The fall of 1991 found me living in yet another parsonage, this time in Hampton, Virginia. I was not working, and hadn’t had any luck over the summer finding employment. Needless to say, I was getting bored and in need of some kind of stimulation in my life. It was during this time that my husband, David, decided that we didn’t need two cars any more. Since I wasn’t working, a second car was an added expense, and so he decided to sell our second car, the one I drove. To placate me, he told me that he’d buy a bicycle for me. With a bicycle, he reasoned, I could ride to the store, visit church members, and to go anywhere that I needed to go. I wouldn’t be stuck at home all of the time, but then I couldn’t go too far away!
Enter my Schwinn Crossfit bicycle. I went with David to select a bike for myself, and picked it out. It wasn’t the cheapest one in the shop – in fact, it was one of the higher priced ones. It had fifteen speeds and tires that could roll easily on both pavement and bare ground. David kept looking at the cheaper bikes, but I was convinced that this was the bicycle I wanted and since he had sold my car, he gave in and bought it. With my new bike and helmet, I was ready to ride!
I rode my Schwinn all autumn and into the winter and the next spring. The geography of Hampton was flat, meaning I didn’t have to deal with hills, and seldom used all the gears on my bike. I explored the town, pedaled to the grocery store and post office, rode it to visit some of our church shut-ins, generally having a wonderful time.
It came time the following fall for me to go to Greensboro, NC, to enter graduate school, and my bike went with me. By this time, I also had a car, thanks to my dad who had given me an old one to drive, but the bike had become part of who I was, and I wasn’t going to leave it in the parsonage garage. My litttle apartment was only a few blocks from campus, and I soon found that it was easier to walk to classes than to ride my bike. However, one of my apartment neighbors was a legally blind man, John, who soon became my friend. He loved bike riding, but couldn’t see well enough to go out alone on his bike. My Crossfit and I became his seeing eye bicycle, and together we began checking out the Greensboro streets on our bikes. Side by side, we rode our bikes up and down the neighborhood streets surrounding the campus, enjoying getting out into the fresh air and feeling the wind in our faces. I served as John’s eyes, and while he could see me as a shadowy blur, I alerted him to obstacles on our way and described to him sights I could see that he couldn’t.
Almost two years later, I finished graduate school, now divorced from David, and newly engaged to Phil. When it came time for me to move to Atlanta to begin a new job, both Phil and the bicycle accompanied me. My new apartment was on a busy street, and there wasn’t a good place for me to ride. I didn’t want the bicycle to sit unused on my apartment porch, so I offered it to my nephew, Mark, for his daughters, Haley and Paige, to ride. I bid farewell to my Crossfit as Mark loaded it into his car, but knew that it would be ridden and enjoyed.
Twelve years and three moves later, I was now living here in Walton County on a dirt road out in the country. I hadn’t thought about my bicycle in years. One day Mark called me and asked me if I’d like to have my bike back. Both Haley and Paige had outgrown bike riding days, and it wasn’t being used anymore. YES! I’d love to have it back. Mark delivered my bicycle, and except for two flat tires, it looked exactly as it had when I passed it along to my great-nieces. I was delighted to have it back, and when asked by Phil what I’d like for Mother’s Day that spring, I told him I wanted my bicycle fixed.
Another two years passed – two Mother’s Days went by without my bicycle leaving the basement. This March, when Phil mentioned my upcoming birthday, I told him that I really wanted to be able to ride my bicycle again. With this request, he finally made it to the bike shop, bought two new tires, new handle grips, and had the bicycle given the once-over. Declared safe and sound, it was now ready to hit the streets, and I was delighted!
I am now back on wheels – the kind I have to pedal. I look forward to my bike rides and am enjoying riding up and down our country roads. I am also discovering what all the gears are for, as we have lots of hills around here. I am amazed that I can shift from gear to gear and keep on pedaling. I don’t even have to get off to walk as I did as a child riding my one-speed bike. I am working my way up to being able to ride it into town to pick up the mail and to ride over to Hard Labor Creek State Park. Even though I am a walker and can walk miles without tiring, I find that riding a bicycle is different, and I need to work up my endurance.
