All posts by Crystalbay

I'm called "The Dancing Grandma" of the western suburbs of Mpls. after years of free style dancing to rock bands. I have 12 grandchildren, a private practice in therapy, and, most recently, a survivor of esophageal cancer.
The Baboon Congress

Green Thumb Blues

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Today’s post comes from Crystalbay

I’ve never had a green thumb.  The only plants I’ve ever been able to keep alive are hostas and pathos. In fact, I have one pathos which is 20 years old.  Every summer, I planted a couple hundreds dollars worth of flowers and new shrubs to replace the ones from the year before that died.

Last fall, I had an idea.  I’d bring a flower box annual coleus inside for the winter just to see what might happen. Well, a lot happened!  This supposedly summer-only plant was eight inches high a year ago.  Over the winter, it grew so tall that I had to wire it to a floor lamp to keep it upright.

Early this summer, I wondered if this very large plant would like to spend the warm season back outside, so I transplanted it from the living room into a landscape bed outside.  The damn thing grew even taller and thicker.

I’ve now brought it indoors again.  My grandson, a hulking body builder, could barely lift it.  It’d gone from 8” to 2’ to 3’ in just one year.  I’m thinking about going into the plant-selling business.  Or, maybe just growing several over the winter to give as Xmas gifts.

At this rate, I may have a tree by next summer.  I barely have room for it now, but there’s some kind of silly pride in having accomplished growing a small plant into almost a tree!

What surprising luck have you had with plant life?

The Baboon Congress

My BFF

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Today’s post comes from Crystalbay

It’s said that people come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. My friendship with Greg is the most enduring and unusual of any I’ve ever experienced.  It began precipitously in 1974, when a girlfriend and I picked him up at a bar during my too-short window between marriages.  He was strikingly handsome, gregarious, and lonely.  He’d recently moved from Texas and had no friends.

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He also, as it turned out, disco danced better than John Travolta!  It didn’t take long before I had a schoolgirl crush on the guy.  We dated briefly before he told me, “I just want to be friends”.  In other words, he wasn’t attracted to me  “that way”.  This was more than just a little disappointing for me.  A few months later, I met the man who would be my second husband.  He was no where near as attractive to me as Greg was, but he filled a big hole in my life at that time.
Greg and I drifted away from each other, but I wondered for years whatever happened to him. There was no way I could find him because he’d legally changed his name to “Sean”.  Thirty years later, we found each other.  On Match.comno less.  Our faces had changed, but I looked familiar to him.  He messaged, “Are you Nancy with the laughing face?”.  He remembered my fondness for that old Sinatra song!
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We’d both been divorced for two years.  He came to the cottage the next night and we sat in my double rocker in front of a glowing fire, sipping wine. I’d also put on some romantic music.  We talked for many hours about the 30 years apart and all that life had brought us.  I, of course, was flooded with thoughts of “This was meant to be!! Fate brought us back together!!”  As he was about to leave, we shared a kiss.  This nailed it for me. “This was meant to be!!!!”
A few days later on the phone, I alluded to my romantic interest in him – and he said, “I just want to be friends, Nance”.
Once again, I was crushed.  This is where the story gets interesting. If I couldn’t have a full relationship with the guy, I wanted nothing to do with him, but he kept calling and calling and calling.  It took about a year for me to move past my strong desire for him and begin to accept that he really meant what he’d said about being friends.
That was ten years ago, and to this day he phones me almost daily. For ten years.  We’ve engaged in lively conversations over 3,000 times since we reconnected, some of them highly stimulating, some of them just checking in, and some of them boring.  Our primary subject has been relationships and the gaping difference between men and women. At this point, he’s probably gotten half a million dollars worth of free therapy as I stayed by his side through years of gripping depression.  What he’s given to me is one person in my life who’s genuinely interested and caring about the day to day   I refer to this rare kind of friendship as “tracking”.  He’s my only tracker, wanting to know every detail of my life’s unfolding story. Having this consistent dialogue allows for everything to be held in a context.  Most friendships require “catching up” because time passes between contact.  With Greg and me, only one day passes.
Throughout the years, we’ve learned about the struggle between men and women from each other.  I get the male side from him; he’s gets the female side from me. I’ve named him the“King of Match.com” because a good looking guy his age is a very rare commodity.  There were times when he’d meet a new woman five times a week.  I don’t think he’s ever gone more than a few days without some romantic involvement.  He’s had a few long term girlfriends (meaning a year). I inquire about every one of his romantic escapades and give unsolicited feedback.  He’s a master at listening and loving to hear women’s stories even if there’s little attraction. Unfortunately for him, and even though I’ve helped him fully understand the psychology of his wounding, his childhood history continues to manifest by being attracted only to the very women emotionally unavailable for a long term commitment.
Never once in all of these years have we angry or disappointed in one another.  That alone is pretty rare, I think. He’s told me that I know more about him than any other human being in his life.  This goes both ways.  In fact, he’s never wanted me to meet one of his girlfriends out of fear that something will come out of my mouth that could jeopardize his new relationship.  Given that I can be somewhat unfiltered at times, he’s wise to not introduce us.  Over the years, several of his cast-offs have recognized me where I dance and, because every woman he’s dated knows all about me, they approach, asking, “Do you know Sean? Are you Nancy?”.  I have to remind myself that I’m the only person in his life who stubbornly still calls him “Greg”.  If any of these women knew how much he’s told me about them, they’d be more than a little distraught.
He continues his determined search for a woman with whom he can go the full distance, while I’ve discontinued dating five years ago. And, we continue our daily chats. I’ve helped teach him how to feel; he’s helped teach me how to stay rational. In the season, reason, or lifetime frame, this poor man is definitely a lifer.
What is the story of your BFF?
Family, The Baboon Congress

