May2

Springtime Mood Swings

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My moods swing wildly this time of year. Some days I wake up early, with lots of energy, anxious to get things done. Certainly there is plenty to do, both inside and out. Other days, I don’t even want to get out of bed, and feel lazy and lethargic through most of the day. “Spring Fever,” was how my Mom defined those no-energy days.

This year, it seems like Mother Nature herself is having mood swings! Right now, on the second day of May, I still have patches of snow in shadowed corners of my yard. At the same time, drifts of flowers blanket the lawn in pastel colors. In my flower beds, the daffodils are blooming. Tulips, daylilies and assorted other flowers are poking out of the ground, giving me hope for future glory.

Still, last night we had a frost warning. Two days ago, it snowed as I was taking my morning walk. I packed away my warm sweaters for the season, and have been, one-by-one, pulling them back out into rotation. I have four times hung my winter coat into the closet only to have to retrieve it, due to the extreme cold!

In between the cold and snow and frost, there are beautiful, warm spring days! Days where folks are out in shorts and T-shirts! Days to drive with the windows down, for the lovely breeze!

I don’t dare count on it, though, because this season seems too undecided, yet, as to what it wants to do.

Inside, temperatures are just as unpredictable. I had a costly repair done on my heat stove over the winter, and knew there was more to be done, but the repair man thought it could wait until summer, when it wouldn’t be so difficult to have it out of commission, and when my budget was a little looser. Unfortunately, it has decided to have mood swings of its own.

I woke up one day in March to a house temperature that was barely at forty degrees, and no heat coming from the stove at all. I plugged in the electric heater, told myself that spring was right around the corner, and decided not to call for another repair right away. A few days later, the stove was working again, just as it should. Two weeks later, I woke up again to a cold house and a non-functioning stove. I plugged the electric heater back in. That time I left it on, at a low setting, even when the stove spontaneously started working again.

Until I got two huge electricity bills in a row. Once again, I unplugged the electric space heater, wound up the cord, and moved it to the hall, ready to be carried upstairs to be stored for the summer. Then the stove took another time out. The house was hovering around 50 degrees when I got out of bed. Again, I hooked up the space heater! Today, with warm sunshine coming in, I was able to turn it off. Still, I think I’ll leave it set up, just in case. The stove is as unpredictable as the weather, and the weather is decidedly having mood swings!

May1

No Topic

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There are things I believe I need in my life, to be the person I like to think I am. Of course the basics are always there: I am female, a mother, a sister, a friend. Surrounding that are the beliefs that are important to me, and the things that I care deeply about. These, I treasure too much to debate or argue about, but I can be annoyingly outspoken about them, when it seems important. Then, there are the behaviors that help to define me as reader, walker, gardener, artist and writer. Neglecting any of them for too long leads to a kind of identity crisis, which affects my self-confidence, and can even cause depression. Aware of that, I try to maintain some level of self-discipline.

Even with the best of intentions, though, that’s not always possible. I’ve had to alter my reading habits to accommodate changes in my vision. Extreme weather conditions have gotten in the way of my daily walks. The seasons here in northern Michigan put any gardening – beyond a few houseplants – on hold for at least half of the year. As an artist, I know that studio time is essential; writing also demands practice, to maintain ability. There are times, though, that life just gets in the way.

Whether it is weather, sickness, busyness, or just plain laziness that has kept me away, it is always a struggle to get back into a habit. When I get back into the studio after a long time away, I never expect to start turning out masterpieces. I might clear a table, or tidy a shelf. I’ll sort materials and prime canvasses. Baby steps. Eventually, I’ll put pencil to paper, or start moving collage materials around on a surface. Showing up is all I’m doing, really, but – if I continue to show up – in time, ideas will start to form. I’ll start finding my rhythm again.

