Saying goodbye to an old friend...

Driving a hot car is a lot like sex to me, or a lot like I keep thinking sex should be: A total body experience, overwhelming, to all the senses, taking you places you've never been, packing a punch that leaves you breathless and touches your soul. The Viper was way more satisfying then my last boyfriend.

          ~Karen Marie Moning, Faefever

13 years ago I was suffering from an empty nest and a bad marriage. The car I was driving had some mechanical issues, and since I was working full time in a well-paying job, I wanted a new car. Perhaps the most telling thing of all was that for the first time in my married life I went car shopping alone. I wanted a Mustang convertible and I knew my then-husband would not approve. 


My love of the Mustang went way back. I had a very fond memory of driving around Everett, Washington in my older cousin Steve's beautiful little Mustang. It was one of the earliest models, the ones I still find myself drooling over. Later, when I was in college, my father (who worked for Ford) was given a souped up fast-back Mustang to test drive. He took me out late one evening on a local divided highway-- late enough it was almost devoid of cars -- looked at me and said, "Don't tell your mother about this..." and hit the accelerator. Floored it. The engine roared, the tires squeeled just a little and we were off-- zooming down the road faster than I'd ever gone in a car in my life. I closed my eyes when we passed 100 mph and felt both fear and exhilaration... Dad slowed the car down, and we drove at a sensible speed the rest of the way home. I don't recall saying anything at all to one another-- we just enjoyed the mutual experience of speed and POWER. That was when I developed my "lead foot" and I must confess, I still have it. 


Anyway, knowing full well I was not going to get approval from my husband, I shopped and found the car of my dreams. A sleek, white Mustang convertible with of all things, a black racing stripe. The car had a smaller engine and an automatic transmission, which I hoped would temper my innate desire for speed a little bit. It still had quite a bit of pickup and the engine had a hint of a growl that I loved. When I announced my plans, my husband reacted with little fuss and went with me to the dealer. He seemed to enjoy driving the car as much as I did, so I had high hopes it would be a thing of pleasure for us.


That wasn't to be... and a few years later when I found myself in a divorce, I used to periodically take the car for drives in the country. Out on the dirt roads of Johnson County I would "open her up" and hurl myself down the road, feeling the exhilaration of the speed and the wind in my hair. With the radio cranked way up I am sure I was a sight to the farmers I passed... aging redhead driving a flashy convertible like an idiot. 


I was driving the car when I met Lanny. He is a "car guy" and got a kick out of the car almost as much as I did. It wasn't a muscle car, but it was cute. It was not, however, practical in the winter. I ended up getting a second car that had 4 wheel drive, to drive in bad weather. Over time, the Mustang became a fair-weather car that we drove only on warm, sunny days. We used to drive country roads here in Hendricks County, on weekends when I needed a little break from stress. Driving together in a convertible on a sunny day became something we did as often as we could (and it usually involved a stop at The Frost Bite for ice cream cones!)


Last summer we attended the Studebaker International Meet in Southbend, Indiana and much to our surprise, ended up buying a 1950 Champion convertible. I loved this car so much I told Lanny I'd sell the Mustang to help defray the cost. 


There were a few delays in the sale of the car so we could lend it to a family member in need, and then Lanny wanted to "work on her" a little to get maximum value for the car. Finally, the car was ready last Thursday. I took some photos and Lanny posted them on Craig's list. The phone started ringing immediately and by mid afternoon on Friday Lanny had sold the car. We got more than what we had thought we would. 


I found I had a bit more of an emotional attachment to the car than I thought. She had helped me weather some very bumpy roads in my life, had driven me to meet the man of my dreams. She had provided hours and hours of excellent driving pleasure. She had been here to help rescue someone who had needed a car. She had been a Good Car. 

The man who bought her plans on giving her to his young daughter. My hope is that she will get as much pleasure from her as I did... providing she drives safely, uses her seat belt, doesn't text or use her cell phone while driving, etc.


And yesterday, on the first glorious spring day of 2013, we took the 1950 Champion named Ruby Studebaker for a test drive. She had also been up on blocks all winter getting a new brake system and some other improvements, provided her owner with the pleasures of "tinkering". And she provided us with that same enjoyment of driving the country roads on a sunny day...

So, with a smile on my face I bid farewell to my little white Mustang and greet enthusiastically my new dream car!

Wrong number?

We all need to start making some changes to how our families eat. Now, everyone loves a good Sunday dinner. Me included. And there's nothing wrong with that. The problem is when we eat Sunday dinner Monday through Saturday.