I am very happy to have my Crossfit back in my life, and once again, I’m ready to ride!
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Baking Bread
For much of my adult life, baking bread has played an integral role in my collection of days. Bread-baking got me through the last dying days of my first marriage, as I made bread several times a week, selling it to friends and neighbors, and stashing the cash for the rainy day I sensed was looming on the horizon. My bread has also been given away as gifts, often as a way for me to tell someone “thank you” or to introduce myself to someone new. But more than anything, baking bread has been a connection to my mother who taught me how to bake bread, and a form of therapy for me. There is nothing like the aroma of a house where fresh loaves of bread are cooling on racks in the kitchen! And the rhythm of kneading bread is calming and soothing when I need something to center me.
Since we moved into our barn home six years ago, I have struggled with my bread baking. I had a sour dough starter that I brought with me from our former home, and began feeding it in anticipation of baking bread in my new treehouse kitchen. The starter bubbled and had the lovely sour smell as it was supposed to have, but when I baked my first batch of bread, it didn’t rise. I didn’t lose hope, and tried again. The second batch was just as flat. Undaunted, I tossed out the starter and began again. After a few more tries with the same results, I gave up and didn’t bake sourdough bread for the next five years. Instead, I concentrated on my jelly making during the spring and summer, and in between made loaves of banana bread and blueberry bread, with moderate success.
Last month I decided to try my hand at sourdough again. I started my starter, and nursed it for a couple of weeks to make sure it was doing what it was supposed to do. But, with my first batch of bread, I had the same results as I had before- flat bread- very tasty, but too dense for my liking. As the researcher that I am, I went to the internet and began reading about sourdough. I learned that some geographic regions have better indigenous yeasts than others, and that growing the yeast that makes the best sourdough bread is related to the yeasts that are in the air in a particular place. I concluded that my five acres of land is lacking in yeast! I also read that patience is a key, and it sometimes takes more time for the yeast in the sourdough starter to become active enough for making good bread. It was now up to me to supply the air with yeast spores to make up for my yeast-deprived acreage!
As I was reading, I found a recipe for a different kind of sourdough starter than the one I was using. I printed out the recipe, headed into my kitchen, and mixed up a batch. I also got out an old heating pad, and placed it on my kitchen counter to supply needed warmth (but not too hot!) for the starter to draw in the yeast it needed. In the meantime, I found a recipe for a good basic white yeast bread, which I mixed up and was delighted to see rising as it was supposed to do! I felt that maybe the yeast spores from this bread might help my sourdough starter.
The day finally arrived last week for me to take a deep breath and try making sourdough bread again, this time from the new starter. It worked! The bread rose once, and then again, and baked into a lovely round loaf. My next loaf didn’t rise as much as the first (I blame it on the cold snap and all the rain we've had), but I feel like I am on my way again. I can't wait to try it again in a few days to see how it works!
I am hopeful that my days will once again include baking and sharing my bread.
Since we moved into our barn home six years ago, I have struggled with my bread baking. I had a sour dough starter that I brought with me from our former home, and began feeding it in anticipation of baking bread in my new treehouse kitchen. The starter bubbled and had the lovely sour smell as it was supposed to have, but when I baked my first batch of bread, it didn’t rise. I didn’t lose hope, and tried again. The second batch was just as flat. Undaunted, I tossed out the starter and began again. After a few more tries with the same results, I gave up and didn’t bake sourdough bread for the next five years. Instead, I concentrated on my jelly making during the spring and summer, and in between made loaves of banana bread and blueberry bread, with moderate success.
Last month I decided to try my hand at sourdough again. I started my starter, and nursed it for a couple of weeks to make sure it was doing what it was supposed to do. But, with my first batch of bread, I had the same results as I had before- flat bread- very tasty, but too dense for my liking. As the researcher that I am, I went to the internet and began reading about sourdough. I learned that some geographic regions have better indigenous yeasts than others, and that growing the yeast that makes the best sourdough bread is related to the yeasts that are in the air in a particular place. I concluded that my five acres of land is lacking in yeast! I also read that patience is a key, and it sometimes takes more time for the yeast in the sourdough starter to become active enough for making good bread. It was now up to me to supply the air with yeast spores to make up for my yeast-deprived acreage!