It’s the same when I’ve neglected my writing. Which I have done, over the last several weeks. Oh, I have excuses, plenty. And reasons, of course. The more times I tell myself, “that’s not worth writing about,” the truer it becomes. After a while, no topic seems good enough. Then, I have to decide, am I a writer…or not? And, if I am a writer, by god, I’d better write. Something. Anything. So, that’s what this is. No topic, just getting words on the page. With hope that if I stick with it, better ideas will come.

Apr12

Spring is Breaking Through

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Yesterday, the sun came out, and the temperature reached nearly 50 degrees (That’s Fahrenheit, so still only 18 degrees above freezing!). It was a joy to be outside!

The north side of the house remains buried in at least a couple feet of snow. Looking to the east, my back yard still has a thick layer of it, too, all the way to the field in back, but I can actually see a patch of bare ground extending out away from the back door. The melting snow has revealed several large branches that I’ll have to carry away. They are probably casualties of last year’s ice storm, hanging way out of my reach until this winter’s heavy snows brought them down. Out the side door, the driveway is now clear of snow and ice. Having been plowed, that areas had a head start. My little summer car, buried under the snow for the last several months, is peaking out of the drifts, now. But the flower beds on that side of the house are still thickly covered. In other years, snowdrops would already be blooming there, and the daffodils would be getting ready to open. The stones that border my herb garden are just starting to poke out.

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The Fox Lake Road had finally dried up enough so that the road crew could come through. If it’s too wet with spring thaw, their heavy trucks make a bigger mess rather than improve the situation. Yesterday, it had been graded smooth, and the lingering snow was piled into high ridges on either side of the road.

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Stella and I got out for a walk. We went all the way down to Fox Lake, then on to where the road meets the West Side Drive, before we turned to come home. The lake is still mostly covered with a thin sheet of ice, but there was open water around the shore. Stella got a drink, but decided it was much too cold for wading. It was a long walk, more than twice the distance of our usual 2 miles. My feet were complaining, and even the dog, usually bounding ahead with wagging tail, was giving me a look that, I swear, was asking “are we almost there??” just as my daughters used to do on long car rides. From the way my joints feel today, it was clearly more of a workout than I’m accustomed to!

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Today, it’s raining. Not a gentle sprinkle, but a steady, cold rain. It will help to get rid of the snow that’s left, though I haven’t noticed much progress yet, in that direction. There are two dozen birds, newly-returned Junkos, I believe, hopping along my garden fence, and poking through the kitchen scraps that I’ve dumped out there. I’ve heard, though not yet seen, the Sand Hill Cranes that return every year to the pond behind my property. Our ferry boat has started its scheduled runs, too. So, though we’re still buried in snow here, and can’t yet see the flowers, spring is breaking through.

I dressed the dining room table with a purple, tie-dyed cloth and, at his time, I have seed catalogues and garden books strewn across it’s surface. Planning for planting seems like a good way to spend this rainy, early spring day!

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Mar24

What I Did on My Winter Break

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After two weeks off, I go back to work tomorrow. Though I didn’t come close to getting everything done that I wanted to, it has been an enjoyable time, anyway.

I almost immediately threw my schedule into disarray. When I couldn’t get to sleep, or woke up in the middle of the night, unable to fall back asleep, I just went with it. One night I made popcorn and cocoa at 3AM, and watched old episodes of The West Wing until the sun came up. Often, I’d fall into bed at 5AM to catch a couple hours rest. Afternoon naps became a regular occurrence. For two weeks, I never set an alarm.

I had intended to tackle my spring cleaning…floors, windows, and all those out-of-sight areas that are so easy to ignore. I cleaned out two dressers and a closet, and a couple shelves and drawers. I filled one large box with donations for the Resale Shop. I ran the broom around at ceiling level to get rid of the cobwebs developing there. I did all my normal daily stuff: make the bed; do the dishes and tidy the kitchen; keep up with the laundry; make an effort to clean up after myself. That’s it, though. A winter storm made quick work of dispelling any ideas of spring, which made it easy to forget about spring cleaning!

