The sight of all that caused me to change into my mother. I walked up to the 13-year-old salesgirl.

"Do you have any Levi's jeans that don't look like they've been dragged through the mud?" I asked.

She laughed nervously. "Are you buying for a teenager?" she asked me. I'm sure she was about to explain to me that the unwashed, homeless look is chic. And I'm sure it is chic. What the hell do I know? I live in Pete. We have hippies here. They're old enough by now to have indoor plumbing, so their dreadlocks are usually somewhat sweet-smelling, and their clothes, which tend to run to spandex (better on the bikes, of course) aren't shredded or bleached or oil-drenched, for the most part.

"No. I'm buying for a 53-year-old man."

She giggled, probably picturing me married to her grandfather.

We walked to JC Penneys, at the other end of the mall. They actually had a few pairs of the fit hobbitt wanted, with the threads and color intact, and looking freshly washed. Exactly two pairs, to be precise. The rest of the display made me want to wash my hands.

It was a long walk back to the car. On the way through the mall (a word I can't even type without shuddering) I noticed another thing that seems to be rather chic. Teenage girls, pregnant. There must have been a half-dozen of them. Yeah, I know I'm getting old, but I'm just not sure about this particular fashion statement. The repercussions are rather long-lived, if I remember correctly. It's all the rage up here in Pete, I'm told. I. Just. Don't. Get. It.

Then again, I don't get out all that much.

progress report

Our yard? A mud-soaked misery, and I think that's wonderful, at least until the dog has to have her last potty trip of the day out there. Keith (the landscaper) seems to be having a blast. And we're not paying him by the hour, so it's all good. The walkways are coming along, and the stone from Penny Creek quarry is really beautiful. The rock photos don't show it, but there are lots of blues and reds in stone from that place. The stone in the walkways is larger than we're used to, and it's a pleasure to walk on. We're having an ongoing discussion about how to border the walkway at the lawn in back, and some differences of opinion, but I am paying him for his opinion, so I should at least listen to it. Right? Seriously, he has a strong sense of design. And I like that.

I suppose I should be getting around to writing about our little vacation, but we're just about to take off on another one, so don't get your hopes up. I will say that the two weeks worth of fiddle practice I did this past Tuesday afternoon just about wrecked the muscles around my ribs on the left side, already compromised by radiation and an old repetitive-strain injury. And though this is not the reason that my fiddling sucks, I'm going to say it is anyway. The neighborhood dogs are howling, people. It's not good. But it's still a lot of fun. I probably mentioned that the teacher is blind, and I'm beginning to suspect he's partly deaf.

I'm cooking a fancy-schmancy Daube Provençal for dinner tomorrow night. Try to get here about 4:00 if you want some. And don't forget to set your clocks back tonight. I don't want you arriving too early.

aaaaaah!

Holy carp that was a sweet vacation!

We arrived home this afternoon to find a CAT 320 parked in the front yard.















And thirty tons of rocks, mostly VERY LARGE ONES, set in mounds in the back.















This is just one of three mounds, and not the largest. Oy!

More news later.

it's always something

In the midst of getting ready for our trip, agreeing on the size and placement of the hill gardens, and generally cleaning up after the mess I always make when having guests, my little sister called to tell me some bad news.

Her twin brother's wife (oh, yeah, he's also my brother), who is an only child, found out today that her mother's recent illness is seriously advanced inflammatory breast cancer. Helen is 81, and has been struggling with heart problems and lots of complications for years. This time around it was thought she had a bowel obstruction, but evidently she has a huge mass in her breast, in her abdomen, and on her spine. She had been having mammograms every six months since both of her sisters died of breast cancer. But IBC isn't detected by mammography. And it isn't thought to be hereditary.

My sister is upset that our sister-in-law Susan is an only child. Nancy cannot imagine how we'd have dealt with our parents' illnesses and deaths alone. (As for me, I can't imagine how I'd have dealt with all that without Nancy. She is my friend and ally, and we tend to think like and know when to act.) I can't help thinking that Susan has had 17 years to become a sister to us, and has chosen not to. Maybe that's our fault - I don't know. She doesn't exactly have a warm personality and has held our family at arm's length for the better part of two decades. Our interactions have always been very polite, cheerful, but just shy of icily sterile.

