Feeling Pretty Good!

   Every now and again, a person can feel pretty good about something accomplished.  I am feeling pretty good.  For the past few years, I have taken up a new hobby of repairing antique clocks.  This all came about because (after a stroke), my kids told me that I needed to learn something new...something totally new.  Being caught off guard, I spouted off that I was going to learn how to repair clocks since a broken clock was the first thing that caught my attention.  Well, they held me to that declaration and here I am.  I am still in the learning process but the walls, shelves and tabletops are now filled with antique clocks.  Keep in mind here that I did NOT say I was going to collect clocks but, again, here I am.  I have more clocks in my living room that most folks own in a lifetime.  These are mostly clocks that were deemed as "unrepairable" and practically given away or sold for a song.  (If I am going to rip something apart, I sure do not want to sink a lot of money into it first.)  

  Back about a year ago, I found a gentleman who had a clock for sale really cheap as it was broken.  I told Mark that I wanted the clock for an anniversary gift so he drove over to retrieve the clock.  Once there, the man showed him another clock that he deemed unrepairable and Mark brought it home, too.  I was elated!  The first clock was a simple repair and has been ticking along beautifully since but the second one was a puzzle.  When fully wound, the hands would whir around the face nonstop and the chimes would continuously ring until the springs gave out.  If the door was shut, the clock stopped abruptly.  Hmmm...it was interesting, to say the least.  This clock sat for an entire year simply because I found it amusing.  That clock was possessed!  

  Finally, I found the courage to tackle said clock.  Once I took it fully apart, I found the problem.  There is a part called a verge/clutch assembly that keeps the pendulum swinging and keeps the movement in check.  Alrighty!  Now to fix this thing.  Oops...the broken part was not to be found.  This clock was made in Germany but was no longer in production.  Parts became scarce or simply impossible to find.  I searched for a compatible piece and finally found one that was so close that I thought it might work.  It did and soon the clock was ticking along nicely.  Now to fix those hands.  It would have been simple enough to put new hands on the clock but I had noticed that the whole mechanism was in wrong.  After mending a bit of the woodwork on the inside of the case, the mechanism was refitted and the hands no long came in contact with the door!  Success!

  Needless to say, I feel pretty good about having the clock working.  Not only does this mean that another beautiful, old clock has been restored but it also means that I am keeping my word!  I am learning antique clock repair.  While I know that I will never reach "professional" level, at least, I AM learning!  Yep, feeling  pretty good right about now!

Still Learning...Its Good For The Brain!

  It is time to work the brain a bit!  Two of my grown kids keep after me to learn new things.  "You have to keep the brain active, Mom.  Don't let it stagnate or it will lead to other things."  Sorry, kids.  My brain is already there.  Still, I try hard to learn something new each day but some learning projects take longer than a single day.  Last year, I decided that I have a burning interest in antique, key-wind clocks.  My grandparents' clock sat idle on the mantel for years and years without ever a single tick so it was time to (ahem) "fix" that clock.  For the longest time, I sat and looked at the inner workings without ever touching a thing.  I wanted to see just where and how things were supposed to work.  Then, I started tinkering with the clock and after a couple of days...it worked!  My discovery was that it had been overwound and the pendulum arm had been bent.  Two minor repairs and the clock has been ticking away and chiming correctly since!  Success!  Then, the obsession grew!  More clocks were added to the collection.  Each had a small repair to be tended before it was happily ticking away.  This hobby is fulfilling to say the least.  I know that I will never be a professional clocksmith but the brain is challenged and that is a good thing.

  Today was a rainy day so to fill the time, I decided that another clock repair was in order.  This time, the clock worked but stopped occasionally and had to be restarted.  The springs were wound but the pendulum action would die out and the clock could not keep correct time.  I gingerly opened the little door on the back and peered inside.  Everything appeared to be in working order.  There were no broken springs, bent pendulum arms or even overwound springs.  There was, however, a good bit of goo on the inner workings.  It appeared that someone had decided to "oil" the clock with some type of spray lubricant.  Well, there was nothing to do but get to cleaning.  I am not yet comfortable with dismantling the entire clockworks so I did a "spot" clean.  Accessible parts were all gently cleaned of the bluish gunk and wiped with a lint-free cloth.  Suddenly, the clock started ticking without the pendulum even in place!  

