What a title for a post, eh? Well I couldn’t very well call it Two Funerals and a Wedding, now could I? I am not trying to be flip here. Not at all. The fact is, I feel very sad. After never having attended a funeral in my entire life I have now gone to two in two days. Both funerals were held in two different Catholic churches in Wayne. Our friends Andy and Linda have both lost their mothers in the space of one week. It’s almost too much for one family to bear and I cannot imagine their sorrow and grief. Well, I can actually, just a little bit and that’s the problem. 

When you lose a parent it’s like being smacked in the back of the head with your own mortality. Those of you who have not experienced it yet can’t fully comprehend what I am talking about. There is just the slightest scabbing over from the wound of the loss of my mom. If I start picking at it, the wound opens back up.

I did not know either one of the matriarchs of their families, yet I still found tears welling up in my eyes and slipping down my cheeks when I saw their grief, which was so palpable. I have to admit, I cry watching Hallmark movies and commercials, and now at funerals of people I don’t know too. Seeing the families grieve, listening to the eulogies of these two well-loved women brought my mom’s death back to me with a punch in the gut. I have to admit, it hurt. All those feelings and memories came rushing back. My mom did not want a formal funeral as she had eschewed the whole Catholic church thing which was so much a part of my childhood, but not my adulthood. But after attending back to back funerals I can certainly see the advantage to having one. It gives closure and a chance to reflect on a life you were part of for so long. A celebration and an ending.

Both funerals were very different, yet the same. I actually enjoyed both priests when they spoke to the immediate family. They had obviously taken the time to research each woman before they spoke. When they were speaking from the heart (and not for God) I got it.

I’m having a rather emotional day so forgive me if I am not making sense. 

I was raised Catholic and we went to church every Sunday as a child. Being in a Catholic church again and attending a mass of sorts after not having set foot in one (not counting visiting cathedrals in Europe) for 35 years was also a bit strange and off-putting. So many feelings washed over me.

My mom’s death. 

Being sent back to my childhood again with two distinct memories:

The heavy scent of incense filling the church with its musky odor on Christmas midnight masses. 

The cruel nun who poked me so hard in the back I thought I’d be bruised when I did not kneel up straight. Looking down at those kneelers the past two days, kneeling was the last thing I wanted to do!

I went through the whole Holy Communion and Confirmation thing. Here I am the day of my Communion.

Photo back reads (in my mom’s handwriting) :

Lynne Ann, First Holy Communion (as if I was going to have a second?),

May 18th, 1963

And looking even more pious on my Confirmation!

Photo back reads: May 28, 1966, Confirmation

Wow, same hair-do! Maybe my bangs are a little longer. Nice curls, Lynne. Really, now looking back I’m not sure what the whole to-do was about. Sad, really.  I was really not as pious as I look in these photos. My mom saved my report card from catechism class and it resides in my baby book (thankfully my sister and I were both spared parochial school due to my father’s own school experience) and I thought my conduct grade would be worse than a “B” since I distinctly remember the nun smacking my hand with a ruler (yes, they still did that) and once standing in the corner because I was chewing gum and the nun made me put the gum on my nose too. Maybe this was why when I left my parent’s house and got married I turned away from the church and never went back.

My sister has gone back “into the fold” later in life and I am glad that the rituals give her comfort. After being back in the church for two days in a row I can honestly say I have no desire to go back.

I miss my mom so much. Andy and Linda, if you read this my heart goes out to you both.

Photo: Autumn’s last gasp with burning bushes in the background, Long Pond Ironworks.

Round Three seems to be fizzling out. They are now saying we’ll be lucky to get a coating to an inch. That’s fine with me. I’m tired of shoveling the stuff anyhow. They seem to be focused on a yet another storm for mid-week which will probably fizzle out too. Only time will tell!

In the meantime, the snow we have is next to impossible to walk through or on. It’s almost crusty enough to walk on without falling through, but not quite. When I do fall through it’s up almost to my knees in spots. It’s a real workout! Even the dogs haven’t gone very far down into the yard and the snow remains undisturbed and pristine. 

I don’t have much else for you today. Last night, just before I fell asleep, I had a great blog entry formed in my mind, but the night’s strange dreams wiped my mind clean. Maybe it will come back to me. And then again, maybe not.

What follows are photos of Round One on Monday. As I mentioned, Phil is not a welcome woodchuck and better stay hidden in his hole. This snow was beautiful: wet and fluffy and stuck to everything in sight, tracing all the tree branches in white.

Round Two which arrived in the wee hours of the morning this morning, was quite a different animal. Several times I woke up to sleet hitting the window, tink, tink, tink. The sight out the window this morning was not a welcome one. Yet another six inches of snow, but this time very dense and with an added something extra thrown in just to keep it interesting — a coating of an inch or more of ice. The only good thing I can say about the snow is that Rick did cancel his road trip to Maryland and is working from home today.

Here is what it looks like now.

The stuff is the consistency of snow cones. All I need is some colored flavoring and I could start a snow cone franchise.

Moving it was like trying to pick up concrete. I first had to break the top layer of ice and toss it before I took a shovelful. I think a nice soaking bath will feel pretty good tonight.

Bella is the only one who doesn’t mind.

I don’t think Round One or Round Two is going to melt before Round Three which is expected on Sunday through Monday with a predicted additional 6-12 inches with maybe an ice storm thrown in. It’s still days away and too early to call yet, but that’s at least what they are saying now. I can’t wait.