As I was reading, I found a recipe for a different kind of sourdough starter than the one I was using. I printed out the recipe, headed into my kitchen, and mixed up a batch. I also got out an old heating pad, and placed it on my kitchen counter to supply needed warmth (but not too hot!) for the starter to draw in the yeast it needed. In the meantime, I found a recipe for a good basic white yeast bread, which I mixed up and was delighted to see rising as it was supposed to do! I felt that maybe the yeast spores from this bread might help my sourdough starter.
The day finally arrived last week for me to take a deep breath and try making sourdough bread again, this time from the new starter. It worked! The bread rose once, and then again, and baked into a lovely round loaf. My next loaf didn’t rise as much as the first (I blame it on the cold snap and all the rain we've had), but I feel like I am on my way again. I can't wait to try it again in a few days to see how it works!
I am hopeful that my days will once again include baking and sharing my bread.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
April Fool’s and Rainy Days
I woke up early this morning to the sound of rain again on our metal roof. I’m not sure if our drought is officially over, but the recent rains have certainly helped the dry conditions in Georgia. It seems that we’ve had more clouds than sunshine for the past several days. I am ready for a few sunny days! The childhood rhyme “April showers bring May flowers” is running over and over in my mind, but I’d like to see some April flowers smiling up at a bright blue sky. My tomato and pepper seedlings would also appreciate some sun. They are drowning from sitting in puddles, and their poor little stems are straining to stay upright. They need some dry weather and sunshine to get stronger and take off growing.
It is also April Fool’s Day. I don’t have any plans to play any tricks on anyone – namely, Phil, since he is the closest one to me on this day. Over the course of my life, as a very gullible and highly impressionable individual, I have been the recipient of many April Fool’s tricks. I have also been the successful instigator of some pretty good ones, because nobody ever suspects me of doing something of a devious nature. I’m just not in the mood for all this today, and it’s not in my heart to try to trick someone. I am happy that March and winter is over, and that spring is hiding behind the clouds. I want to see some sunshine!
Maybe this morning is nature’s April Fool’s joke on me- waking me up at 5:00 am to more rain.
It is also April Fool’s Day. I don’t have any plans to play any tricks on anyone – namely, Phil, since he is the closest one to me on this day. Over the course of my life, as a very gullible and highly impressionable individual, I have been the recipient of many April Fool’s tricks. I have also been the successful instigator of some pretty good ones, because nobody ever suspects me of doing something of a devious nature. I’m just not in the mood for all this today, and it’s not in my heart to try to trick someone. I am happy that March and winter is over, and that spring is hiding behind the clouds. I want to see some sunshine!
Maybe this morning is nature’s April Fool’s joke on me- waking me up at 5:00 am to more rain.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
A Different Kind of Farm
Out in Walton County where we live the land is zoned for agriculture. All around us are farms of one kind or another. Even the five acres where we built our home was once a farm. We knew it must have been, although it is now southern pine forest, and has been for many years. We suspected that our land was once farmland because of a series of terraces spanning from one end of our acreage to the other. We learned recently that this was once a cotton plantation, which explains the mystery terraces. One of our neighbors says that he can still find cotton plants on his property that are now growing wild.
From our house, one can see a hayfield that is mowed and baled several times during the summer, and across the road to the side of our place is a farm where black angus cattle are raised. We can hear peacocks crying at times during the day, although we don’t know for sure where the peacock farm is. Not far from us is a buffalo farm, and all around us are beautiful horse farms. During the summer, we also see vegetable farms everywhere. Goats are also popular, and several goat farms grace the countryside. A few miles down our road is a commercial nursery, with rows and rows of ornamental trees and shrubs. Yes, this is rural Georgia, and farms of all kinds abound.
One farm nearby puzzles me, however. I’m not sure about its purpose, and I’ve never seen much activity there. The herd seems to always be hanging around the long drive to the farmhouse, appearing to be fairly domesticated, and I never see any grazing out in the pasture. It is a porta-potty farm, and from the looks of it, it is a healthy operation. There is always a line of porta-potties along the driveway, and the herd changes size from time to time. I never see any baby porta-potties, however, and I’m not sure how the herd grows or sustains itself. Occasionally I witness a round-up, where porta-potties are loaded onto a flatbed truck and hauled away. But it isn’t long before the herd is back to its original size, and lately it appears to be growing.
