Tag: family

of ghosts and christmas tree lights

I have been trying/drafting and deleting/ to explain just how this week is.  It is time out of time, ordinary moments out of ordinary order, days of big meals and late church services and traveling and visiting. And too much traffic through tunnels and delays at airports.

No flying this year, but I noticed something I have not really taken account of before.  I have been aware but not articulated to myself the presence of so many ghosts in and around every event, every visit, every meal, every ornament hanging on the tree, every candled trimmed to fit into Julia’s great grandmother’s menorah.

Not one of those events, practices or things stand by themselves. Nothing is new. Rather they are the latest version, the pencil sketch with many erased sketches beneath, the latest in the series of what I remember as winter holiday times. I am aware of both what my eyes perceive and also what I hold in my heart.

The winter holidays always bring on some blues, as they did a few weeks ago, but the sitting with the revelation of sketches in time has brought some awareness, some clarity, some way to find the joy, the blessings in the times that have past.  I am aware of the richness and the subtlety, the near inmoveable traditions dressed with the changes that time brings.

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Posted on by Suzanne Buchko 0

counting joy

The blur of the busy, the full plate, and the inability to see what is missing or left out or left behind until I trip over the very necessity that I proclaim I steadfastly chase and hold onto dearly . . . 

Joy.

In the darkness that I allowed to blossom last week, I saw the glories of fall—the orange and gold leaves of the massive tree I can see from my kitchen window!  I have observed this tree washing dishes and cooking and watering plants and wondering how I am going to close my two kitchen windows tight. The tree is a few doors down the block in another backyard.  Green all summer, it has slowly been turning into a mighty blaze of autumn color. Last Monday, it was glorious as if lit from deep within, as if ablaze of yellows and oranges. I was almost unable to take in so much color. As the week moved forward and the wind picked up, topmost leaves fell in a rain of gold. By Wednesday, some of the orange was fading into brown and some of the brown joined the rain. By Friday, the gold had almost vanished and the tree top was almost bare, and the weekend saw more of the same.  Today, much more than half the tree is all branches, a skeleton of its summer self.

The noticing filled me with something that I had lost to exhaustion and frustration.

I can admit to missing the necessity of raking leaves.  I know I used to complain when my Madison gardens were filled over and over with the leaves of big trees for what felt like months.  And I miss the Julia as a little girl who raked and jumped in piles and enjoyed it all. Now, I look in yards full of leaves with a bit of longing, but not enough longing to volunteer to help rake.  Maybe some year soon?

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Posted on by Suzanne Buchko 1

beginnings again

It is a beginning of September and my traditional time to return to what fuels my creativity and thus, my soul.  Cool weather, the first sight of the un-greening of leaves, and children back to school.  And a morning ritual that I have abandoned during a summer because who in their right mind can be disciplined during the hot, sun drenched days with a demanding offspring. But right now, the house is quiet, I am sitting at my desk and the only thing to do is to look for and return to how work happens. It is a return and it is always new.

I seem to have many loose threads that go together fine in my living them but don’t make for a cohesive blog post.  And I haven’t spent enough time writing this summer to keep them all going.

Baby Alfie is two weeks old. He has presented himself as a child who needs to be held to sleep which is tough on his parents during the night, but as the visiting grandma of the day to sit and hold a little baby who is happily sleeping in my arms is such delight.  He who I did not expect continues to surprise me. There is no doubt that I have loved my children and Wilbur, but I have never been drawn to infants.  This one has opened a new place for me.

And it is worth noting.

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alfie ray borick

Our newest little person made his debut very, very early this morning.  After going to the hospital around midnight and being sent home, Cheshire and Justin headed back only a few hours later. Alfie Ray Borick was born at 4:15 a.m. weighing in at 7 pounds, 14 ounces. 

I got to visit around lunch time and hold Alfie and watch his face and hands move.  He is such a sweet bundle. He is an old soul.

I don’t have pictures of mama or daddy — what was I thinking?  But just look at that face!

Posted on by Suzanne Buchko 2

muta

Muta died last night right after Julia left for the movies.  I was glad that she wasn’t home.  It wasn’t a bad death but it happened right in front of me.  I don’t know how Julia would have handled it.

Muta hadn’t eat at all yesterday. In the last week, even on appetite enhancers, anti-nausea meds and steroids, his eating has been sporadic and he has thrown up nearly everything I’ve given him. There was nothing more the vet could do for him. He had slept on my bed just three nights ago, jumping up as always. The last two days, he stayed mostly in the bathroom on the rug which he liked and under the kitchen table.

Julia left for the movies around 5:20; I was cutting tomatoes to roast.  Muta threw up under the kitchen table.  He laid back down and some of his fur was in the vomit although by this point, vomit was mostly a clear liquid.  I wanted to get the tomatoes in the oven and so didn’t immediately clean up the floor.  A few minutes later, Muta got up and walked to the back door.  He meowed very loudly.  He usually asked to go outside but not in this voice which had a strident sound.  Since he has been sick, I’ve kept him inside but during this last week, I had been letting him out. Sometimes he went into the backyard, but mostly he kept to the porch, finding a bit of sun and stretching out.  