  The plan is to let the clock fully "run down" before any further cleaning is attempted.  Afterward, the remaining goo will be removed, the clock oiled and the pendulum replaced.  Yet another addition to the ticking in the living room!  There are now ten working clocks with only one needing repair.  I shall wait for another rainy day to tackle that one.  Lesson of today's repair job...folks do not oil your antique clock with spray lubricant!  There are a number of oil sinks where the gear shafts sit in the clock plates (front and back).  ONE teeny, tiny droplet of oil in each sink does the job.  You do not want oil running everywhere AND make sure to use a quality clock oil...NOTHING ELSE! Ok...so I have you up-to-date on what I learned today.  The brain is working!

That's Using The Brain!

  Since my kids have grown, it seems that their gifts to each other have gotten far more fun.  Toys of some sort are the norm around here even though they are....ahem...adults.  But in all fairness, Christmas morning should be a time of fun.  They should, as we all should, find the kid hidden deep inside.  Let loose of all adultness and be a fun-loving kid once again.  

  My daughter and son-in-law made a (far too) brief visit to eat Christmas dinner with us and open gifts afterward.  Dinner was fine but it was the sibling gift exchange that was the best...at least, for me.  I giggled like I have not giggled in a long time.  It was a fine feeling.  She got her brother some fingertip hands.  These are tiny, vinyl puppet like things that look like human hands but fit each finger.  They were a big hit.  Both immediately donned finger hands and proceeded to unwrap gifts with the odd things.  The giggle fits that ensued were contagious!  He opened several more gifts from her but none were so engaging as the finger puppets.  Then, it was her turn to open his gifts to her.  One present was a mind-controlled drone.  Yep, this was a weird helicopter looking thing that she was to make fly using her brainpower!  It took some practice but all three kids actually got the thing up and flying!

  Even though their visit was far too short, I am elated that my daughter and son-in-law were able to come to the Little Bayou House.  Watching the play, hearing the laughter, seeing the interaction between them and Son did this old lady's heart the world of good.  Santa did come...in the form of my kids.  I am beyond blessed.  

Hiking Down A Foggy Memory Lane

  Here on the Bayou, winters are weird.  Mention the season and folks automatically think of cold, snowy days and icy nights where winds are blustery and Jack Frost visits nigh on every night.  Here, we have a few days of cold, then things turn to fog...thick, pea-soup type fog.  Following that, we have rain that precedes a bit of cold again.  It is an endless cycle that rarely varies far from the pattern.  The only bit of this weather cycle that lasts any length of time is the fog.  We have LOTS of fog.  For the past several days, the air has been filled with a fog so thick that it is difficult to see even a few feet in front of you.  Water droplets hang on anything that lingers long outside.  

Mid afternoon and the fog is so thick that it is difficult to see anything on the Bayou!

  While out hiking about the hillside with the old dog, PJ, I suddenly started thinking of times past.  When the kids were small, nights with a heavy fog usually found us scampering about the hillside.  There was something almost enchanting about being unable to see each other even though we were only a few feet apart.  We would often hike back into the drippy woods or even down along the marsh edge. The kids would "disappear" in the fog only to jump out at a sibling or at me.  Peals of laughter would fill the fog laden air after each "attack". Other times, one would start a ghost story that would grow and grow as the hike continued.  More oft than not, our hikes would end back up in the yard with a bonfire and more stories and then inside for a warming mug of hot cocoa.  

  It is sort of odd what can jog a memory.  The foggy woods with all its drippy tree limbs triggered a memory of happy times when the kids were young.  Now, I have PJ as my hiking partner and, while I enjoy his company, it is just not the same.  His antics do include a bit of prancing about at times but, lets face facts, he just cannot tell a good ghost story.  

