Tom Sonday

About a month ago, I impulsively purchased a wren house painted like a bee.  With my interest in bees, it seemed like a fun garden item; I didn’t purchase it in hopes of opening a wren hotel.  While I have nothing again wrens (please remember this for later), the tag clearly read “for novelty use only.” 

I stuck the novelty-use-only birdhouse in my small garden — the one sandwiched by a sun-soaking driveway and sidewalk (if / when it stops raining in Michigan), the garden that receives little natural shade.

Because it has rained alot in Michigan, the flowers in this small garden are flourishing, as are the weeds.  Last week found me on my knees extracting the latter.  And suddenly, a terrorized wren flew out of the birdhouse, terrorizing me.

I’m not sure why I was so shocked that there would, um, be a bird in the birdhouse.  Perhaps it hadn’t read the novelty-use-only tag?  Hadn’t bird instinct or bird buddies informed it that nesting in a tin box surrounded by concrete is a bad idea?

Maybe I should give the bird more credit though.  Perhaps it wings to the beach during the day when the tin house’s temperature climbs well over 100 degrees (and it isn’t raining) … leaving Mother Nature to keep the eggs warm.

I hope so.  Baked wren isn’t good for anyone involved.

Speaking of bees, my other winged friends in the backyard are doing well.  Of the 10 hives, only 2 are still on the watch list, 2 more have fantastically built up their numbers such that they are just starting to produce honey for we humans, and the rest are well on their way.  Young bee apprentice Taylor joined us Sisters of the Sting last week when a determined guard bee managed to nail her even through protective gloves.  Salute to Taylor, who was right back in bee suit this morning, helping me feed them.

Yes, it is nearly July, and I’m still feeding the bees … increasing amounts.  Area beekeepers have experienced the same thing, because allegedly all the rain keeps washing off the pollen.

I’m “buzzed” because daughter Gigantor is home for a bit, and she’s also been helping with Tommy’s bees — doing the majority of checking the progress of each hive over the last few weeks.

For a while I thought she had what we call “bee fever” — a fascination with our winged friends that makes you visit the hives every chance you get, and contrive excuses for opening them weekly.  But, her real motivation spilled out yesterday, when she confessed she can’t believe the bees haven’t yet made her any honey!!

She looks nothing like Winnie the Pooh, but they have much in common …

While some may think it is too soon, they have not walked in my shoes.  So, judge on, but don’t bother to share with me what you think, as this is my life, and I have started group dating.

Unlike what teenagers do, group dating doesn’t refer to going out with a group of boys / girls.  Nope, in true Bachelorette style, I’m going out with a group of boys … and I do mean boys.  If you added together the ages of my frequent dates — Aaron, Andrew and Sam — their sum total would still be much younger than anyone nearly 50 should date.  Sure, their tender ages require me to drive and pay for everything, but they are worth it.

I’ve been dating the boys weekly for about 8 months now.  It started because Sammy (aka Samster the Hamster) is a “foodie”, and knows a lot about cooking and baking.

Opposites attract, because I do not know much about cooking and baking, although I know a lot about eating.

The Hamster used to come and cook with Tommy, who told Samster that if anything ever happened to him, Sam would need to come and fix food for me.  Shortly after Tommy died, Sam asked when we were going to start cooking together, bless him.

We started last fall, tackling tomato-basil soup.  When apples were ready at my Dad’s farm, Sam and I decided to make applesauce, and took along his little brother Aaron and neighborhood buddy Andrew to help pick.  This activity meant that I had to lift boys and put them in trees, and occasionally help them out a trees (preferable to the way they sometimes exited from trees — by falling).

That was probably our first group date, and it was followed by a second group date of actually making the applesauce, an activity that consisted of Sam washing an apple, tossing it to his brother Aaron located at the other end of the kitchen, and Aaron throwing it to Andrew at the apple peeler, positioned right next to Sam.

It seemed like a rather inefficient way to prepare apples, but Samster assured me it was fine.  And hey, what do I know about cooking?

The boys and I have since cooked many things together – hundreds of cookies, a few batches of honey-squash soup, the notable hotdogs-five-different-ways, a Valentine’s Day dinner for their parents, and spring rolls, under the guidance of my Japanese friend Mariko.

And today, we romantically picked sour cherries and black raspberries together.  While it seemed hot and muggy in the cherry orchard, there must’ve been a strong wind somewhere … because there were cherries often flying by my head, (followed by giggles).

Aaron with a mouthful of black raspberries

The cherries are now in the freezer, awaiting a cold, rainy fall day when the boys and I can attempt a pie under the leadership of Sam.  The black raspberries are now in tummies — they didn’t last very long once removed from the thorny vines.  And, my heart is smiling at yet another successful group date.

Andrew in red, Sam and myself picking black raspberries

I don’t know how long a small herd of preteens will want to hang out with “an ancient neighbor”, I assume at some point I’ll define my “new life” and won’t be delighted about three boys cracking eggs next to the bowl instead of in it and other weekly kitchen oopsies.  They make messes, but they also make me laugh.  I am honored that they tell me about the concerns of their lives; I am amused that they forget I’m an adult and in the room when they talk about pick-up lines and farting … often in the same conversation.  “Cooking Club,” as we call it, is a silver lining in the cloud of Tommy’s death.  And beyond making cookies and hotdogs, we’re also making delicious memories.