One of my main goals was to get some work done in the studio. Again, my accomplishments fell far short of my expectations. Though the entire room could use a good cleaning and organizing, taking on that job would have eliminated any chance of getting to actual art-making. I started, though, with clearing off the surface of my drafting table. I filled an entire tote with the papers and collage materials that were piled there. I filled a shelf with the jars and tubes of paints, solvents and mediums. And, my discards made an impressive start toward filling a large trash bag!

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Next, I started work on some small collages. Just moving shapes and colors around. Nothing too serious, and none were finished.

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I primed several canvases and added color to each of them. Sometimes this is enough to dictate a direction to go forward; other times it’s just more “busy-work” to get me back into the studio routine.

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Another day, I got out the some sturdy paper, and oil pastels. My rendering skills are rusty, but I enjoy working realistically now and then, to prove to myself that I still can. After long weeks away from the studio, anything that I work at helps to get me back in the right frame of mind.

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I put finishing touches on a couple paintings from a long-running “Marking Time” series, all based on some form of calendar. I’m very happy with the light one; I think the one with darker tones needs more work.

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That’s about it for studio work. I’ve just showed a sampling here. I made four oil pastel drawings. I have more than two dozen collages underway; I have twelve small canvasses primes and painted. I have two large canvasses started, and two boards primed with gesso, for future collage. Most important, I feel like I’m back in the spirit of art-making, and I’ve looked forward, every day, to getting into the studio.

In other reflections, I’ve managed to watch an inordinate amount of television during this time-off…often two hours or more in the evening! I already mentioned old episodes of The West Wing. I’ve also watched a couple seasons of Rizzoli and Isles. I don’t usually like to take a chance on movies that I haven’t seen before, but I re-watched Wild, Ghost, Green Book, and October Sky. I finished one book in a series by Elizabeth George that I’m working through, and started another. I finished an afghan that I’ve been plugging away at for weeks. It’s a “scrap-buster” pattern, so has a lot of random color changes, but I think it turned out okay. Well, it’s not quite finished. I have to crochet a border – I’ll probably do slanted shells – and work in about a hundred yarn ends. But it’s almost done!

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And that (sigh) is the end of my two weeks off!

Mar19

Blizzard!

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The snow started falling last weekend, toward evening. It wasn’t coming in to a spring-like landscape. Though we’d had several mild days here on Beaver Island, and even a good rain that took away several inches of accumulation, we still had snow on the ground. Weather services had predicted this blizzard: a giant system, stretching through the middle of the country, bringing wind, snow and ice. It started right on schedule, and continued through the night, and on, and on, for the next forty-eight hours.

One day, I went out and shoveled a path from the kitchen door, so that my dog could get out. It was a heavy snow, and I gave up after about twelve feet. By the next day, that area was completely socked in again.

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I was hopeful about the front door, as it has a little roof over it, but it wasn’t much better. Snow had drifted onto the porch, blocking the exit. Beyond that were deep drifts of snow complicated by huge mounds left by the snowplow.

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The sliding glass door that opened onto the back yard was my best hope. That was deep, too. The four-foot garden fence was barely visible above the snow! Every time I slid the door open, mounds of snow fell into the house. I managed, with effort, to get a small area cleared away.

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Beyond that, we were stuck inside. I made a pot of soup, watched movies, and worked in the studio. Stella enjoys a little snowfall, but this level of accumulation was nothing she wanted to mess with. She went out only when absolutely necessary. Most of the time, like me, she was happy to stay inside.

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We have an excellent road crew here on Beaver Island, and I have a wonderful, dependable person that takes care of my driveway, but this storm was a challenge! The wind driving the snow, which seemed to continue without end, created visibility problems. There were issues about how and where to move the snow, arriving, as it did, at the end of a season that had already given us plenty of accumulation. Then there were priorities to consider: main roads, airports, warming centers and medical facilities first, of course, and then the long list of individuals that needed to be plowed out. I knew I wasn’t forgotten, and, fortunately, did not have anywhere I needed to be.