Lights....Stars and Hearts

  This evening as I was turning off the many Christmas lights that bedazzle the Little Bayou House, I stopped to marvel at the little tin stars that dangle beneath the mantle.  The three inch metal stars have been at the place for so long that I have forgotten just where I got them.  Probably, they were just a whim purchase many years ago when the kids were mere tykes.  Back then, I would squirrel away a few pennies to buy some cheap little pieces to please the children.  Over the years, those dime-store things have become quite collectible and are now worth a lot more than what I spent on them.  It does not matter. The point of buying the knickknacks was to bring wonder to the eyes of the kids.  Even though at that time Mark and I scrounged to make ends meet, I could not let that wonder die.  Kids need to be enthralled over things even if those things are homemade or inexpensive.  Not everything is about money.  It is about life and all of the wonderment that can be jammed into it.  It was my intention to make the kids' imaginations literally explode with excitement and curiosity. Christmas was a perfect time to do just that.  With money short at times, there had to be ways to dodge the razzle-dazzle and focus on the spirit behind the season.  

  This evening before flipping the switch on the star lights, a flood of memories came back to haunt the brain.  Memories of sitting by the fireside creating folded paper angels to bring to the hospital for the nurses there.  Memories of baking marathons to supply the entire neighborhood of elderly folks with cookies. Memories of singing carols while we looked at Christmas lights decorating the yards and houses of others.  Memories of placing Baby Jesus in the manger on Christmas Eve after hanging the stockings from the mantle.  Memories...memories of happy times.  And you know what?  It is those little things that my kids still talk about to this day even though they are all now adults.  Those things are their memories as well.

  When I took the photograph of the little stars, only one came out clear.  All of the "just in case" photos were slightly blurred to the point that the dots of light came out looking like little hearts.  That is what it is all about, folks.  That little heart that glows in us all.  The love shared with others is what it is all about. 

The "Great Scavenger Hunt"!

  It is getting on to that time of year again when an occasional stiff wind will kick up from the north.  Besides the obvious fact that our air will be a wee bit cooler, the  humidity lessens making it all the more comfortable.  Fall and winter are my favorite seasons for so many reasons but the main one is that I feel better then.  Starting about September and on through March, my health seems to improve!  How can I not like the cold? 

  With that north wind comes lower tides.  A brisk north wind will shove the water out of the Bayou and Bay leaving behind large mudflats along the shoreline.  As the tides recede, interesting things will be uncovered.  Whatever the summer storms pushed into the area will now be exposed. Sometimes, interesting things can be found along the shorelines.  It was this time of year, that my kids used to love to go "scavenging".  I would take the three of them out in a tiny skiff and we would pole along the marsh line in search of "treasure".  To this day, the kids still talk about our close encounter with a large alligator on one of these outings!  That, however, is a tale for another time! While I poled, the kids would peer over the side of the skiff into the shallows.  If something was deemed interesting, they would call out and we would all take a look.  Then, my oldest son usually would reach into the water to retrieve the great find.  I have to admit that occasionally they did indeed find something usable or keep worthy.  Sometimes a fishing rod and reel would be the treasure.  Once a minnow trap complete with "cannibal bull minnows" was the haul.  (Cannibal minnows were labeled thus because the poor things had been trapped for so long that they had taken to eating each other to survive.)  Another time, an antique milk bottle from their great-grandfather's dairy was discovered stuck in the mud. That treasure still sits on the kitchen shelf!  Other times, the find might include some trinket lost by a boater or something the wind blew from a nearby pier. Whatever we retrieved from the shallows would be the "find of the day".  The kids thought this was great fun.  What they did not know was that we were actually cleaning up our part of the Bay.  Along with the treasures, we always hauled in a bucketful or so of trash to be discarded properly. 