They must not be very good to eat.
From our house, one can see a hayfield that is mowed and baled several times during the summer, and across the road to the side of our place is a farm where black angus cattle are raised. We can hear peacocks crying at times during the day, although we don’t know for sure where the peacock farm is. Not far from us is a buffalo farm, and all around us are beautiful horse farms. During the summer, we also see vegetable farms everywhere. Goats are also popular, and several goat farms grace the countryside. A few miles down our road is a commercial nursery, with rows and rows of ornamental trees and shrubs. Yes, this is rural Georgia, and farms of all kinds abound.
One farm nearby puzzles me, however. I’m not sure about its purpose, and I’ve never seen much activity there. The herd seems to always be hanging around the long drive to the farmhouse, appearing to be fairly domesticated, and I never see any grazing out in the pasture. It is a porta-potty farm, and from the looks of it, it is a healthy operation. There is always a line of porta-potties along the driveway, and the herd changes size from time to time. I never see any baby porta-potties, however, and I’m not sure how the herd grows or sustains itself. Occasionally I witness a round-up, where porta-potties are loaded onto a flatbed truck and hauled away. But it isn’t long before the herd is back to its original size, and lately it appears to be growing.
They must not be very good to eat.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Settling In with At-Homeness
I woke up at 2:00 am again this morning, as I have done almost every morning since I've been without a job. However, this morning a cold sweat and anxiety attack didn't awaken me, but the noise of Kitty Rocky playing in the livingroom. I lay awake for a little while before drifting back to sleep, but I made a mental note that I wasn't harboring thoughts of panic about my jobless status and didn't begin creating scenarios in my mind of what the future will be like if I don't find a job soon.
I take this as a good sign. This week has been a very good one, and I have completely enjoyed my at-homeness. While I have been exploring opportunities and reviewing the DOL and other career websites, I haven't been obsessing over my job search. I've put out feelers in many directions, and have contacted several of my professional peers alerting them to my availability for employment. As a result, I even landed an interview yesterday and have started the ball rolling toward a potential consulting job with a second organization. The interview was most interesting. While I don't feel that I was the right person for the job, I hit it off well with the company owner, and it looks like he may have some special projects for me that can be done on contract. The groundwork is being laid and I feel confident that the right doors will open at the right time.
On the homefront, the week has been wonderful! My tomato and pepper seeds have sprouted, and my strawberry plants are healthy and beginning to bloom. I planted Bibb lettuce seeds in the garden, and will soon plant a second row. I can already taste my early summer salads! Diamond and I have enjoyed long walks, and Kitty Rocky is getting accustomed to my being at home and showing me a tad of feline affection. I have gotten back to my bread baking, and I have begun a granny-square afghan that I bought the yarn for months ago. Phil has work coming in, and he is also going to make some prototypes of the lazy susans he made for Christmas gifts for us to try our hand at selling online. We are brainstorming to try to find out-of-the-box ways to earn extra money, and we have hopes that our big garden will help out our grocery bill this summer. I have even lost two pounds - without thinking about dieting! I had an appointment with my oncologist this week, which resulted in a good report for my eight year anniversary.
My days now are most definitely different than they have ever been in my life. My collection of days has taken on a new dimension.
I like it.
I take this as a good sign. This week has been a very good one, and I have completely enjoyed my at-homeness. While I have been exploring opportunities and reviewing the DOL and other career websites, I haven't been obsessing over my job search. I've put out feelers in many directions, and have contacted several of my professional peers alerting them to my availability for employment. As a result, I even landed an interview yesterday and have started the ball rolling toward a potential consulting job with a second organization. The interview was most interesting. While I don't feel that I was the right person for the job, I hit it off well with the company owner, and it looks like he may have some special projects for me that can be done on contract. The groundwork is being laid and I feel confident that the right doors will open at the right time.