On Tuesday, I tried, with good boots, snow pants and walking poles, to get from back yard to front. I thought from there I could maybe make my way out to the road, which was finally plowed, to maybe get a walk in. No way! The depth of snow ranged from “way above my knees” to “crotch deep,” and made every single step almost impossible. I gave it up.

This morning, I woke up to find my driveway clear, and the walkway to the kitchen door shoveled! The total snowfall here was just about 47 inches! After several days of being stuck inside, I’m going out to explore!

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Mar13

Butter First

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I was intending to go to the Resale Shop today for my weekly volunteer shift. My morning involved taking Stella out for a romp around the yard, while I cleared snow from the car, and loaded trash, recyclables and donations in it. I kept an eye on the clock to be sure to allow myself enough time, as there was plenty of snow to clear, and more coming down. My afternoon in town included plans to pick up my paycheck and take it to the bank, and stops at the Transfer Station, airport, Post Office and grocery store. Along with four hours at the Resale Shop. I’ve been at home for a week now, so was ready to venture out.

I wish I could boast about how wildly productive this time off has been so far. The truth is, extra time doesn’t stand a chance against all the myriad ways of wasting time that I have in my arsenal. That’s a topic, though, that deserves more time than I have right now. I have managed to spend several good days in the studio, so that, at least is encouraging.

This morning, with a full day out-of-the-house ahead of me, I did not have an agenda beyond that. Probably a walk with the dog when I got home this afternoon, nothing more. So, when weather and road condition reports started showing up on my computer, along with an announcement that many businesses, including the Resale Shop, would be closed today, well! I felt like a child upon hearing a “snow day” announcement! Unexpected free time…what’s better than that? I quickly decided to spend the day in the studio.

First, though, I made myself some peanut butter toast. That’s two slices of homemade bread, toasted, buttered, and then topped with peanut butter. Butter first. That’s especially true when toast is involved, but actually any bread, for any type of sandwich, first gets a spread of butter. It doesn’t matter if it will also be covered with mustard or mayonnaise, or topped with a moist egg salad or a juicy hamburger, butter comes first.

My sister Brenda and I both feel this way. I think we’re the only ones of our sisters that do. This may seem like a subject that would never come up in conversation, but I can remember at least two discussions regarding our use of butter. The first was when Brenda and I were putting a pile of sandwiches together for a crowd. One of us made the observation that we both made sandwiches the same way, butter before the other condiments. The second was at a gathering of all of my sisters. Then Amy brought it up, and did a little spontaneous survey to find out which of us adhere to the “butter first” rule, as our Mom always did, and which of us no longer do.

Granted, it’s not a topic that would generally be of interest, but when my sisters and I gather, it is quite normal to look at habits and quirks, and pull out all of our amateur psychology skills to analyze them. We have noted who, as a child, was a nail-biter, bet-wetter or thumb-sucker, and how long it took any of us to outgrow those behaviors. We observe adult behaviors with even more interest. Who still does this, or that goofy thing that was normal when we were growing up? Did that trait come from Mom, or from Dad? Who has left that behind entirely? When the sisters in my family get together, these are perfectly valid considerations. So, I know that, for me and for Brenda, we go for butter first!

Mar11

Time Off!

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This is the first Wednesday in quite a while, that I haven’t been preparing for my work day. Normally, I’d get up at 6:30 with the alarm, brush my teeth while the coffee brews, then do a short exercise program. After that, I settle in to drink coffee while checking mail, catching up on the news, and playing on-line Scrabble. By 9 o’clock, I’ve traded robe and slippers for sweats, boots, and whatever additional outerwear I need to tackle the current weather. Then my dog Stella and I head out for our morning walk. We aim for two miles, but in recent weeks, icy conditions have made that mostly impossible. There were days when it took almost an hour to do half that distance!