My New Roommate: A Grandson

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Today’s post comes from Crystalbay

A few days ago, my 21-year old grandson, Conner, approached me about living here for a while.  My first reaction was, “Oh no!!  What if it doesn’t work and I’ll be in the position to tell him to leave??!!”.  It was a beautiful summer afternoon and, as we sat together on the lake swing, I decided to take the risk.

Conner, a formerly heavy pot smoker and a somewhat aimless kid, had gone to the U of M for two years, then dropped out, saying he hated it there and wanted to be a personal trainer.  The whole family worried that this young man was lost.  He took a pricey personal training course.  Still, we wondered how this slender kid could possibly make a career out of a profession in which so few can succeed.
That was then; this is now.  Conner just won a national natural body building competition one month ago out of 70 men older than himself.  He’d worked out for a year and sculpted his body into near perfection.  When I saw him on that stage, I couldn’t believe the transformation.  His career “stock” shot through the roof, and he now has enough clients to make a solid living.
When he moved in a few days ago, he made the upstairs his own, putting my furniture in the closet, rearranging everything, vacuuming, washing floors, putting his own posters on the walls, etc.  Since then, he’s mowed the lawn, gone on errands, put every single dish in the washer, taken the garbage out, and introduced me to new Netflix series.
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Every morning, he makes his bed even though no one goes upstairs but him.  We respect each other’s space and, thank God, he has no interest in watching TV.  Each day, we find time to sit on the lake swing and share everything from our day to childhoods to politics.  I must admit that I’m doing my best to shape him into an ardent progressive. I did worry about feeling invaded after so many years of quiet solitude, but now find myself looking forward to him returning from his day.
I sense that this is a very important summer; more than previous summers.  The new but growing bond is forever.  Without this opportunity, I may never have known my grandson.  I’m even thinking about how much I’ll miss his daily company when he moves on, but I’ll enjoy the moments we have for now.
Yesterday, he asked if I’d teach him how to play the piano.  Today, I asked him to come to a nearby fitness club and create a free weight lifting routine for me. He and my daughter are competing in the same contest in August. He’s now proposing that he, his mom, and I could compete together one day.  Imagine that; three generations! I’d win because I’d be the only one in the over-70 class. Our daily routines blend together seamlessly and our gratitudes for the smallest exchanges, a hug, a peanut butter sandwich, music he’s introducing me to, and, most of all, our appreciation for sharing this most beautiful piece of earth.
Yes, this will be a summer to remember.
The Baboon Congress

Lone Loon

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Header image: from Cephas through Creative Commons 

Today’s post comes from Crystalbay

Every spring, a loon appears on Crystal Bay and stays until late fall. Loons are seen very rarely on this lake because it’s so heavily populated with boaters, especially when compared to the quiet, pristine lakes of the BWCA. Late at night this little loon makes the clarion, haunting sounds that only loons can make. I see him out there swimming and bobbing all by himself. In fact, as I sit here typing while facing the quiet autumn bay, I can see his silhouette far off in the distance.