          ~Michelle Obama

                            

                             Brooks Kraft / Corbis for TIME

I have written several blogs about our attempts here at the Bertram household to eat healthy.  We have been trying again to lose some weight, and in that endeavor to learn to eat healthier foods. I try to buy organic produce, and have even taken a stab at growing some of our own fruits and vegetables.

My success as a "farmer" has been pretty limited. The tomatoes were small and scarce last summer, which I blamed on the drought. But the cantaloupe vines were lush-- and only produced one melon the size of a small orange. Likewise the acorn squash.

I have been following the success of First Lady Michelle Obama's White House garden as she has worked publicly to improve the diets of the children in our country. Her endeavors with local school children's participation in growing the garden impressed me.

Meanwhile, in my retirement, I have taken occasionally to writing to my congressman and senators about issues that are important to me. I have received several gracious replies from them, indicating at the very least that my letters were read by somebody who worked for them... it was a nice feeling to know that was the case.

So, several months ago, I sent a letter to Mrs. Obama expressing my admiration for her White House garden project and her public efforts to improve the diets of children. I shared with her our own efforts at changing our diets to a healthier, more organic one. And I got a little bold and asked for some advice on growing produce-- how did they get such lush results? Did they use fertilizer? What kind?

The letter was sent awhile ago, and was forgotten. I mean, really forgotten. I totally forgot that I sent it. Two weeks ago I was home fixing dinner one afternoon when the phone rang.  I answered, "Hello?"  A woman's voice said, "Hello, may I speak with Barbara Bertram, please?" "This is she," I said. "Barbara, my name is Tina Tchen. I am Chief of Staff to Mrs. Michelle Obama, and am calling from the White House."  I was dumbfounded. The voice sounded a little familiar, and I became immediately suspicious. Was this a prank? I looked at the phone's display of what phone number the call was coming from. The display had been blocked. The voice said, "Mrs. Obama would like to speak with you." I was sure I recognized that voice. This wasn't Mrs. Obama's assistant, it was Lanny's daughter Krissy playing a joke on me! I tried to think fast, but all I said was, "Oh sure she does... who is this really??"

There was a pause and the voice said again, "This is Tina Tchen calling from the White House. Mrs. Obama would like to speak with you."  I said, "Nice try, Krissy!" and hung up.  Five minutes later the phone rang again. It was the same voice with the same message. "Stop it, Krissy!" I said, losing patience. "It isn't nice to impersonate somebody important like this!" and hung up again.  The phone didn't ring again-- I guess I made my point!



The mail came today, and in it was a letter with a rather official looking envelope from The East Wing of The White House... It contained a letter from Mrs. Obama expressing her regrets on not being able to speak with me personally about my garden. She thanked me for my letter. She sent her congratulations on my attempts to improve our health with a garden of our own, and encouraged me to continue our efforts.



Oh... and one more thing...















APRIL FOOLS!

Welcome home!

Our hearts where they rocked our cradle,
Our love where we spent our toil,
And our faith, and our hope, and our honor,
We pledge to our native soil.
God gave all men all earth to love,
But since our hearts are small,
Ordained for each one spot should prove
Beloved over all.
           ~Rudyard Kipling

The view from Lanny's brother's deck

We just spent a wonderful long weekend visiting Lanny's brother in Vancouver, BC, Canada. He has lived out there for most of his adult life, so visits with him and his family are special. He lives in a lovely home in a beautiful area called Boundary Bay. His home is adjacent to a beach, and there are views from his deck of not only the water but the mountains in the distance. 

Our visit included a fun trip on the ferry out to Salt Spring Island, which is a delightfully scenic art colony. We also visited a little resort area called White Rock and most especially spent time with Jonn's daughter and her husband and her little one. We had not met little Neave until this trip and we were completely charmed by this little girl.

After 4 lovely days it was time to head for home. We had flown from Indy to Seattle, rented a car and driven north to Vancouver. We headed back the same way we had come, though somewhat reluctantly. Jonn's wife Lois had cooked up such wonderful meals we hated to leave. And while Vancouver was enjoying early spring weather with lots of sun and warmer temperatures, Indianapolis was in the throws of a spring winter storm that had dumped 6 inches of snow here. We were not eager to endure driving and flying all day to come home to that! And all the security measures makes traveling so difficult-- the lines to get through the TSA inspections, taking off my shoes, belts, and getting through that xray machine thing...I hate it!

So with heavy hearts we headed back towards Seattle. We approached the border and the inevitable wait in line to go through US Customs with trepidation.

