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Author: Anne Cassidy

Bernadette’s Present

Bernadette’s Present

Yesterday there was another first birthday, this one for our precious granddaughter, Bernadette. There were presents and cake and a special meal, a trip to the park with her mom and a visit with her grandparents and aunts and cousin. 

But the big present was still to come. She was going to meet it (him!) right after she and her mom left us at 8 p.m. That would be her new brother, age 11, arriving with his dad on a plane from Benin, West Africa via Istanbul. 

A year and two days ago, Suzanne and Appolinaire were a family of two. Now … they’re a family of four. We’re all rejoicing for them.

Mirror of the Moment

Mirror of the Moment

So many walks to choose from these days, paths around ponds and through forests. Trails in the morning, chaste of footfall. Paths in the afternoon, littered with leaf bits from all the walking.

On Tuesday I passed two ponds, a bright one with cattails and a shady one rippled as if a fan were blowing on it. 

The water was meditative, brisk, a mirror of the moment. 

From A to Zinnia

From A to Zinnia

The end of a gardening season is a good time to ponder next year’s plan … and next year I’ll plant more zinnias. Next year, I’ll welcome their hues and warmth into my life. Next year I’ll be bolder.

This year, I sowed a few zinnia seeds out front and back. But it was late in the season, a half-hearted attempt. This was the only survivor, a stalk that craned its neck toward the sun and produced one forlorn flower that bloomed a few days ago. 

Next year, I’ll start seeds indoors in egg cartons. I’ll nurture those babies with sprinkles and grow lights. And when the soil is warm I’ll transplant them into sunny spots in the garden I’ll prepare soon. 

It’s October, spring promises are easy to make — and the imaginary garden has no end of delights.

(Zinnia bouquet photo courtesy Drilnoth, Wikimedia Commons)

The People Behind the Pill

The People Behind the Pill

I’ve always been an earnest, note-taking reader, especially now that I’m in class again. But increasingly more I enjoy the sidetracks and detours of reading, the rabbit holes, the inefficient digressions. 

For the next paper, we’re analyzing the public reception of a specific scientific discovery, and I’ve chosen oral contraception. It’s a rich topic, so rich that I’m reading more than necessary. 

For instance, in The Birth of the Pill, author Jonathan Eig tells the stories of the four people who are most responsible for the development of the pill:

There is Gregory Pincus, a brilliant scientist with a flair for publicity searching for compounds in his ramshackle laboratory in Massachusetts; Margaret Sanger, the founder of Planned Parenthood, who coined the term “birth control” and crusaded for women’s freedom all her life; Katharine McCormick, heir to the Cyrus McCormick fortune, who funded the experiments; and Dr. John Rock, a gynecologist and devout Catholic who took on his church to help the women in his care.

Though a drug company was involved — G.D. Searle — the pill would not have been created without the  “courage and conviction of the characters involved,” Eig writes. The book is a vivid reminder of how human personalities forge the technologies we inherit. It’s good to be reminded of that from time to time.

(Photo of Margaret Sanger courtesy Wikipedia) 

Biking the Trail

Biking the Trail

I spent the weekend hearing tales from Tom and his brothers, intrepid cyclists just returned from a 350-mile bike adventure down the Great Allegheny Passage and C&O Canal Towpath trails. 

These rails-to-trails paths allow walkers and bikers to make their way from Pittsburg to Washington, D.C. almost completely off-road. They provide a glimpse of the way life used to be, when people journeyed on foot or not at all. 

Tom and the guys hung panniers stuffed with tents and sleeping bags on their bikes, then cycled through forests, along rivers and across iron truss bridges. They told went swimming in the Potomac and heard train whistles in the night.

They passed through Pennsylvania towns like Boston, Connellsville and Ohiopyle (gateway to Falling Water), and Maryland burgs like Cumberland, Paw Paw and Hancock — meeting the same folks along the way.

It was challenging, exhausting, unforgettable. All I can say is … sign me up!

(Photo: Tom Capehart)

Golden Leaves

Golden Leaves

Midway through this mellow month, I sit outside at my “deck desk” with the backyard spread before me. The grass looks far less lush than it did a few months ago, the brown patches more numerous. But much effort has gone into that lawn, and I appreciate the grassy patches where they grow.

At the far back of the lot sits the new garden bench, its right side ever so slightly higher than its left, a detail I noticed only after I had posted the photo in a post about its arrival

That small imperfection fits the yard, melds perfectly with the weeds and the section of missing fence and the stray patches of poison ivy that are still here despite our best efforts. 

It’s not a pristine backyard, but there are birds chirping and ornamental grasses flourishing and golden leaves that catch the light. 

Deep Breathing

Deep Breathing

Though I try and clear my decks for a true meditation session several times a week, I consider myself a remedial student at best. Worse than remedial, because it seems like it was easier to avoid distractions when I first began than it is now. Not sure why that is!

But in one way this new habit has taken hold, and that is in the practice of deep breathing. My falling-to-sleep routine consists of deep, counted breaths, my falling-back-to-sleep routine too. I have more luck with the former than the latter, but in both areas, I’m definitely better off than I was before.

And then there are those moments. You know the ones I mean: sitting at a long stoplight or in the dentist’s chair. Waiting for a file to load. The small anxieties and trials of daily life. 

Since I began meditating — thanks to my former workplace, which still allows me to join their morning meditation group — I use deep breathing all the time. And it almost never fails to still my racing heart. I’ll be meditating again in a moment. My shoulders are dropping a notch or two right now in anticipation.

Decoration Inflation

Decoration Inflation

I heard it first at the dentist’s office a couple weeks ago. The assistant who was prepping me for a procedure lamented that it was almost October 1. “And you know what that means,” she said. “Next thing you know it’s Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas and New Years.” 

Of course, she’s right. And I probably feel it more than she does, too, being a decade or two older. I notice this holiday speed-up not only on television, where ads for holiday films fill the airwaves, but also in the neighborhood.

It’s not that people are lighting trees and plugging in inflatable Santas just yet. But I’ve noticed a steady “decoration inflation” the last couple of years, driven, I imagine, by what’s available to buy. Which means that a home without spider webs in the trees and smiling pumpkins on the lawn looks downright miserly.

At my house, it still looks like summer.: potted geraniums on the front stoop, roses in the backyard, a flowering hosta by the garage. So I have forgone the mums and ornamental cabbage. I haven’t even bought a pumpkin yet. Here the fall decor is only what nature supplies: turning leaves and the red berries of the dogwood tree. 

Hand Outstretched

Hand Outstretched

I returned to an autumn landscape: acorns underfoot, leaf litter, the late-summer growth of the climbing rose. I love this second bloom, have written about it before, will always be touched by it.

Today I see the fall roses as a valentine to summer, a hand outstretched with a bouquet.

Here, take this, goes the caption. Take these poesies with you into the next season, the one of chill winds and scant foliage. Let them remind you that spring will come again.

Midway Airport, 10 p.m.

Midway Airport, 10 p.m.

Today’s forecast, in fact the forecast through mid-week, is for “mild and murky” weather. Somehow, that suits. After being caught up in the great Southwest Airlines cancellation weekend and arriving home at almost 2 a.m. as a result, I could use some calm and cloudy days to stay home, do laundry and recuperate. 

While I was walking around Chicago’s Midway Airport last evening, I thought about how airplanes and hubs have changed the way we think about travel. It’s a circular experience rather than a linear one — full of hubs and spokes, more tedious than miraculous. 

Flying west, I was whisked from coast to coast in less than five hours. Coming home, not so lucky.