I’ve never understood how a loon could not have a partner. He’s all alone out there summer after summer. I make up that he had a partner long ago and returns each spring to mourn her or perhaps still wait with anticipation. This loon and I share the quiet aloneness of our lives.

I prefer to use the term “alone” rather than “lonely”. For most of my life, if I didn’t have constant human interaction, I did feel painfully lonely. During my first few years after the divorce, I scrambled to find new people rather than face my new singlehood and desperately avoided time by myself. It seemed as though I only existed when others were around. It was a difficult chapter in my life.

I dated like crazy those early years, trying to compensate for a lifetime of being married to two men I’d grown to thoroughly dislike. For the first time in my 40 years of adulthood, I felt unencumbered and free. Eventually, after dating many ill-suited men, I met and fell madly in love with a man I was certain that I was born to be with. He broke my heart into pieces after a few months, then returned to my life once again three years later, saying he wanted to take care of me after my massive cancer surgery. He abruptly left the night before the surgery. My heart was broken all over again.

I had to come to terms with the obvious: I was in love for both of us. I’ll always see this man as the perfect life partner for me in spite of the betrayal and pain he brought, and in spite of knowing that this love affair was an illusion.

That was five years ago, and I haven’t dated since. Illusion or not, this relationship raised the bar so high that I knew in my heart no one would ever fill the piece he’d carved out. Over the years, I’ve self-repaired by contemplating the gift of this relationship and have long since realized that his presence in my life made it possible to experience the joy of being completely in love for the first time in my whole life. For the rest of what remains of my life, I can honestly know how this feels.

And so, he is long gone, but the precious feelings I finally got to feel are with me everyday. I no longer feel true loneliness, only an occasional bout of nostalgia when I see couples slow dancing. I’ve learned that my own company is enough and that one could ever be as perfectly matched for me than myself. Another way of saying this is that I finally feel safe and content with the best roommate ever: me.

How has a heartbreak been a gift in your life?

The Baboon Congress

Sanctuary

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Today’s post comes from Crystalbay

Coming from a perpetually remodeling or redecorating set of parents, I’ve always enjoyed changing up my own home, one room at a time throughout the years. That is, until I moved to the cottage. I had no deadline for selling the home I’d lived in for thirty years since we could move to the lake any time we were ready.

I spent months preparing the story and a half home for selling, doing things I’d always wanted done and never quite gotten to like painting the inside of cupboards and closets. There was a bare area in the backyard which never grew grass, so I tilled it, put a rabbit fence around it, and place a sign saying, “Future garden”. We made our own brochures, rented a sign, and sold it within and hour of the only open house.

Because my dad left us a healthy amount of life insurance money, I was able for the first time in my life to purchase anything I wanted for the cottage: furniture, new cedar shake roof, furnace, appliances, new countertops, etc. By the time we moved out here, everything was upgraded and downright perfect.

It’s been fifteen years, and I did such a good job renovating it that I haven’t change a single thing. Until two weeks ago, that is.

I’m extremely sedentary and, like most people, found my favorite “spot” in the cottage: my den. This den has my TV, stereo, books, Iphone, laptop – everything I need at my fingertips. I’ve spent most of my waking hours on the small couch and saw clients in the two comfy chairs on either side. At night, I’d go up to a bedroom overlooking the lake.

A few weeks ago, my daughter and best friend talked me into remaking the den into my master bedroom. They voiced their concern that I’d fall down the steps, break my hip, and then die. The result, after weeks of shopping, cleaning out, hanging curtains, and painting is a room every woman could only dream of.

