The ice has melted from the river and the trees are green again. 

This is the St. Lawrence River in the 1000 Islands and it is Memorial Day Weekend. We opened up our house and got some extra help from my Mom and Dad. I had to promise to feed and entertain them for dinner.

Of course, my Dad had to take a nap on the hammock between sweeping and putting out the chair cushions.

Our friends, Patti and Sean, came up for the weekend too. We put them to work too! We brought out all the patio furniture, put the chairs out on the dock, spread mulch. Yeah – they won’t be coming back for opening weekend next year. You can only pull that stunt once and then your friends tell you “Hey- we’ll see you in August!” 

Faux Farm Girl

Ann

When I was at my parents home last weekend I saw this framed blanket hanging over my parent’s bed. It was beautifully framed, museum quality, acid free paper as if it was a national treasure. It was my father’s baby blanket. How cute! How nice! How freaking weird! And one more thing, what a big fat giant hypocrite he is.

Sorry, I lost my head there for a minute. But here is the thing. When I was ten , yes ten, I had a special blankie all of my own. It was blue, and had satin trim. I loved my blanket and I loved to soft myself with the satin trim, which in all truth was a bit shabby and thread bare, but it was my special blanket. I didn’t carry it around with me or anything, I was ten after all. My father however, thought I was too old for it and so I kept it hidden most of the time inside my pillowcase. So, all is gong along just fine until the fateful day. It was fall, I was turning 11 and my Dad was burning leaves in a giant pile in the side field. He had all the kids doing the raking and he was in charge of watching the fire. So I guess he was just watching the blaze and thinking of things and one of the things he thought of was that I was too old to have my special blanket. All of a sudden he asked me how old I was going to be next week.  “11″ I said proudly. ” 11, wow, you are almost a big girl, too big to have a blankie” he said. I agreed enthusiastically about the big girl part and gave a puzzled look about the blankie thing.  I was big enough to know this could go nowhere good for me and my blankie. He said “big girls don’t need blankies, blankies are for babies,  we should just get rid of it before you actually turn 11″.  ” OK”  I said half- heartily and I kept raking, a little faster than before, hoping to rake myself out of this line of questioning.  Well, before I knew what happened I had gone up to my room, got my blankie, and in a moment that I have regretted for the past 42 years, I tossed my blankie into the fire. As soon as it left my hand I knew I had made a terrible mistake, but it was too late. The fire consumed my little blankie instantly. I was hysterical. My dad, who thought I had been on board with his chiding and not so subtle cajoling was shocked at my crying. My mom who heard all the commotion and was given a blow by blow by my sisters came out yelling at my Dad for being a bully. He was still puzzled, after all, it was just a ratty old blanket.

So now you can now understand my utter shock at the framed blanket.  He is 79 years old for god sake. He framed his own baby blanket? It is not like it was the flag sewn by Betsy Ross for crying out loud. He has it hanging over his bed? Of all the gall! Now I am really mad about my little blankie. My poor burned up little blanket. Who’s the big baby now, daddy-o!

Faux Farm Girl

I am home this week. Not at home as in my home but really home. Back in the proverbial nest.

Yes, you can go home and it is just almost exactly the same as when you left. Except, everyone is so much older and therein lies the rub. I am here because my Dad needed a new heart valve. The operation was a success and he made it through just fine. He is now the proud owner of a pig valve. Unfortunately, I think it was a mean pig cause each day he gets better he is getting more ornery. We liked him better when he was sicker. (My kids were always so sweet when they had a low grade fever!)

I have been here to ferry my Mom around to the hospital and help around the house. And I have done a really good job. My skills as a nurse, not so good. We were at the hospital for about an hour today when he said he was tired and we should leave. He did ask that we bring him back a chocolate milkshake. We went to get out nails done and when we came back he was in a snit. Yes, we had the milkshake, but we were later than he planned. He said “I had low blood sugar, where were you? I almost needed insulin waiting for this shake”. This was quickly followed by ” you too are the worst nurses”. Quickly followed in rapid fire with ”Every minute you were late seemed like an hour”. Now we haven’t gotten a word in yet so I try to calm him down and say “here is your shake, you are just fine”.  He was halfway through his dinner at this point and we had only been gone an hour and a half – how low could his blood sugar have dropped? He is surrounded by monitors and nurses – he was fine. And then it started. ” If you were going to be that late I don’t know why you came back at all”.  Ah the old guilt move. My mother, in an attempt to change the subject asked who brought the flowers on his table. He replied “I am not going to tell you”! Then she asked if she should read the paper to him. He replied “Not that paper – I want a new paper”. And so she went and got a new paper. Then she asked how the dinner was. He replied “this is the first good meal I have had here. They must have gotten a new chef because the food was rotten the last few days, I couldn’t even eat until today, are they trying to starve me to death?” “Well, that is wonderful you  got a good meal and I am sure you will feel better now that you have eaten” she said.  “No thanks to you two” was his reply. “I have to do this all by myself, no one is here to help me, maybe I just never should have had this operation, you two don’t care about me at all”.

This whole conversation sounded just like the ones I had with my kids when they were little. Or even like the ones I had with my parents when I  was little. So although you can go home again, prepared. You may just find the conversations are eerily familiar, but now you are on the other side!

And I guess you don’t want to see our pretty nail polish do you Dad?

Faux Faux Girl

Annie

Ok, they are not my Faux parents.  The two strange looking people on the left are my real parents and the young lady on the right is their good friend, Tudy.

It would only be in good keeping if I told you that this was how they dressed all the time, if for no other reason than to the foster the faux farm feel but this was Halloween a few years ago. I don’t know if it helps my case for you to know that my parents still go trick or treating. Maybe it was better thinking they really dressed this way.  They were dressed up as faux farmers. I think they were mocking me but I can’t be sure. They went trick or treating to all their friends’ homes and generally behaved badly. So you see this farming thing goes back for generatons. They don’t dress up quite as often anymore but they do still hang out with Tudy, who they say, is the bad influence.  Tudy – if you are out there I know it isn’t your fault. It’s all them – look what they did to me!

Here they are looking so innocent in their garden, But let’s look a little closer. What is that they are holding in their hands?

Great they are looking for work! Standing in front of a Rolls Royce, no less. I would never hire those two. Although, my mom looks like a better worker than my Dad, at least she has a farm tool,  I think that is a golf club in his hands.

 OK, I am going to cut you a break and show your good side. They do clean up rather nicely don’t they?

Love ya,

 Faux Farm Girl

Annie