Home, Stella – who knows she’s about to be abandoned for the day – trots upstairs to her comfortable headquarters, where she’ll wait for her treat, scratch behind the ears, and reminder to “take good care of things.” Though she tries to present herself as an alert watchdog, I do believe she sleeps for most of the day. I head in to the bathroom for a quick shower, and to dress for work; my shift runs from 11AM to 7PM. Honestly, it’s a pretty cushy job. There’s no back-breaking labor involved, and I rarely break into a sweat. The people I work with are all kind and helpful, and customers are a pleasure. I have no complaints.

Still, I was feeling the need for a break. The last time I had any significant time off work was last fall, when my sisters and I took a week’s vacation. That was followed shortly afterward by another trip, this time for my brother-in-law’s funeral. It was one of those times when the gathering of family and friends offer some comfort and even joy through the grief and sorrow. Still, not something that would count as “vacation.” After that, I settled in to the island for the long, lonely winter. No family gatherings for holidays; no interruptions to my routine. Fortunately, I handle it well. I’ve always been something of a loner, even while growing up in a big, raucous household. My Mom once said, “Of all my kids, Cindy is the only one that could live on Beaver Island. She always has been the most anti-social of all my children.” I believe she meant that in the nicest way possible. And, I think she was right…though “asocial” might have been more accurate than “anti-social.”

Lately, the calendar seems to be speeding toward summer, when my work schedule will expand, and every day is busier. I’ve been feeling the lack of time. Time to get caught up on all the things that seem so difficult to get to when even the mildest of work schedules breaks up the week. On household projects, health routines and studio work, but also just on my own thoughts. Also, the people I work with were taking advantage of opportunities to get away, which made me a little jealous. Suddenly, right now, all conditions fell into place, so that I could navigate a few days away from my job. Business is slow enough that my absence won’t be a huge hardship, and another artist is here (just back from a vacation!) to handle the art classes. So, I have taken two weeks off!

Of course, I have big plans. I want to spring clean the house, finish sorting and organizing cupboards, closets and drawers, and tackle a couple larger household projects I’ve been putting off. I intend to plot out this year’s garden, and get my seed order ready. Encouraged by having managed, with milder weather, to get a good walk in, taking both speed and distance into consideration, three days in a row, I want to keep my focus on diet and exercise. Maybe shed the five pounds I’ve managed to add in the last few months! And, I’m looking forward to having time to spend in the studio. Nothing comes easy there at first. After having neglected the space for weeks on end, as well as all the half-formed plans and partially developed ideas that I left there, it takes some time to regain that flow. I spent most of yesterday in the studio, and I’m encouraged by what I got done. Hurrah for time off!

Mar9

Better

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Rereading my last post, I concluded that I may be dwelling too much on the negative. It’s not hard to do, while in the middle of a difficult winter, with so many scary, unpredictable and unsettling world events going on. Still, I need to take care of my own health, both mental and physical. Sometimes that’s just a matter of taking baby steps, small and unsteady at first, just to create some forward motion.

Finally, finally the weather seems to be letting up. The day before yesterday, with rain coming down, I was sure I’d be able to get a decent walk in. I prepared for it: long underwear and wooly socks topped by sweats, my winter coat, heavy gloves, cleats on my good, waterproof boots and, on top of the warm knit cap, a wide-billed rain hat. Surely, I thought, the rain would have cleared the snow and ice from the road. I was so wrong! The ice, now free of any texture or snow cover that might have offered a bit of traction, was absolutely treacherous! It took a half-hour just to make my way from the back door to the road, clinging to branches where there were shrubs, hugging the piles of snow left by the plow, and sometimes tramping through more than 18 inches of snow still covering the yard. At the road, where I was hoping for bare gravel, there was only more ice, stretching off in every direction. Defeated, I turned and made my way back home.