I’ve been in it now for a few days and have encountered a few problems, not the least of which is that using a bed for a couch makes me feel like I’m in bed all day, which makes me feel even older and more feeble than I felt before. I’ve actually felt guilty about not using the view-to-die-for bedroom upstairs. My cats are unhappy, too. Peanut’s had the same routine up there every night for 12 years.

I’ve discovered that not leaving just one room all day long is oppressive and maybe even emotionally unhealthy. I know that I could sleep upstairs and hear the lake lapping up on the shoreline as well as see the silhouette of the lake any time I choose, but feel beholden to use my new bedroom. Oddly, this is the only room in my place that doesn’t have a lake view. I rationalized that I only went up there in the dark and came downstairs right away. So why miss it?

Oddly, it never occurred to me that I could still sleep upstairs until a friend pointed this out. I resisted this for about four nights, then being in the new room began to feel entrapping. Being literally in the same spot almost every waking hour, no matter how inviting, wasn’t working for me, so last night, I trekked upstairs and slept in my old bed. I’d never truly appreciated this spot with the lake breezes and nature’s beauty just outside the window like I did last night.

I now realize that breaking up a pattern by using different rooms, not just one, is important. I’ve decided to sleep in the old bedroom at least through the summer and maybe even the rest of my life. I owe it to the cats and not feeling bed-ridden.

Do you have a spot in your home that feels like your own sanctuary?

The Baboon Congress

The Joy of Adventure

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Today’s guest post comes from Crystalbay.

Finding adventures in the suburb was my third child’s greatest joy. It’s often said that kids these days have little desire to actually go outside and find something active to do. TV, video games, computers, and social media consume them.

The art and respect for actual conversations seems lost on this generation. I’ve told my teenaged grand kids that they’re welcome to the lake, but not if they bring their Iphones.

I haven’t seen them since.

Steve, now 44, was by far the most precocious kid I’ve even known. I think that rather than try to capture the activities he dreamt up as a story, I’ll just bullet point them:

  • built a zip line in a public preserve
  • made a straw into a dart gun that would send sewing pins through the air. (Unfortunately, his first dart ended up in the school bus driver’s cheek.)
  • went skateboarding in the city’s underground storm sewer system wearing a minor’s flashlight hat
  • took girls to the top of a water tower and swam in the tank
  • built a 3-story A frame from a large hole he dug
  • when confined to a downstairs bedroom as punishment for sneaking out of his upstairs bedroom, put hinges on the storm windows to make them into doors
  • made a large dummy called “Fleed”, complete with a wig and clothing, then would toss him onto the road just as a car neared. I guess that he just wanted to see the driver’s reaction thinking he’d run over a person
  • learned the months of the year by using a dozen Playboy Magazine covers he found in a dumpster
  • dug a hole in a very thick book into which these pictures fit so that he could show them to his school friends (he got caught for this one)
  • almost blew his thumb off seeing what would happen if he hit a nail gun bullet with a hammer
  • hid a couple of girls behind the knee wall which he outfitted with sleeping bags, strobe lights, and music
  • put his sister’s goldfish under her covers because he thought they were cold
  • created a giant Johnny Jump Up out of two garage door springs and a seat. Jumping from a tall tree branch, this thing went 20’ feet up and down (this one ended badly when a spring broke and gashed a kid’s scalp)
  • collected lunch money from other kids by selling a hidden stash of candy

This is just the partial list of Steve’s adventures. It’s amazing that he lived through his capers and that his parents were more amused than angry. He also went on to teach himself the 12-string acoustic guitar and learned all of Leo Kottke’s music.

His wife threw a “Man Shower” just before their baby was born. My contribution to this event was a booklet, complete with illustrations drawn by his nephew,  sharing Steve stories.

I entitled it; “Things Your Daddy May Not Want You to Know”.

What adventures did you create during childhood?

The Baboon Congress

Border Conflict

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Today’s guest post comes from Crystalbay

Fifteen years ago, I had the great blessing of moving into the cottage in which my parents lived for over half of a century.  We’d lived in the same story and a half home in Minnetonka for thirty years and been the social hub of our cul de sac. I’d just walk out of the front or backdoor and there were very friendly neighbors happy to see me. Our children grew up together, our parents died, graduations and marriages seeded this small community, bonding us together as only sharing a neighborhood could.