On the homefront, the week has been wonderful! My tomato and pepper seeds have sprouted, and my strawberry plants are healthy and beginning to bloom. I planted Bibb lettuce seeds in the garden, and will soon plant a second row. I can already taste my early summer salads! Diamond and I have enjoyed long walks, and Kitty Rocky is getting accustomed to my being at home and showing me a tad of feline affection. I have gotten back to my bread baking, and I have begun a granny-square afghan that I bought the yarn for months ago. Phil has work coming in, and he is also going to make some prototypes of the lazy susans he made for Christmas gifts for us to try our hand at selling online. We are brainstorming to try to find out-of-the-box ways to earn extra money, and we have hopes that our big garden will help out our grocery bill this summer. I have even lost two pounds - without thinking about dieting! I had an appointment with my oncologist this week, which resulted in a good report for my eight year anniversary.
My days now are most definitely different than they have ever been in my life. My collection of days has taken on a new dimension.
I like it.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Reinventing Jennie
Now that it’s been two weeks since I was laid off from my job, I have licked my wounds, done a little grieving, and I’m ready for the next chapter in my life. Phil’s words of wisdom are now speaking to me, “There can’t be an end without a beginning, and there can’t be a beginning without an end.” I am putting an ending behind me and beginning something new.
I spent a few days with some cousins in North Carolina this week, and they are encouraging me to re-invent myself. This sounds intriguing to me. One of the things that hit me after losing my job was that I was getting bored with a lot of what I was doing, which was no longer creative, but routine. I loved what I thought was the security of my job, and the steady paycheck was very nice. I also loved the subject matter of the information that I was classifying and cataloging for the online knowledge center, and it held my interest at peak as I went through the tasks at hand. I was also very proud of my “baby”, and nurtured it as if it were my own. The truth of it was- it wasn’t mine. The Knowledge Center and the information in it belong to the users- I was only the person who created it and made the information in it accessible. I’d do it again in a heartbeat if I had the chance, but if I don’t, then let’s reinvent Jennie and see what else she can do.
As I re-wrote my resume, and learned how to write a curriculum vitae, I realized that there is a lot of stuff that I know how to do, and have done very well in my professional career. One of my cousins noted that I have a valuable skill set, and I only need to find a way to market myself to those who are looking for someone like me. It was great being with this group of relatives this week, because not only did I receive the love and support of family, but I also benefitted from learning of their experiences and using them as sounding boards as we brainstormed about different directions I might take in my new beginning.
Brian is also encouraging me to get off my duff and see if I can get the book I wrote published. I’ve also begun writing a novel, and now that I have more time that I can call my own, he is nudging me to get back to it. He is my unofficial literary advisor, and I count on him to steer me in the right direction in this part of my life.
Whatever I do, I’m going to have to make a living, so my main concern is finding something that will help pay the bills. In the meantime, I’ll be collecting my weekly unemployment check with great gratitude, and focusing my energy on the reinvention of Jennie.
I spent a few days with some cousins in North Carolina this week, and they are encouraging me to re-invent myself. This sounds intriguing to me. One of the things that hit me after losing my job was that I was getting bored with a lot of what I was doing, which was no longer creative, but routine. I loved what I thought was the security of my job, and the steady paycheck was very nice. I also loved the subject matter of the information that I was classifying and cataloging for the online knowledge center, and it held my interest at peak as I went through the tasks at hand. I was also very proud of my “baby”, and nurtured it as if it were my own. The truth of it was- it wasn’t mine. The Knowledge Center and the information in it belong to the users- I was only the person who created it and made the information in it accessible. I’d do it again in a heartbeat if I had the chance, but if I don’t, then let’s reinvent Jennie and see what else she can do.
As I re-wrote my resume, and learned how to write a curriculum vitae, I realized that there is a lot of stuff that I know how to do, and have done very well in my professional career. One of my cousins noted that I have a valuable skill set, and I only need to find a way to market myself to those who are looking for someone like me. It was great being with this group of relatives this week, because not only did I receive the love and support of family, but I also benefitted from learning of their experiences and using them as sounding boards as we brainstormed about different directions I might take in my new beginning.