The border inspection area was not very busy. After perhaps a 15 minute wait, with passports in hand, we approached the Customs Agent who would ask us questions about why we had left the US and what we were bringing back with us. The agent was young, clean-cut and stern. "How long have you been in Canada?" he asked. "What was the purpose of your trip?" "What do you have to declare?" We answered them all truthfully. He smiled back at us, his voice softened and he said simply, "Welcome home!" and let us pass.

I do not know why his welcome choked me up but it did. As we drove away from the inspection area my eyes welled with tears. I was reminded of how much I really love my country... something I think I had forgotten for a bit.

Welcome home!

There is so much to see in this world-- foreign lands to visit, foreign people to get to know. New foods and customs and languages to learn about. Lanny and I are finally in a place in life when we can do some of this learning and seeing and experiencing. I get so excited by it all that I forget...

Welcome home!

There is so much division in our country's politics that troubles me too. Conservatives and Liberals/Republicans and Democrats have come to a place where it seems as if there is no place for cooperation and working together. And the emphasis always seems to hinge on money... I find myself so troubled by all this I forget...

Welcome home!

Fast forward then from this encounter with the Custom's agent to a completely full airplane where the seat next to me is taken by a young man who is "traveling on orders" from the US Navy. He was on his way from one assignment to another. He had just gotten off a submarine in Seattle, where he had spent 3 months cruising underwater in a tube the size of the airplane we were in. A tube without windows. 3 months without seeing the sun or the stars or feeling the wind on his face. No tv. No telephone. Sporadic internet and email. He was on his way to his next assignment in Omaha of all places. But first, a quick visit home.

Welcome home!

Given the physical injuries suffered by so many of our service men and women, this young man's sacrifice may not seem like much. But he was in his early 20's. And he had just spent 3 months without seeing the sun or the moon or land of any kind... he'll never get that time back.

Welcome home!

With this young man's sacrifice in order to serve me and the rest of us, and the words of the US Custom's agent ringing in my ears, I am indeed reminded that I do love my country. It is, quite frankly, the best place to live in the world. We are freer than anywhere else. We are free to disagree. Free to travel.

Welcome home!

I arrived home with a renewed sense of gratitude for the country I live in. It isn't perfect. But it is home. And I was glad to be home again.

WELCOME HOME!

Whistling the blues away...

Well, if they freed me from this prison,
If that railroad train was mine,
I bet I'd move out over a little,
Farther down the line,
Far from Folsom Prison,
That's where I want to stay,
And I'd let that lonesome whistle,
Blow my Blues away. 
     ~Folsom Prison Blues by Johnny Cash

The town I live in has one industry-- there is a big train yard here. There are trains that come in 24 hours a day. Several main roads have train crossings and it is not unusual to be stopped at one of them for up to 10 minutes while a train passes by. A couple years ago there was a derailment with a toxic chemical spill that resulted in an entire subdivision located close to the tracks being evacuated. Most of the time, the trains here are a nuisance.

Last night as I was drifting off to sleep I heard a train whistle in the distance. We live far enough away that we can't always hear the trains. But last night, due to cloud cover or humidity in the air (or whatever the scientific explanation for sound traveling differently is...) the sound of the train came floating into the dark bedroom.

Instantly I was transported back to my childhood, when I would spend the night at my grandparents' home in Lancaster, New York. I remember vividly the bedroom I slept in there-- the size and feel of the bed, the sound of the TV and my grandparents' muffled voices downstairs, the creak of the stairs when they came up to bed themselves. And the sound of the trains in the distance. Back in my childhood trains were frequent there, and a railroad crossing was less than a mile away. The trains ran all night and on those nights I couldn't sleep their sounds were my companion. I grew up hearing them, and so I associate the sound with the warm fuzzy feeling of being a much-loved grandchild in the bosom of my grandparents' loving home.

It didn't take long for me to fall asleep. The memories that flooded my almost-dreams were still with me this morning. I have had my grandparents on my mind all day. How lucky I was to experience such unconditional love from them!

My hope is that each of my own grandchildren will grow up with the same warm, fuzzy memories of staying here with us. I hope they know how much they are loved!

To Steek or Not To Steek?

Accept challenges, so that you may feel the exhilaration of victory. 

          ~George Patton

I have mentioned before that I am a knitter. I learned to knit when I was about 10 years old. My mother and my grandmother both instructed me, and under their watchful eye I basically knit doll clothes and such. My first "big" project was a scarf, knit in Maize and Blue, during my freshman year at Michigan.

