Christmas Bonus

We live in the eye of an active construction vortex.  Judith's house, straight across from ours, has workers going in and out doing something major in the basement.  Jack's house, right next to ours, is getting the entire first floor remodeled -- walls moved, doors changed, every surface and floor replaced.  And just last week the crew that we all hired to replace the walkways started ripping up the asphalt: our own entrance path was first.

Each of these work crews has the challenge of the greenway.  They can't drive to the houses because there is no road -- our emergency access is a grassy open area that is easily damaged when it is wet. The dumpster for Jack's project is parked as close as possible to his house, in the parking lot. Not very close. During the day, there are about six work vehicles jockeying for position at the top of the greenway.  My neighbors are extremely sensitive about ruts and mud, and almost all deliveries are done with a cart. After fifteen years, it feels normal to load up a little wagon and tow groceries from the car down the hill to the front door (that may be the biggest deterrent to people who are thinking of living here -- it is not the suburban model that most people expect).  The UPS guys leave their trucks running in the parking lot and run the packages through the neighborhood.  Only an ambulance or fire truck is allowed to drive through the whole place, and only then would the neighbors fix the ruts without a comment.

Which means that winter is not usually the time when home improvement projects happen. In the summer, the greenway is usually solid and trucks can go through without leaving a mark.

The walkway crew had planned to start at our house, the top of the hill, and work their way down, always driving the truck downhill so the damage would be minimized.  They have a little rented backhoe, a flat bed truck to remove the dirt and asphalt, a rented bobcat for bringing in the gravel and the pallets of brick, and a few noisy tools that run on small gasoline engines.  There are two manager types (white men who speak English) who run the rented equipment and three laborers (brown men who speak Spanish) who do the skilled work by hand.  The whole project was predicted to take about three weeks, weather permitting.

Ha. Starting a project in late December will make this an uphill battle and I predict that the walkways will not be finished before early March if they are lucky.  They have already changed the plan because it has been raining for about a week and the greenway is impassable. So instead of finishing our walkway and heading down the hill, they reversed direction and headed toward the Common House, staying on pavement.

On the days that it wasn't raining much, or only raining a little, they stayed and worked until well after dark.   They were here on Christmas Eve until 6:00.  They don't get paid unless they are working.

I am mesmerized by the process, and I can see it from half the windows in our house.  I still haven't quite figured out how they do it -- I understand everything up to the part where they cut the bricks to make the herringbone pattern. After the backhoe has removed all the asphalt and the gravel is dumped in, one guy makes it perfectly smooth and level. It is a painstaking process with strings and  pieces of conduit to make sure the brick will be at exactly the right level. One guy, who has a steady hand and a strong back, cuts each brick for the edge row.  One guy, completely confident in his experience, lays the brick and bonks it in gently with a soft mallet. The last two have to work very closely together because it is a handmade process, and the cutter can't get ahead of the bricklayer.

There is a thick cloud of grey dust and the constant sound of sawing bricks.  It's a good thing the results are so beautiful.  I am sure that the people who live in the middle will be quite tired of the constant presence of all this racket and disruption by the end of winter.  I am sure there will be lots of email commentary.  I am glad they started up here so our turn with the noise and dust will be over soon.  And I now completely understand why this process is costing about $80,000.  Now I don't see how the landscaping company could be making a profit on this, but what do I know about the cost of renting equipment or how much a bricklayer gets paid.

Anyway, Christmas was blessedly quiet here.  No leaf blower, no saw, no backhoe, no bobcat, no beeping backing up trucks, no UPS deliveries.   It's not what most people appreciated about Christmas, but it was enough for me.

Winter Solstice -- Trip to the Mikveh

Long ago, on March 2, I wrote a postcard blog about the Mikveh Ladies and how we had started to meet, acknowledging the 20th anniversary of the year that we officially converted to Judaism.  We continued to meet every month or so until summer got in the way, and then we met a couple more times to create a ritual that would wrap up this year of discussions.