  Yesterday's low tide brought to light so many interesting things.  Most were things like driftwood pieces or boards.  If the old skiff was usable, the logs would be hauled out of the mud and onto shore.  These are nothing but snags to catch our line or rip our net. Since the kids are now grown, we do not go on our scavenger hunts.  The cleaning has become just another chore.  I need to find a few neighborhood kids around here to go on "hunts"just to keep things fun!

A Reason to Smile....and a Reason to Weep!

  Darling Daughter and her husband came to the Little Bayou House today and brought the best surprise!  Not only did they treat me to a delicious lunch, she made a strawberry shortcake!  To be perfectly honest, she made a VEGAN strawberry shortcake and it was most delightful!  I hear a lot of folks proclaim that you cannot make a cake without eggs or whipped cream without cream or if you did, it would not taste good.  Well, she proved them wrong in both instances!  The cake was moist and the whipped cream was made with coconut milk.  Both were fantastic!   If you have never tasted whipped topping made from coconut milk, I highly recommend that you do soon.  So very tasty and a lot healthier for the body.  Darling Daughter knows that  I have a fondness for strawberry shortcake and since this was a special day, she thought it was appropriate to bake for me.  I am so glad she did!  Not only did the cake bring a smile, their visit made my day quite perfect!

  My kids, even though they are adults now, still know how to have a bit of good fun.  Once we finished eating, Son was sort of twirling his Styrofoam tray about in his hands.  I decided that the cake deserved a photograph and my kids (being a lot like me) immediately stepped out of line of the camera.  They hate pictures being taken of them!  Being prompted by Darling Daughter, Son held the tray up in front of his face. Well, that did it.  Not being able to stop with one joke, she decided to draw a face on the tray.  That led to other things and, the next thing I knew, the tray had become and a little being of its own.  Forks were arms and legs and the thing sat on the edge of the table.  In one "hand" it held a scribbled recipe.  In a weird sort of way, the little guy was rather cute. All was happy until a lone droplet of water fell on one of the eyes.  How sad!  Poor little guy was now crying! Yep, it appeared that a lone teardrop was falling from his eye.  I suppose he had a reason to weep. Maybe it was because we did not offer him any cake!

  It was a grand day but the only downside was that they had to leave far too early for my liking.  I always have so much fun with my kids back home.  I am still smiling...Tray Dude is still weeping.

I'm Thinking There is a Difference

  Not too long ago on a rainy afternoon, a young niece was looking at some of my bird photographs.  She made the remark that two photographs were similar.  "This bird must visit the feeders often," she said.  Well, yes....and no.  I explained that while the birds were both the same colors and had a lot of the same markings, they were, indeed, quite different.  Other than the obvious coloring...one was darker brown than the other, the beak was a dead giveaway that the birds were not one and the same.  I pointed out that while one had a cone-shaped beak used for cracking hard seeds, the other had a more of a dagger-shaped beak used for catching insects.  "Well, that does not make sense as they are both on the bird feeder." she mused.  Well, yes, the dagger beak can also be used to eat small seeds just like the conical beak can munch out on bugs. Still flipping back and forth between the pictures, she was gradually beginning to notice the differences but then made the remark "You sure have a lot of brown birds here!"  Well, that was easy to explain as well.  Both birds were females.  Yes, they are brown.  This is so that they are not easily seen while sitting on the nest.  Predators find it harder to see the mottled brown in a sun-dappled bush.  "Ahh...I understand.  If the bird was bright, anything could find it and eat the mama bird or if she got away, the babies could be eaten.  That is terrible!"   I think she was catching on to the reasoning behind the idea.  I then explained that one bird..the one with the dagger-like beak...was a female Red-winged Blackbird while the one with the cone-like beak was a female Rose-breasted Grosbeak.  With that we had to look up pictures of the male birds so she could see the difference.  "Wow!  Those really are bright colors!  I can see how a cat might find them."  Yep, a cat, fox, snake, hawk or any number of predators that lurk in the shadows.  "Poor Mama.  She must be hoping all of her babies are girls.  That way they won't have the bright colors that draw the bad animals."  Yep...you just have to love kids and their way of thinking!