Over the years my interest in this craft has ebbed and then resurged, based on how much time and money I had to devote to it. In retirement it has provided endless hours of both relaxation and creativity (and a few frustrations!) I have produced many projects given as gifts and and knit for myself, and even won some blue ribbons at the county fair.

A small yarn shop opened in a town closeby the same year I retired, and I have joined a "Knit Night" group there. Every Thursday night a bunch of us gather to knit and chat. I have made some friends and learned a lot from some experienced and talented knitters. There are beginners that come too, and it has been fun to watch them learn and develop.

Over time, my skills have advanced to the point of becoming an expert... and my confidence in my abilities has grown with my skill. I find I am willing to try new things.  Just last week I tried a new technique for casting on stitches in a way that allowed me to turn the work around and work from the bottom once the top had been completed (a "provisional cast on" for the knitters amongst my readers...)

But there has been one advanced technique that has so intimidated me I have sworn I would never try it. It is called "steeking". When this technique is used, the knitter knits a project in the round-- that is, on either circular needles or multiple double pointed needles-- to create essentially a tube. Once this tube is the correct size, the steeking technique is used to cut a seam into the knitted fabric. The technique is used for complicated color patterns where multiple colors of yarn are used to create complicated designs. Doing this color work has to be done from the front side only. Knitting it flat would mean going back and forth, and every other row would be on the wrong side. Knitting in the round, going round and round on the right side, solves this problem. But after hours and hours of difficult work with many strands of different colored yarn, the idea of taking scissors to the completed project and cutting it was just more than I could consider...

So, I avoided any patterns that called for the technique. I admired them from afar, but refused to consider them... Steeking had become a brick wall that I was not going to go through or over. I would go around it.

Then I joined a group that is making a different afghan block each month. We meet one Sunday afternoon a month and learn a new technique for that month's block. We were told that if we knit two of these blocks per month, in a year we will have completed an afghan. So far I have really enjoyed the group and learning new stuff... until this month.

You guessed it-- the block called for us to learn how to steek. The pattern uses two different colors and we were to knit it in the round, and then steek the side edge. The instructor demonstrated the technique and I found myself thinking, "That doesn't look that hard..." I looked at the other women in the group and most of them had less experience as a knitter than I did. The instructor has become a friend, and she was smiling and I could tell was assuming I would just do it too.  "This isn't a huge sweater project, it's a 12 inch block... great way to try this!" she said. How could I admit defeat in front of all of them?

So, armed with new knowledge and only very limited confidence, I went home. I knit the block in the round. It took two attempts to get the steeking edge in place correctly, but I finally got it right. I took out my scissors, and with my husband's hands helping hold the block in place, I cut the fabric. We both gasped... it came out PERFECT!!! I cannot begin to describe the relief and pride I felt looking at that perfect square block!

Behold the newly "steeked" afghan square!

I have been thinking about this experience since. How many other things in my life have been holding me back because of my fear to go out on a limb and try something a little risky? What a vivid demonstration this was that if armed with knowledge and a little patience with the learning process, if I just forge ahead and try it, I can accomplish so much more and learn so much more...  and live life so much more fully!

Color Our World - Again?

                            

Mere color, unspoiled by meaning, and unallied with definite form, can speak to the soul in a thousand different ways. 
            ~Oscar Wilde

 A dear chaplain friend of mine recently posted some thoughts on Facebook about how winter makes her want to dress all in black. She lamented the absence of color that this brings, although she did comment on how she accessorizes with brightly colored scarves. Her post made me smile, because when I think of her she is dressed this way and I always thought she looked so... arty and creative! But I do understand her point-- winter can be a drab, seemingly colorless season. And this winter has gone on and on for so long sometimes I forget what color there is in the world.

Long ago, during some troubled times in my life, I sought solace and self-expression by taking art classes. First I took a couple drawing classes that helped me begin to view the world a little differently-- the world changes considerably when you start looking at it with an artist's eye for sketching. I learned about negative space and perspective and shading. And I was eager to create, and wanted to begin to use color as well. Water color painting classes came next, and eventually I took a course in acrylic painting. While I never considered myself overly talented, I did find a great deal of pleasure in all this, and actually did paint a few things for other people.

I emerged from that time of self-discovery with a love for color-- bright colors, pale colors, all the hues of the rainbow. Our home is decorated with a lot of color, and I love it. And during these long, drab winters it does provide a little break from the grays outside.