Thank goodness for Rabbi Gold, really.  She had some ideas, she kept us on track, and in the end she gave the whole thing a form and a shape.  She was our rabbi when we started our studies and in retirement she has continued to be our mentor.  For myself I cannot imagine taking the leap of converting without the good fortune of having her as my teacher, since she is a feminist, an intellectual, a wise person, sometimes snarky, often funny, and extremely human.

Anyway, we went to the mikveh today.  The five of us met at Blueberry Hill and got into one car together and Jon drove us into DC to Adas Israel.  We have all been back to that building for one reason or another, but we Mikveh Ladies had not returned to the mikveh in two decades. 

As we went down the steps and into the bowels of the building, we realized that our memories had morphed.  None of us remembered it as it is.  We all thought the space had been bigger, the pool itself had been bigger, and even the waiting room was smaller today than it was back then.  Maybe it is, but probably not. It doesn't seem likely that they changed the pool, and it doesn't look like it has been renovated.

The rabbi brought a pretty beeswax candle that someone had given her at her retirement (over ten years ago) and a nice ceramic plate for the candle that she had once used at a healing ritual for our late friend and teacher Betsy Giller. We listened to a recording of Enosh, in memory and honor of Betsy. We read some prayers that we had selected, and then we each read a statement that we had written for the occasion -- we had decided to reflect on our Jewish lives and what we hope for ourselves in the future, Jewishly.  We did everything in the order of who went to the mikveh, so I was first, Ruth second, then Peggy and finally Nell. There were lots of similarities between our perspectives, but they each reflected our own  personalities too.  Even though it was hard for us to make ourselves focus enough to write these pieces, it was an excellent idea (another two points for Rosalind Gold).

The room was steamy hot, which was too bad for the other three who followed directions and brought big robes to wear while they waited their turn.  True to form, I did not bring a bathrobe but instead I brought one of my Hawaiian cotton jumpers -- perfect in that heat.  We sat in the waiting room and ate potato chips and chocolate (the signature snacks of this group) while each of us took a dip in the warm water.  Roz had created a playlist of Debbie Friedman music on her iPad, and that helped to separate us from the person who was in the mikveh.  Another example of her understanding what would make the whole experience better -- we didn't really see why we needed a soundtrack, but now we get it.

I remember how magical it felt, twenty years ago.  And I can still see why it seemed like magic.  You have to immerse yourself completely, without touching any walls or floor. You have to be entirely naked with no makeup or jewelry so the water touches you everywhere. You say a blessing before each immersion and you think about it. This time the blessings were about gratitude, including the shechechyanu, a favorite prayer forever. The lights are low, the water is so velvety and lovely, and the rabbi stands on the edge, holding the plastic coated paper with the blessings.  What could be more spooky and myth-invoking?  Women for centuries have been immersing themselves for various reasons, marking important occasions, cleansing themselves for other reasons.  It is a tradition for women and it is awesome in the way it separates a person from all other reality.

After each of us had taken our turn in the water, we dressed and read another prayer that we all like (the one about joining hands and walking together).  Then the rabbi had us stand in a circle, close together, holding hands, and say a blessing for the person who was on her left.  I was impressed by our ability, each of us, to say something articulate and meaningful with no warning at all.  I loved it that we had no warning, and that the order was entirely random. 

Then we packed up and got on the Metro and had a leisurely lunch at the Lebanese Taverna.  I might get the picture from Ruth and then I can post it here later.  I also agreed to draft an article for the newsletter, so maybe I will need to take some words from this blog, come to think of it.  Not that we absolutely need to publicize this to everyone at the temple, but we have been a part of that community for a long time and they might like the story, if we tell it well enough.

After spending so much time preparing for this commemorative event, I guess it makes sense that it took the whole day, even if each of us was in the water for about three minutes total. 