The messenger being that pesky rodent-y woodchuck, Punxsutawney Phil, who yesterday predicted six more weeks of winter. He was right! It’s snowing and has been since before the sun came up. I would guess we have about 5 or 6 inches so far. More snow is predicted for Wednesday morning, which is of course the very day Rick needs to drive down to Maryland. To top that off they have been hinting at a really BIG storm coming on Sunday. Phooey on Phil! Afraid of his own shadow! Go back in your hole and chuck some wood before someone takes a pot shot at you! (Just kidding —I wouldn’t really harm him. I think they are cute.) Just sayin’ …

Yesterday as I was sitting in the sunroom with my cup of morning coffee I was startled by a loud THWACK! on the sliding glass door. I knew what it was before I even looked, but I was hoping that the bird had just been able to fly away. Not this time. I looked over to see a decent-sized gray bird doing a sick kind of dance with its head down and its butt in the air with all its tail feathers spread out. I rushed to get my gloves and went outside to try and save him. I did not know what it was since it was not a bird that frequents our feeders. It had a large black crown on its head and beautiful rusty-colored underparts. I held it gently in my gloved hands, trying to keep him warm while he got over the shock. He was not looking good, I have to admit.

It’s amazing to me that the birds that I have saved (and tried to save) let me pick them up and don’t really seem to mind being held by a giant. I held it for a while but I was getting cold since I was still in my robe and slippers so I asked Rick to get me a towel. I put the towel on our outside table and every so gently put the towel over and around the bird. I went back inside to eat breakfast. When I came out I lifted the towel to see him still in there after 20 minutes. I went to pick him up and he took off trying to fly without a lot of success. I was bending over a little to catch him when he landed on my back. Yup. On my back on my nice warm cozy robe. There he sat. Has this ever happened to you? 

Rick was watching from the door and I expected him to come and help but he just stood there like he was enjoying the show. Meanwhile, I am bent over with a bird on my back in my robe and slippers on the outside deck. Finally he opened the door and asked if I wanted him to take a picture because I kept gesturing at him. NO! I said — I want you to get this bird off my back! So he did and the bird kind of flew off and was last seen clinging to the side of the house. I went back out in about 15 minutes expecting to find him lying on the ground below the spot where he was clinging, but much to my surprise (and relief) he was nowhere to be seen. I am hoping he recovered enough and flew off. 

My bird turned out to be a Gray Catbird which I had never actually seen before. A few years back we had one that was nesting in our hedge under the window that we heard every morning, but we never actually saw one. They are very pretty birds.

Anyway, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Oh, and all those people who flew in just for the Super Bowl? I think their flights might have been cancelled today. I’m sure they aren’t very happy, especially if the Broncos were their team. They came all this way to watch the Broncs make donkeys out of themselves. 

I’m on a roll. Just try and shut me up!

Hmm… turns out there is no such word as “mindly.” My spell checker has reminded me of that about three times, but I like it. I guess I could have titled this “Books and the Meanderings of my Mind” but I didn’t. First for the books part of this post which is really why I started this post in the first place but it turned into something else entirely. But I am getting ahead of myself …

Just like a truly believe that houses have personalities (a topic for another blog post), I also believe that books have personalities as well. Some books speak to me —read me. When I am looking in a bookstore or in the library (I rarely buy books anymore) for something to read and I don’t have any particular book in mind, my eye is drawn first to the title. When I pull it out, I look at the cover. If I get past the cover I read the flyleaf or the back, wherever the book description is. Then I open it up and look at the print. When it passes all those tests, I then bury my nose in its pages and take a deep breath. 

Yes, I freely admit it. I am a book smeller. There, I’ve gone and said it out loud. Magazines too if you really want to know.

I was prompted to sit down and write this because of the good book I checked out of the library and am reading now. An extra bonus is that it smells good too! Its pages are pungently bookish. It also helps that I am the very first person to ever check it out of the library. Lucky me! This book, Still Life with Breadcrumbs, is also resonating in many ways with the way I am feeling about my life now. Rethinking things. Redefining life as I now know it. Or, if you will, searching for who I really am deep down inside.

What sort of life do I want to lead? One that includes posh dinners out and driving a Lexus, (we don’t own a Lexus by the way, just a Subaru and a Suburban) or stew cooked over a wood stove and a battered old pickup truck capable of plowing a goodly amount of snow and hauling felled trees? Fancy dresses and designer clothing or leggings, warm boots and a hoodie? Manicured nails or nails that can withstand using the wood splitter and some outside work? 

I can be that elegant woman that eats in expensive restaurants, but I can also be the kind of woman who knows how to run the wood splitter too. l am really both women rolled up in one. But if I have to choose, I would pick the simpler life where little things mean a lot. I am talking about life experiences and not material things. Things like seeing a new bird, or an animal sighting of some kind. A hug or good conversation between my husband and me, not the latest fashions hanging on the rack at Bloomingdales (or Bloomie’s as they call it here). Material things are just that. Made and manufactured. Hey, just maybe the Beatle’s were on to something when they sang “Can’t Buy Me Love.” Money can’t buy you a life lived well either come to think of it.

This post got out of hand, so to speak, as my fingers flew across the keyboard, getting farther and farther away from the whole topic of this blog, so I am stopping here for now even though I’ve written another three paragraphs. Stay tuned for Part Two of Mindly Meanderings in which I try to explain what all this is about and how I came to be an outdoorsy kind of girl. Sheesh, two weeks of silence and now you can’t shut me up.

Photo: Sunset clouds last week from my deck.