I spent the rest of that day in the studio. I haven’t settled into a project yet, one that will grab hold and inspire, commanding my time and attention, so I spent my time with busy work. I did some organizing and a little cleaning. I mixed paint with polymer medium and put a base coat of color on a stack of heavy papers that will eventually be the background for collages. I sorted through my large tote of collage materials, filling a few envelopes with interesting bits. I made a list of dimensions for future matt and frame sizes. By the time I came downstairs to clean my brushes, it felt like I’d had a productive afternoon.

Yesterday, my dog Stella and I headed out once again to attempt a walk. What a difference! Though there is still plenty of snow covering my yard, all along the road-side and into the woods, the walkways were clear! The sun was shining! Though there were a few puddles to navigate around, Fox Lake Road was mostly clear. I’ll take open water in any form over the ice we’ve been dealing with; from the muddy footprints Stella brought home, I’d say she agrees. For the first time in two weeks, we were able to walk all the way to the end of the road. And, for the first time in at least a month, we were able to set our own pace, rather than have slippery conditions and fear of falling making those decisions for us. My sore muscles today underline the fact that it’s been far too long in coming! By the time we got back home, I’d been able to strip off gloves, hat and scarf. There is hope yet, that spring is coming!

This morning, I searched for and found a good description of “The 5 Tibetan Rites.” As an exercise program, it has intrigued me since I first heard about it. It is a form of yoga with active, rather than static poses. That interests me, because I tend to get bored with yoga routines. The only one I’ve maintained for any length of time is a 5-minute standing sequence. I like that there are only 5 exercises in this program, and that they can be completed in ten minutes. I considered buying an illustrated book, but I have plenty of exercise books gathering dust on the shelves. Today, I found a good video that demonstrated each of the exercises clearly, and slowly enough so that I could write down the description, and even sketch the poses. It also offered variations on each exercise, for people – like me – who are out-of-shape or far too inflexible to attempt them otherwise! I haven’t actually tried the program yet, but I feel like this is a start. As I said at the start, baby steps!

Mar7

Maybe…

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Again, I’ve let two weeks go by without posting a blog or, in fact, writing anything. I’ve been missing my family like crazy, and they are always in my thoughts, but getting an actual letter out has been a challenge. Yesterday, during a slow afternoon at the Resale Shop, I finally got one short missive off to my sister, Brenda. And, maybe, today I’ll find enough inspiration to write a few paragraphs here.

It seems that I’ve spent much of this winter in the doldrums. The weather hasn’t helped. For months, there has been a layer of extremely hard ice covering roads and walkways, making every outing a treacherous one. Cleats on the soles of my boots cannot pierce the ice; walking poles won’t dig in to it. Sometimes, snow cover helps, but then a sunny afternoon or a visit by the plow truck brings the ice right back to the surface. What used to be enjoyable two-mile walks down the Fox Lake Road, taken at a pretty good clip, have lately often been reduced to cautious half-mile excursions. They take at least the same amount of time, as every baby step is taken with care, looking for areas with a bit of traction or purchase. I tell myself, “at least we’re out in the fresh air…” but when the temperatures hover around freezing levels, that’s not much comfort.

The news continues to be a big source of depression, concern, heartbreak, and often fear. I was born in the 1950s, when World War II was a recent memory. This country was riding high on its identity as not only victors, but saviors. We stepped in to help. The vision I grew up with was of the United States as heroic. Not as a bully; not as an aggressor. Though incidents during the Viet Nam war and other conflicts have worked to challenge that ideal, and delving into our history reveals many more mean examples, I’ve held on to my beliefs: we are the “good guys.” We support the persecuted and downtrodden all around the world. We support rules and laws that keep individuals safe. We help. We use our power, influence, money and strength toward the greater good. Until now.