All of that pretty much ceased the day we moved to the lake and I’ve been isolated out here ever since.

The people on one side hadn’t worked in three generations as grandpa bequeathed them a fortune from grain.  She bought a huge boat and named it “Migrain”.  I haven’t set foot on their four-acre property in six years after taking an aerial photo of our properties to show them, being offered a glass of wine, then told, “When you’ve finished this, go home”.  They’ve always had at least four big dogs.  One time, a friend was visiting here with a like-sized dog and the romping dogs next door compelled him to join and have dog fun.  My neighbor took out a garden hose and sprayed him, all the while yelling, “Get this damn dog off my property!”

It’s really the neighbors on my other side, however, with whom there’ve been years of blatant conflict. They adored my sweet, quiet, old parents and were very kind to them throughout the years.  Then came us with home renovations, gatherings of friends and old neighbors, audible sounds of grandchildren, AND five indoor/outdoor fur persons.  They were cat-haters and were given to screaming at any cat who sauntered into their yard as though their lives were threatened.

The first summer after my divorce, I agreed to let a friend use my dock for his 16’ fishing boat in return for mowing.  In my divorce, wasband got the boat with no dock and I got the dock with no boat.  The two sets of neighbors got together and wrote a memo that this was a violation of city ordinances and they didn’t want “To have our property turned into a public marina”.  I had to tell my friend to dock elsewhere.

I’ve already shared the hidden fence disaster.  To show their disdain for us, the first fall we lived here, they had their huge boat house structure hydraulically deposited right on our property line.  This obstructed our view of the lake significantly.  I called the city and was told they were violating the city code of a 75’ setback for anything obstructing a neighbor’s view.  They were incensed that I’d done this.

The next year, they threatened to build a fence along the property line.  I should mention that this line is about three feet away from the cottage.  Again, I called the city and was told that they weren’t allowed to do this.  Again, they were outraged that I’d inquired.  What came next was very creative on their part: they augured holes two feet apart running the length of the property all the way down to the lake so that they could plant arborvitae trees – the ones that grow rapidly up to 40’ tall.  This would’ve created a virtual wind tunnel out of my 75’ wide lot.

A funny thing happened to those baby trees, however.  Late one night, I slipped out there with a toxic solution.

Fightin'tree

I’m leaving out half a dozen similar examples of conflicts, but the big one came last summer when a twin tree (shared rootball) fell across their yard, leaving the huge rootball exposed from the tree still standing. Leaning dangerously over my roof, I might add.  Another one of their trees is leaning toward the cottage has a branch 3’ in diameter which has split 5’ from the trunk.  They refused to do anything about these potentially cottage crushing trees.

I did my homework and learned that my insurance would cover damages AFTER I paid my $5000 deductible.  I wrote them a very civilly- worded letter offering to chip in $500 for the cost of felling the trees.  He called, yelling that I’d broken the law by putting the letter in his mailbox.  I said, “Well then, I should’ve walked it over” to which he replied, “That would be trespassing!” I had four different certified arborists assess the trees.  All of them concurred that they were a clear and present danger to my home and provided estimates of the cost to fell them.  I’d learned my lesson by now that I’d be breaking a federal law unless I mailed the next letter to them.  I included the assessments and estimates in the letter.

He then called saying that my home would collapse before these trees fell because, “Your home is in a swamp!” My home is on the same level ground that his is.  Ultimately, he hired a crew to do the job and told me both trees down would be cut down, but only if I gave them $500 in cash upfront.  The crew came and told me that he’d only hired them to take one tree down.  I told them that he’d lied to me and they left, wanting no part of a neighborhood feud.  He called later that day, yelling all sorts of wild, rageful, and irrational things, ending his diatribe with, “Don’t you EVER call this number again!!!!!”

This is where it stands today.  Two trees about to crash into my cottage and sleepless nights when there’s a storm or a strong wind.  As bad as the potential disaster, though, is the level of contempt I feel towards these people and a fear of unleashing it!  I don’t do anger well and have very rarely even practiced it on anyone in my life.  Let’s just hope against hope that I die before the trees fall.

Question:  What (if any) problems have you had with your neighbors?