Brian is also encouraging me to get off my duff and see if I can get the book I wrote published. I’ve also begun writing a novel, and now that I have more time that I can call my own, he is nudging me to get back to it. He is my unofficial literary advisor, and I count on him to steer me in the right direction in this part of my life.
Whatever I do, I’m going to have to make a living, so my main concern is finding something that will help pay the bills. In the meantime, I’ll be collecting my weekly unemployment check with great gratitude, and focusing my energy on the reinvention of Jennie.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
A Tribute to Johnny
Today, March 1, is my brother, Johnny’s, birthday. I’m not sure how old he would be today, but I’m thinking that he would be 69. I never knew my brother- he died of pneumonia when I was ten months old- but I’ve always felt very close to him, and I give him all the credit for my appearance on this earth.
Johnny was a Downs Syndrome child- a Mongoloid- as I was told as a child. Johnny never knew his baby sister. When I think about the family dynamics in play at the time, in the 1940s, and the decisions my parents had to make about their handicapped son, I feel a deep pain in my heart for them and for my family. A decision had to be made about my special brother as he became school age. At that time, there were no public school programs or government assistance for special needs children and their families. It was even unacceptable for my parents to take Johnny out in public. But there was Gracewood, an institution in Georgia for the mentally retarded. This is where Johnny went to live. I am sure my parents’ hearts were torn to shreds with having to do this, but they had three healthy children at the time who needed their love and attention, and I’m sure Johnny and his needs were draining them physically and emotionally. I still remember my mother telling me stories about taking Johnny to Gracewood, and my brothers and sister have filled in some of the gaps for me in revealing to me what life was like for them as children with Johnny in their midst.
After Johnny left our home to live at Gracewood when he was seven years old, there was a void and sadness in our home, I’m sure. This was when my parents decided that another baby in the family might help fill the void and ease the pain. They also wanted my sister, Molly, who was a little over a year younger than Johnny, to have a normal baby sister or brother. This was when Mama became pregnant with me. I believe that it must have been a huge relief to them when I entered the world a healthy baby girl. I didn’t replace Johnny in the family, but I know that I must have brought joy into our home. And, when Johnny died during my first year, I'm sure the baby in the family was a comfort to my parents and siblings.
Many times over the years, I’ve wondered what my purpose in life is, and I’ve searched for meaning in my life. When I think about my brother, Johnny, I begin to see that my purpose was simply to be born, and I thank my special brother for the gift of my life.
Everything else in my life is a bonus.
Johnny was a Downs Syndrome child- a Mongoloid- as I was told as a child. Johnny never knew his baby sister. When I think about the family dynamics in play at the time, in the 1940s, and the decisions my parents had to make about their handicapped son, I feel a deep pain in my heart for them and for my family. A decision had to be made about my special brother as he became school age. At that time, there were no public school programs or government assistance for special needs children and their families. It was even unacceptable for my parents to take Johnny out in public. But there was Gracewood, an institution in Georgia for the mentally retarded. This is where Johnny went to live. I am sure my parents’ hearts were torn to shreds with having to do this, but they had three healthy children at the time who needed their love and attention, and I’m sure Johnny and his needs were draining them physically and emotionally. I still remember my mother telling me stories about taking Johnny to Gracewood, and my brothers and sister have filled in some of the gaps for me in revealing to me what life was like for them as children with Johnny in their midst.
After Johnny left our home to live at Gracewood when he was seven years old, there was a void and sadness in our home, I’m sure. This was when my parents decided that another baby in the family might help fill the void and ease the pain. They also wanted my sister, Molly, who was a little over a year younger than Johnny, to have a normal baby sister or brother. This was when Mama became pregnant with me. I believe that it must have been a huge relief to them when I entered the world a healthy baby girl. I didn’t replace Johnny in the family, but I know that I must have brought joy into our home. And, when Johnny died during my first year, I'm sure the baby in the family was a comfort to my parents and siblings.
Many times over the years, I’ve wondered what my purpose in life is, and I’ve searched for meaning in my life. When I think about my brother, Johnny, I begin to see that my purpose was simply to be born, and I thank my special brother for the gift of my life.
Everything else in my life is a bonus.
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