Tommy, I wish you could be here to share in them …

Someone recently called me up.

“Up,” he said, “how is it going?  You’ve haven’t been posting much lately…”

True — for many reasons.  First, I’ve been incredibly busy.  Daughter Jessica is getting married this Labor Day weekend, and the reception will be a somewhat more casual affair, in my backyard.  Tommy LOVED the backyard, so it is a great way to incorporate him spiritually into this major life event, and — it saves $ as well (which he would also appreciate.)

The backyard has a huge basketball court where we can seat several hundred people.  We know this, as we sat that many there for Tommy’s visitation.  In case of rain, we’ll overflow into the large garage … or at least that’s the plan.  You see, part of why Tommy LOVED the backyard is because it was connected to his man-garage-kingdom, where things like 7 boat propellers (we haven’t had a boat in a decade), almost every issue of Byte Magazine (because you know computer journals from the 80s have relevant information), and tools — in no particular order — reside.  It was going to be hard–both physically and emotionally–to get the garage under control.  The wedding reception gives me motivation (and a timeline) to get it done, but I find myself alternatively crying over or cursing about things as I work through the tangibles of our life together.  I still can’t believe he’s really gone.

Today I found a box of the kids’ stuffed animals next to our first microwave (which was this size of a real oven and weighed twice as much.  No, I have no idea we kept it.)

The box of stuffed animals had unfortunately been found by real animals, so I ended up transferring a beloved floppy tan puppy who has housed a family of mice to the trash, along with a genuine wool bear who is now just a moth-eaten bearskin.  Seeing them brought back wonderful memories of tucking in our babies amongst their required 300 stuffed animals, and I longed for those days.

Going through such things really made me miss Tommy.  Not only could I have used his help , but there is no one else who understands the history and the memories behind what I was tossing, no one to say “remember when?” to who would remember.

That’s just the way it is, and it sucks.

So, part of why I haven’t been posting is who wants to read about how depressed I’ve been?  Grief lately has made me feel like an oil-laden pelican.  I thought I was flying along, and I’m in a place that should be good, but I’m getting dragged down by stuff I don’t understand.  I catch occasional glimpses of clear water, but I often don’t have the energy to drag myself over there.

But, I have a garage to clean out, thank goodness and doggone it.

Daughter Gigantor came home for a few days last week, and, after opening the freezer, gently said:  “Mom, we have to talk.”  Kids these days.  She thinks having 11 pints of peanut butter and chocolate ice cream on standby is a concern.

Tommy LOVED his backyard, and also LOVED going to Meijers.  I’ve been enjoying working in his, er my, backyard lately, but I haven’t gained his love of going to the grocery.  However, I’m going about every other day … mainly because when one needs 50 pounds of sugar a week, it is best to disperse the load over a few trips.  (That’s a heavy load in the grocery bag, especially when topped with a couple pints of ice cream.)

I have this major white crystal habit because of Tommy’s bees.  The books recommend you feed them sugar-water in the spring to help them get off to a good start, and then, as things begin to bloom, they wean themselves off the junk food in exchange for Mother Nature’s more colorful buffet.

But alas, about half my hives haven’t read the books, and are still consuming sugar-water at the rate of 3/4-gallon daily.  (They’d probably devour an entire gallon, but I’m not adding a night feeding to my schedule.)

I thought that the 5 hives devouring so much sugar-water would be doing better than the 5 hives actually working for a living, but they’re expanding at about the same rate.  As I don’t see evidence of how they’re using these calories (built up honeycomb, lots more bees, etc.), I wonder if my fast-food bees are operating a little kool-aid stand for other insects somewhere.

Or maybe they’re just getting ready to help me clean out the garage ….

Neighbor Rachel graduates from high school tomorrow.  Rachel’s family has been intertwined with ours for decades now, and like every other parental type this time of year, I’m wondering doggone it, how did those kids grow up so fast??!! 

Rachel will always have a special place in our hearts, a primary reason being that she was the first child our first child ever babysat.  She was in and out of our house those many occasions, usually making us laugh.

When Rachel was about 5, she and Jessica were discussing our dog Fred’s strange coloration and the white furry stripe down his front.

“My Dad has a black furry stripe down his front,” shared Rachel, one of the many things she shared — and probably shouldn’t have — that became a priceless, humorous memory.

Rachel grew up fast, and polite, talented and beautiful as well.  That she grew up beautiful is NOT a surprise … her parents make Ken and Barbie look a bit homely.  And the politeness and talent — I’m sure our firstborn, who babysat Rachel for many years, is hugely responsible for that (just kidding – salute Michelle and Rick!)

Like so many other things, I wish Tommy could be here to see this milestone in the lives of friends and family.  But, his appropriately dressed honey bears are involved in this sweet event.

Congratulations Rachel and family!