So my regret in all this is that we can't be resources for her, won't be invited to hold her close and comfort her or help her carry the burden. I certainly don't expect any of this to change now. And I'm not feeling the regrets for us, but for her.

I told Nancy that Susan at least has our brother, and he's always been far closer to his in-laws than he has with us, so she's not entirely alone. He came through with the clutch plays for the rest of us - when it came to moving furniture, or setting up hospital beds, or carrying the coffin. Emotionally? Not so much. I pray that he can keep his cool and just be loving.

just checking in, will report back later

We're just off five days of guests, including four quick bedroom changovers for the seven folks who slept here at different times. Gourmet meals were cooked in our kitchen, we made a quick overnight trip to Seattle to see Math & Physics Club at their CD release show, and took some folks all the way to Port Angeles for the ferry. Just this moment we said goodbye to our last guest (for a while). The house is a wreck, I have about 33 loads of wash to do, and the landscaper will be here this afternoon to mark the boundaries of the hill gardens. Tomorrow we take the dog to the kennel and head for the coast for four nights. Our neighbors will be here to look after the cat, and when we return, there will be an amazing mess in our yard from the heavy equipment and 30 tons of boulders that are being delivered.

You haven't heard from me in a while and you won't be hearing from me for a while. I just wanted you to know why.

the way it is

Some of you may want to hear about the natural world around here at this time of year. If you're not interested, stop now.

There is a single loon hunting just off our beach, three great blue herons and a pair of eagles. Probably a kestrel or two, and at least one osprey, though that hasn't been seen lately. The harbor seals are busy, as are the otters. Plenty of grebes out there, as hobbitt and I discovered on a recent off-shore paddle. Occasional Dall's porpoise. A slew of red-shafted flickers near the copse of trees at the spit, but also up here on the headlands. Skittish bunch.

I don't know what the raccoons are up to, but a majority of the neighborhood is up in arms, after some serious attacks on dogs. I suspect their population will decline in the next months. I hope they move on, but I think some of them will be moved beyond. I couldn't do it, tree-hugging liberal that I am, but, well, it will have to be done. Some of our neighbors are feeding them and the population has exploded. I think those same neighbors need to understand that the killings are because they are luring the adults and sustaining an unnaturally large population. I hope someone has the courage to let them know that. I'll do it if I'm asked.

I thought I would have scared them off with my fiddle practice, but no dice.

The vine maples are showing spectacular color, and the Oregon grape is starting to show off its red. Winter berries are prominent at the beach (rose hips and snowberries) and up here on the bluffs. Alders, which have been dropping leaves since the hardest part of the dry summer, are merely keeping time. The blackberries are loaded and ready to disperse the next generation of invasive vines. Oh, and they're mighty tasty, too.

The big-leaf maples are starting to turn. The sun is quite low. It's about time for the cedars to finally drop their water-stressed brown old scales and green up again. The digger bees are about done. The crew here at Kala Point have closed the dock. Only commercial crabbers and shrimpers have pots out in the bay now, but there are a lot of them.

I'm in flux with our yard. Soon the landscaper will come and move a lot of plants so that the big equipment can get into the back yard. And yet, even in October I am watering the evergreen huckleberry, the sarcococca, the acuba. It's a pain in the neck to be watering now, but there you have it. The rains haven't started. Maybe soon.

picking rocks

The landscaper took us to Penny Creek Station today to walk around the quarry and pick out some rocks.















This bad boy was on top of a pile of boulders, and is about six feet tall himself. I like him and I named him George. I hope the landscaper decides he'll come home with us.

pete rocks!

They danced down the street with stretch marks, soft bellies, and armpit hair a-flying. They drove their vehicles into the bay heedless of the frigid water. Tomorrow they'll slog through deep mud and fling their teddie bears.