  Explaining the difference between two similar birds sparked an interest in the child.  She told me that she was going to go out with her camera to take pictures of the birds around her home.  She promised to tell me how many different birds she found and how many she could identify by the different points that I showed her.  I gave her several reference places to look for help and promised to look at her photographs if she had some that stumped her.  

  There is a lack in the teaching of nature to our kids these days.  It seems far easier to let our flora and fauna go the wayside than to take the time to instruct our kiddos in how to identify, enjoy and protect our environment.  Perhaps, the short visit with my little niece will inspire her to notice things around her and become involved in protecting our old world.  It is in dire need of some fresh young minds to aid in its declining status.  Maybe there is hope, yet, for the generation to come.  Maybe we should start picking up in our effort to show the kids the wonders that surround them.  Maybe we should get them out of the house more and let them just be kids.

It Is Time

There comes a time when all things must go to their proper homes.  Yep, I do believe that time has come.  Since both my oldest son and my daughter have met their soulmates, married and moved into their own homes, it is high time that all of their belongings move with them.  (My daughter-in-law and my son-in-law will probably cringe at the thought!)  I have come to the conclusion that the Little Bayou House would not be near so cluttered if it were not that I am storing stuff that is not mine.  It is time...it is high time...that this stuff moves.  Yes, a lot of it was being tossed when they left here and I admit that I salvaged it.  I pulled things that I thought they would like to have somewhere down the line.  These items had some special meaning to them when they were younger and it might have the same special meaning as they age.  Even if it is only for a bit of nostalgia, things can be revisited at some point in life and have a whole new value.  For instance, a few (very few) things that I had as a youngster have over the years found their way back into my possession. The memories that were held by these items are priceless.  These things are from a time past....a time that will never be again.  The cobwebs in the corners of my brain get shuffled about a bit when I touch some long-lost bit of my childhood.  I hope the things that I saved serve a hefty bit of nostalgia to my kids when I bestow the gifts of things past to them.

  There are two things that my son might actually enjoy seeing once again. One is a tiny rod and reel that was his very first.  No, this is not one of the toy type reels that kids use today.  This is an actual rod and reel....small but real.  We bought this for him when he was a little over three years old.  He used to go fishing a lot with my dad and used a hand line.  He caught so many fish using that piece of string that we figured it was time to upgrade to a real pole.  He loved it and learned to use it quickly.  With this tiny rod and reel, the kid caught some pretty huge fish!  

  The other item is a small net.  An elderly gentleman that was Pop's good friend used to talk with my son when he was just a tyke.  One day, he told my son to stand tall and let him get a measurement.  We had no idea what he was up to with this bit if information but fully trusted the old man.  Mr. Rosetti had been a fisherman for all of his life and he wanted to do something to help instill the love of fishing in our little boy.  A few days later, he came back to Pop's house and was carrying a brown paper bag.  He was grinning from ear to ear when he handed the bag to my little boy.  Inside was a homemade brail net.  It was perfect! He informed us that to be a good one, a net should be just a bit taller than the person throwing it.  This is why he measured our son. He wanted to make a net that was just his size. The net is one of the old style cotton nets and not like the new monofilament types of today.  My son learned to throw the net and soon could catch bait or shrimp with the best fishermen.  His net was one of his favorite gifts he ever received.  How could I toss this thing to the wayside when he outgrew it.  The thing has lasted all of these many years.  Many little kids that have visited the Bayou over the years have learned to throw a net using this very one.   I am in hopes that my son will now teach his little ones the fine art of brail net casting.

   I am also in hopes that the net and the rod and reel will bring back many fond memories.  That will make all of those years that I stored the thing well worth the trouble.  Most likely, most of the things I saved really should be tossed but that will have to be up to my kids...not me.  I just do not have the heart to do it.  Not after some thirty years of storing the things?....not at all.