This winter has been a little gray inside too... the Bertrams have settled into a routine for living retired that is not very exciting. Our days have consisted of "putzing" around at home, doing a few chores, preparing meals, doing internet searches related to hobbies, corresponding with friends via email. As the gray drizzle of winter has continued, our moods have grayed a little too-- both of us have become a little more pessimistic than we usually are. And then I caught a bad cold, and then of course so did he. Nothing like a cold to just ice the cake of an overly long, dismal winter!

So when I read the post about wearing black in winter I could certainly relate. And just about that time, Lanny and I chatted about our mutual pessimism... We decided we needed to inject a little fun into our week, and so, for the first time in awhile, we had a date. We went to the movies! Now, a lot of people go to the movies all the time, but for some reason the two of us just haven't gone to them very often. We saw "Lincoln" before Christmas, and here it is March before we go again.

Going on a Monday night assures that the theater will not be crowded, and last night was no exception. We went to see "Oz, the Great and Powerful" in 3-D no less... We donned the glasses and watched the movie holding hands like a couple of kids... and had fun. And, the movie was great-- and best of all, it was full of gorgeous, vivid color. I noticed immediately that it started out in Kansas and was shot in sepia tone-- until the main character lands in Oz. And then oh my... the special effects and scenery were dazzlingly colorful. The characters were all vividly colorful as well. The whole experience was one of vivid, bright colors.

This is from the original Wizard of Oz movie... I had originally posted a photo from the new movie, but oddly it disappeared. I suspect a copyright protection of some sort... but since the new movie set closely replicated the old one, this one works too!

When the movie was over, I felt a little like I had felt after the psychedelic scenes in "2001: A Space Odyssey"-- just completely dazzled by the brightness of it. Lanny and I both agreed the movie was very well done and exactly what we had needed. We needed the color back in our world!

Then we stepped out of the theater to walk to our car. There was a biting cold wind blowing hard snow pellets into our faces. Back to winter... ? Well yes, of course. But for awhile we were awash in color anyway, and somehow it had changed our mood. This morning it is cold and gray again... but if I look closely into those gray clouds, I think I might see a patch of pale blue??

Imitating Life with a Three and Two year old

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
          ~Charles Caleb Colton

Helping Mommy cook!

We have just returned from a few days with our grandsons, Sam and Will. We drove to their home close to Washington, DC to celebrate Will's second birthday, and stayed for a few extra days so their mom and dad could spend some time helping her father get ready to move. Mom and dad were only gone over night, so it wasn't a long time... just right for us to have some fun with these two dear little ones.

Because my own experience was raising two boys, spending time with these two is kind of like "Deja vue all over again" for me. Not to mention that both boys, while very different in appearance, bear a strong resemblance to their father and his brother.

Now, however, I see them through the eyes of a grandmother, which is quite different than those of a parent. I am charmed by things that I either missed seeing or that annoyed me with my own boys. I have so much more patience and appreciate their silliness!

The boys are only 15 months apart, and are very close. They play pretty well together. And what one does, the other one has to do. Sam is a bit of a "buster" in his play, in that he is shorter and stockier in build than his little brother. He is also more tentative-- he is cautious about trying new things. Will is the running, jumping for joy little boy who throws himself into whatever he is doing. Sam, being older, has mastered certain skills that Will does not possess yet-- riding a tricycle, for instance. He is quite verbal, providing everyone with a running commentary on his life. Will is quieter, but he observes everything.

We watched these two play for two days, and over and over we saw them imitate each other. What one did the other one had to do. Will especially copied whatever his brother was doing. If Sam had a cup of water, he wanted one. If Sam roared like Simba the Lion, he roared. And Sam kept one eye on what Will was doing-- and returned the favor by imitating him.

It didn't stop with imitating each other. The boys watched their parents too. When Mommy went into the kitchen to cook, they both showed up to help. Or they imitating what they had seen Mommy do when playing with their own kitchen set. Daddy's old cell phone provides lots of opportunity for these boys to imitate what they see him do.

It dawned on me that early language skills require a great deal of imitation-- that is how these boys learn new words. Other skills-- pretty much all of them-- are learned by young children through imitation.

I don't think we were there long enough for the boys to imitate things we did, but the thought that they might was a little daunting. Here is the lesson I learned-- if I am going to be imitated by little children, held up as an example of what grownup behavior is, I'd better make sure my behavior is worthy of the imitation. What a challenge that is for all of us-- to live and behave in a way that will assure we are good examples to our children and grandchildren, worthy of their trust and imitation!