Say what you will. This place ROCKS!
































































































The 24th Annual Kinetic Sculpture Race in Pete Townsend, WA.

and rome didn't burn

I'm neither the youngest nor the oldest student in the fiddle class. I likely have the cheapest violin, though it's in better shape than many. And when I say cheap, that's a relative term: this baby is probably worth a whole lot more than that Yamaha p120 upstairs. The teacher (who is pretty much blind) had nothing to say when tuning mine, though I did hear him say wonderful things about some of the others. That is cool with me. I'd hate to play a Strad badly, and I have the utmost confidence that I'm going to play this fiddle very badly.

I pity the poor creatures who are going to have to listen to me play our open string exercises for the next week: Mississippi Stop Stop and Down Bunny Up Bunny. They are basically bowing exercises and I'm supposed to do that in front of a mirror to keep the bow hairs (which I'm NOT ALLOWED TO TOUCH EVER AGAIN! lest oil from my fingers contaminate the horsehairs) in the proper position on the strings (which I'm NOT ALLOWED TO TOUCH EVER AGAIN! lest oil from my fingers eventually contaminate the horsehairs of the bow). And I'm not even allowed to think about getting butter or olive oil on the bow or the strings. This is going to be a pink elephant for me for the entire week. Every time I go past the butter dish...

The teacher was pretty amusing, actually.

All in all it wasn't so bad. Now I have to have "the big three" in my violin case by next week: nail clippers, a soft cloth, and a pencil. Maybe I go to fiddle jail if I don't have those things, maybe I have to listen to the entire class play Mississippi Stop Stop for two solid hours. I don't know, but it could be bad.

fiddle-dee-damn!

When I was thirty, I received a lovely violin for my birthday. I'm not saying who it was from. Let's just say, well, dayum. It was a nice present. I resolved to learn how to play it.

Twenty years passed. Well, almost twenty years. Heck, I won't be fi...fif....it won't be a full twenty years for another 147 days. Okay, wait here. I need to catch my breath a minute.



Okay. I signed up for a fiddle class. Beginner adults. Through the local community college. The class is at Fort Worden. Starting tonight. In about 2 hours. What was I thinking? I am soo going to totally suck at this.

So remember. Don't be asking me to play for you. Ever.

for mom, 2 oct. 1927 - 9 jan. 2004

I miss you. I miss you even though we argued every day we had to spend together. I miss all that we had - shared memories, the love of water and sunshine, good food, and the company of that one fine shining man. I miss all that we didn't have: peace between us, or understanding, or even tolerance. Mutual respect, and yes, I am quite guilty. And I miss all the hopes and dreams you held for me, even though they were not my dreams, and were instead the reasons for all our battles. I miss the thing I fought against all my life to become the person I am - where's my dark mirror now? We fought until the day we learned you were dying, and then there was nothing to fight about again.

I miss entering your house in the mornings, calling out hellooooooooo, helping you get dressed and getting your breakfast. I miss the wonderful way you could laugh at yourself, even when you knew your mistakes were dementia. I miss how you were so often surrounded by friends, life-long friends, who changed the game to accomodate you when you could no longer understand the cards. I miss seeing you napping in your chair by the window on winter afternoons, warmed by sunshine, the newspaper crumpled in your lap. And I miss waking you from that slumber to sit with me a while and have your supper. I miss tucking you into bed.

Mostly I miss all the time we never had together, time stolen by the damage in your mind and then the cancer. I miss all those fights we never got to have. I miss the security I felt in having you around, even so diminished, because even though in middle age I railed against being considered a child, I wanted always to have the safe harbor of being your child.

I miss the peace we never forged, but I'm getting closer to fixing that every day.

I miss the party we're not having today, to celebrate your 79th birthday. I miss the elaborate meal we would have prepared for the gathering of my sisters and brothers and nieces and nephews, and your dear friends and neighbors.

I miss your bravery, forging on for twelve years alone without that one shining man, even though sometimes it didn't look like bravery to me. I fear I could never be as brave. I miss being able to show you my life, and the fulfillment of my dreams.

I miss all that was, and all that will never be. I miss you, very much.