Now, persons in our government seems keen on the United States being a tyrant, a tormentor, an aggressor. The words, “by force” are thrown around in conversations about countries that have been our friends. The violence we are perpetrating, often without proven justification, without asking permission, and without prior warning, against boats in international waters, civilians on streets in our own cities, and (heaven help me!) over a hundred young children in girl’s school leaves me shattered every day. And from the people with authority to answer to these atrocities, I’m hearing the language of the schoolyard bully: “they asked for it;” “they deserve it;” “we’re going to kick them when they’re down;” ” no mercy…”

Some days, I can hardly bear to get out of bed in the morning. But, I continue on. I sign petitions, make phone calls and send postcards to make my opinions known. I watch the snow receding as we inch closer to spring. I plan my garden. I walk the dog. Now and then, I find the stamina to go into the studio, to try to work on something creative. Once in a while, I sit down to write. One step at a time, I continue forward, trying to maintain hope.

Feb21

Absolutely Right

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I’ve been writing on this site for close to 15 years now. I have published, I think, well more than a thousand blogs. A few times a year, I bring what I’ve written and record them for our little radio station. Lately, it seems I have run out of material. The last few times that I’ve brought my little stack of papers up to the WVBI office to read them aloud, I’ve embarrassed myself with how very repetitive and boring they sound. One after another, I talk about all the things I have to do, the struggle to motivate myself, and my difficulty in finishing projects. Every great now and then, I recount a rare productive day. How tedious!

People are nice. I get comments that tell me I am too hard on myself, that I get more accomplished than I give myself credit for, and that I shouldn’t worry so much about it. Maybe ( I hope!) I’m not really as repetitive as I seem to be, to me, when I’m reading one blog after another. Or, more likely, people are just kind.

With that on my mind, I’ve been having a lot of difficulty finding fresh topics to write about. There isn’t much new and exciting going on in my life. On Beaver Island. In the middle of the winter. I have lived a long life, and have collected a lot of stories…but I often think I’ve already told them all. Do I continue to go on and on about my monotonous, uninteresting day-to-day efforts, or do I chance repeating myself? That’s the dilemma I face, when thinking that I should sit down and write. Today, I’ve opted to gamble on an old story.

My youngest grandson, just twenty-two years old, thinks he would love to debate me. He has formed strong opinions, and is of a age where he’s confident enough in them, that he’d like to test them out. My daughter assures him that, in fact, he does NOT want to debate with his Grandma Cindy. She knows I would disagree strongly with him on just about everything: politics; religion; the role of women within a marriage, in the workplace, and in society. I have no desire to discuss these things with him, but if it came to that, I like to think I’d be merciful.

I remember when I was about that age, with newly formed ideas that I was equally passionate about. I cringe when I think of my bold audacity, telling my mother how to “parent,” she who raised nearly a dozen children, or arguing with my Dad about a thousand little things. Mom was gracious. “Give it some time, Cindy,” she said, “You might feel differently as your kids get older.” Dad, on the other hand, was always up for a good fight. And I, at that age, was never willing to let it go. Our altercations would last for hours, until we were both angry and frustrated.

Aunt Katie took me aside one day, and explained to me how to get along with my Dad.

“I was raised with him, Cindy, and with three other brothers. They’re all stubborn Germans. Arguing with them will never get you anywhere. When a disagreement starts,” she said, “raise your arms, and drop them to your sides. Say, ‘you are absolutely right.’ Do not say, ‘you might be right’ or ‘you could have a point’ or the argument will continue. Say, ‘you are absolutely right. Then, just go ahead and do what you want.”

I watched this play out brilliantly in my Aunt Katie’s life. My Dad would rant about how foolish the game of golf is. “What kind of idiot,” he’d say, “wants to pay good money just to go chase a little ball around with a stick?!” “You’re absolutely right, Bob,” my aunt would say, as she loaded her clubs in the car and headed for the golf course. Dad would go on and on about the foolishness of having flowers. “A garden is enough work on its own, without planting things that you can’t eat,” he’d say. “You’re absolutely right,” Aunt Katie would reply, as she continued to run strings up the wall for her morning glories to climb.

This technique never worked quite as well for me, but it was still excellent advice. I may attempt a version of it, if my grandson ever tries to convert me to his way of thinking!