My favorite prayer, and Nell's, and probably most people's who know it:

Praise to You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the universe, for giving us life, sustaining us, and enabling us to reach this season.

Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam shehechyanu v'kiy'manu v'higianu laz'man hazeh.

Friday Club

What do an emergency room doctor, a deputy director of an air quality NGO, a music teacher and a farmer do when they escape together for a weekend? Not very much!  In our everyday lives, we get up early and push hard to get stuff done and go to bed tired.  But when we get a chance to escape together, the bar gets mighty low.  Today I was in my nightgown until 1 PM because I was reading a book.

Nell generally is the main organizer of the group -- she is persistent about finding a location for us, she makes the reservations, and she even maintains a list of what we need to remember what to bring each time.  Nancy always makes sure her car is all checked out and ready to go, even if the trip is only as far as Rappahannock County.   All of us bring way too much food, and the knitters bring loads of wool and several projects apiece.

This is our fifth escape.  They started out as beach trips, even though we can only go during the winter or early spring because of my scheduling limitations.  Every trip has a different setting but we always cook and eat and laugh and talk.  Sometimes we take walks.  We always knit and if there is a knitting store in the vicinity, we patronize it loyally.

Tonight we are all sitting around in our cozy living room, where we staked out our spots on the first afternoon.  We are surrounded by our bags of yarn, our iPads, water glasses.  There is a nice fire in the stove and the house is quite decorated for Christmas. In the last few days  we have told stories about our childhoods (music, singing, going to camp) and we have discussed all the ways that we would like to change the world and we have talked about current national politics way more than we meant to.

We are an amazingly well matched group, conversationally.  We also have sat very quietly for long periods and yesterday afternoon we all took a nap here in this living room -- perhaps the first time in my life that I have been in a room with three other adults, all asleep in couches.  I can see us doing this for many years to come, as our physical demands on ourselves are minimal.  When my siblings do these retreats, they like to do something that gets their hearts pounding.  These days I would have a hard time snowshoeing in Colorado or cross country skiing in West Virginia.  I couldn't do it, actually.

We decided to make the driving part of the trip shorter this time, and Nell found us a little renovated farmhouse in this teeny little town of Sperryville, just 90 minutes from home.  It amuses me greatly to be within walking distance of Waterpenny, where we have been many times to visit Rachel and Eric and kids.  Part of our little tour of this town today included a visit to the building where Rachel and Eric got married 13 years ago.  The town is a tourist destination, with art galleries, artists, pottery shops, good restaurants.  We have done our bit to support the local economy in the last few days, buying gifts and art and lunches and dinner -- but it is fun to shop at these small businesses with really nice stuff. Nothing plastic, nothing from China.

Anyway, we feel very lucky.  Lucky to have such good friends, lucky to be able to go away together, lucky to have endless conversation material. It usually takes us a whole day to get all the temple topics out of our way -- we always have so much to chew on as we are all still engaged in leadership roles, one way or another.

Last night while we were sitting around the table, someone knocked on the door.  We don't live here, so we weren't  quite sure who would be knocking, but I had an inkling.  Sure enough, there were some Boy Scouts and some parents on the porch, ready to sing us some Christmas carols.  We sang with them, knowing all the words to Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.  Unsure whether this was part of the tradition, we offered them some chocolate as thanks.  It was nice to be welcomed, and our house is quite decorated and lit up, so they had some reason to think we might be observing the holiday.  As they were leaving, the dad said he hoped that we were having a nice bridge party.

The title of this post is Friday Club because that is one of the names of this group (based on Carolyn Newcomb's threesome who met every Monday for decades), but we are also self-named Beach Babes and Hannah's father has called us the Mouseketeers (and wishes he were invited on our retreats).

Anyway, it has been a delicious few days here in a county with no stop lights and very few distractions.  We arrived, parked the car, and have not got back in.  We have walked to all our destinations, which were about ten minutes away at the most distant.  We are rested.  Mission accomplished.