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muta update

Muta is spending the night at the hospital.  All the tests have been inconclusive and  there is  no exact diagnosis yet. His liver and spleen are enlarged although it is not clear whether it is for the same reason. Right now, the vet thinks that it is either lymphoma or a cholangiohepatitis.  Lymphoma would mean palliative care; the hepatitis might be controlled with medication. The mass the docs felt in his abdomen and the reason that we went for the ultrasound was his enlarged liver.  

For the night, Muta will get hydrated, something to encourage his appetite, an antibiotic in case it is a hepatitis infection that can be treated and something else I’ve forgotten.

We will see how he is tomorrow.

It has been a rough weekend and I don’t really hold out much hope for an easy outcome; however, we’ve experienced a good deal of kindness at the animal hospitals for which I am grateful.  The vet, Dr. Greg Krane, from PetMedic (Cambridge) who took care of Muta yesterday, made sure that Muta’s test results were sent to the ER this morning.  There is one test we were still waiting for and even though Greg told us the result would probably not be returned until tomorrow, he called the lab this evening in case the results would finished at the very end of the work day. Greg also called me twice during the day to find out how Muta was doing.  He urged me to ask him any questions and gave me complete, unvarnished answers.  The vet and staff at the ER were also kind and patient with both myself and Julia.  It was a long and hard day for her but I am proud of her patience and willingness to be present the whole day.

Posted on by Suzanne Buchko 2

muta

Sitting in an ER waiting room for Muta, the cat, to get an ultrasound on his belly. The ER is in Weymouth, about a half hour from our house and “half way to the Cape” according to Ed. There must be a thousand dogs here . . . okay, maybe 15. Muta would normally be making a lot of noise because of all those dogs. Today, he is sitting quietly in his crate. He hardly made any noise at all on the drive down in his crate. A sure sign he is feeling really awful.

And I am sad.

Muta is twelve years old. Other than the time when we moved five years ago and he stopped eating, and then last year’s puncture wound, he has been big and strong and healthy. He is the smartest cat that has ever been part of my family. He goes for walks with us and makes friends in every neighborhood we’ve lived in.  He is vocal and pushy at times.  He loves sleeping on our back porch in the warm weather and napping on the wide sill in the living room on sunny mornings.

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because it’s june, june, june, june . . .

I am a gardener.  

I’ve begun at least four memoir pieces with that sentence but honestly, I wondered if I would ever really feel like I was that declaration again.  At the blue Victorian that we moved to from Madison and in which we spent the Covid years, I cultivated a small vegetable patch that was shaded part of the day by the houses around it.  It is never a glorious garden but it gave us something to do that first summer of shut down and there were tomatoes and greens and peppers and a small pumpkin. 

Early on in my tenancy at our present house, I asked the landlord if I could garden.  The foundation planting was sparse and old. There must have been other shrubs and bushes at one time but what was left was four plants spread far apart and planted up close to the house.  

My landlord said I could do what I wanted to do and even volunteered a bit of help—his landscapers trimmed bushes that needed the trimming and even took the grass up when I decided on the shape of the front garden bed.  

I started planning the front bed while I was sick and unable to do much running around.  As I began the planning, I wondered if it made sense to invest in a garden that would take a few years to develop and cultivate in a rental house but I came to the idea that I have made three gardens, each in a house that I owned.  But that after planting and tending and loving those gardens, I sold the houses and left those gardens. And it wasn’t so much the beauty of the gardens that I was/am most attached to, it is the process of making a garden and making a garden in the front of this house that we live in would give me pleasure.  

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back on the horse & adulting

After what feels likes way too long being homebound and cut off from social activities, I’m venturing to HILR today and my last two classes of the semester.  I would not even do this but I enjoyed the classes so much, the first three anyway, and want to catch up and also say good-bye for the summer.  I also have a rehearsal for a very short play that will be/should be part of next week’s Black Box presentation.  Yes, we are a bunch of old people doing plays for one another.  I’ve miss a solid two weeks of rehearsals and missing today would have consequences.  I know lines and been rehearsing with one other actor on zoom; however, the business of scenes is still lacking.  

And I am not completely better.  I am tired and rather weak. Especially my voice.

But willing to try.

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an old lesson, once again

I have spent a month sick, in one way or another—coughing, first and foremost. A chronic cough that I could not shake. From a flu.  It was not so bad as to not go about my daily round, but bad enough not to be able to do anything without cough drops and my water bottle to keep the eruptions at bay.

But they were not really kept at bay. I sat through classes and choir practices vainly attempting to hold back my coughing. I was not, however, feeling ill enough to do more than use home remedies and rest a little bit. Just a little bit.

Finally, I was too long coughing and thought something funky was going on with my eyes, I visited the doctor, had an x-ray taken and sent home with the usual rest and fluids instructions. Oh, and medication for conjunctivitis.

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Posted on by Suzanne Buchko 1