a dabbler's journal » Family

Mom’s Transforming Desk

dabbler — Thu, 25 Aug 2005 12:09:18 +0000

Mom & Dad had this neat desk. I'm not sure how they acquired it--probably a wedding present--but it's been part of our lives for as long as any of us "kids" remember. At heart it's a small executive desk, but it's unusually well-made and has one unexpected feature--it folds out to become a dining room table. For my entire life it was the fanciest piece of furniture my parents owned.

It's also nearly six decades old. A piece of furniture gets pretty battered if you use it every day for 57 years. Even if it cost a fortune, and even if it's made of oak.

Mom passed away a couple years ago, and basically left everything to everyone. The desk was one of the easy pieces to settle: Debbie wanted to preserve it, while Richard and I had/have no interest in it whatever. We both recognize the quality, but it won't fit well in our offices, it needs to be refinished, and the emotional connection's pretty weak. Debbie's office needs are different (she's a preacher-in-training), and she's clearly more attached to the desk than we are. That's fine.

All this came up last weekend as Joan and I were helping Debbie move. Debbie still can't believe I don't want the desk....

Rog

dabbler — Wed, 10 Nov 2004 14:17:52 +0000

Not so long ago, folks whose political involvement was driven by faith tended to support liberal causes--equal rights, school integration, and ending the Vietnam war. Dad fit that profile. Those issues took over his life for a few years in the late sixties and early seventies and he was heavily involved in a non-partisan local political group called Action Now. Definitely a different time.

Dad passed away fourteen years ago today....

Hacking the Azalea

dabbler — Sat, 05 Jun 2004 19:54:22 +0000

When Dad died, someone gave Mom an Azalea to honor his memory. Mom planted it, tended it, cared for it; things didn't work out. After a couple years of fighting for and with the plant, it was still just a twig in the yard. Mom offered it to me; hoping I'd have better luck.

It was just a twig! I planted it in front of the kitchen window; gave it the usual new-bush care, but didn't do anything special. And watched it flourish. This plant loves my yard; left to its own devices it would grow a couple feet taller each summer. The birds love it; year 'round, it's a refuge near enough the feeders for convenience and far enough for protection. Because it's so close to the house, we're always fighting it for space; at least twice a year we cut it back to size. I've been working on that today; first you hack off the worst offenders, then you trim it to a reasonable shape. I've just completed the first step.

Wish I'd planted it farther from the house, so it could reach its full growth. It's really a wonderful plant, except a bit problematical.

Bob Seger Day: all of Chuck’s Children

dabbler — Mon, 15 Mar 2004 19:02:18 +0000

It's Bob Seger Day in Michigan, to honor Bob's induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame tonight.

Did my part--during today's lunch break I picked up a CD of his Nine Tonight live album, which I'd previously bought when it was new (and vinyl). Old Time Rock and Roll is one of my favorite recordings of anything, ever. Of course I've been listening as I wrestled with Siebel this afternoon.

By the way: If I live to be 90, I might reconstruct my vinyl record library in other media. Or perhaps not....

Joan and I have rather different musical tastes. Joan mainly listens to classic rock radio; while I'm fairly eclectic, my preferences for bluegrass and baroque music are choices Joan barely tolerates. At this edge--Bob Seger, Bruce Springsteen, Tom Petty, John Mellencamp--our tastes touch and we're both comfortable. I mention this because Joan was in the audience at one of the Cobo Hall concerts taped to make the Seger album. Wish I'd been there.

You Gotta Believe

dabbler — Tue, 06 Jan 2004 14:54:49 +0000

Last spring Mom spent two nights in the hospital, then three weeks in a nursing home before we took her home for what would prove to be the last time. The day after we moved her home, the nurse from the hospice called to inquire whether Mom understood how sick she was; her caretakers were convinced she wasn't showing the proper gravity or something. I assured Marilyn that Mom was well aware of her prognosis. Mom, an occasionally witty but never particularly cheerful person, was quite certain that she'd not survive if she let the illness defeat her spirit; she was, by insisting on relentless optimism, fighting on, even in her last days.

Cancer got Tug McGraw yesterday. Mom, who admired Tugger as a pitcher, would have mourned with me.

Margaret remembers that for me

dabbler — Sat, 15 Nov 2003 03:21:58 +0000

My brother dropped me a line the other day; asked if I wanted to hear Anne Hills at the Ten Pound Fiddle. That's what we did tonight.

Anne first appeared in my life when the Boarshead Theater hosted Bob Gibson's The Courtship of Carl Sandburg, nearly 20 years ago. A few weeks later I took a friend to see her at the Fiddle; a few weeks after that I took my family to see her at Kalamazoo's Celery City Music Hall. We've seen her regularly since.

Late in the show, Anne sang The Dutchman, which is Michael Smith's contribution to the short list of truly great songs. It's about growing old, and love, and memory. I took this note's title from The Dutchman's refrain.

Anne's encore was David Roth's Manuel Garcia, a song about cancer, and families, and love, and support. I really needed that; thanks, Anne.