Tropical December -- The Dark Side

Almost three weeks since the last postcard -- this is a sign that there has not been nearly as much time to reflect and lounge around as one might expect, in December.  It has been about twenty degrees warmer than usual this month, and that has ramifications -- for some people that means more golf or running in shorts and a T-shirt.  For us, it means the vegetable crops have not melted yet, and instead they are thriving. And this comes with some dilemmas.  We already said goodbye to all our customers just before Thanksgiving and we don't really want to blow our cover, that we actually could still be working and sharing all this food that is still in the field (ah -- I just figured it out -- we can call the gleaners after next weekend!).

Last weekend we broke with December tradition and I went to the winter market in Leesburg.  It was sunny and about 70 degrees and we had already picked far too much cauliflower and carrots for our little winter CSA, so it was not hard to go.  I left all the Christmas tree selling to Jon and the neighbors, and they were busy all day long, despite the tropical weather.

It is hard not to think that this is all part of climate change, as once again 2015 was hotter, globally, than 2014.  It is hard to enjoy all this San Diego style weather when it could mean that our own grandchildren will be in peril, and perhaps our own children. Not to mention everyone else.

A few weeks ago Nell asked what we should be doing about this terrible group of presidential candidates that is dominating the news, and it seems to me that the only answer is that we have to figure out how to make sure that Virginia does not go to the Republicans. Virginia has become a completely tippy state, going one way for one race and another way for the next.  Here at Blueberry Hill we live in a district that is split just about exactly in half. It is solidly purple, in the jargon of political commentators.  This is progress, as when I was growing up it seemed like our family might be the only Democrats in town.  I feel ill-equipped to be a political activist, but I think circumstances might demand it.  It is very hard to know how to be effective, but I might have to follow my neighbor Noel's lead and put some hours into it in the next year.

Just last night, when we were cooking a meal for the homeless shelter (back to the topic of unseasonable weather:  about twice a month we will bring hot meals to a county facility that is open from December through March, and it is called a Hypothermia Shelter even though they probably wished for air conditioning last night), our friend and former neighbor JP was visiting from Tennessee. Over the years, he has become more and more of an activist and he has been intensely concerned about climate change.  He told us that he is taking a sabbatical from farming next year and he has sold every one of his goats and most of his chickens because he is going to spend the year working for Hillary Clinton's campaign.  In other words, he is really worried about what could happen if one of those Republicans gets elected. 

I hope that a whole bunch of us get worried and take action. We won't all be ready to take a sabbatical, but we can't let this happen.  So many people say they will move to Canada. That is obviously not a good answer.  I take some solace in knowing that the crowd of completely inappropriate candidates will thin down to just a few and then we will know better what we need to do.

So, while warm and beautiful weather in December is a treat, it feels like it has a dark side. And I am not even talking about the possible effects on the next farm season -- bugs and diseases that could get more plentiful instead of getting frozen.  There are much bigger concerns (although I have never thought that it would be so bad if Florida just disappeared.  Ever since the 2000 presidential election, I have never forgiven Florida. It can sink into the ocean.) and we can't ignore them.

But I am encouraged by something I heard reiterated on the radio last night -- that on the local level (mayors, boards of supervisors) people tend to work together much better and figure out the best answers to the hard problems.  And the higher up you go, the more partisan are the politics.  So I can imagine being useful at a local level, and having that make a difference because apparently the hard-headed politicians at the top do look to see what the more cooperative and creative people are doing.  This is what Michael L. has based his life work on, now that I think about it, so I have a resource right next door.  Maybe he will help me figure out how to be useful, in the non-farm world. 

Or maybe, as Stephen, is thinking, the farm can be useful in the non-farm world.

These are the tangled thoughts of someone who is only beginning to stick her toe into the off-season, and who is uneasy about all this warmth in the middle of December.