Traverse City Record-Eagle - Dee Blair: The View From Sunnybank

Dee Blair: A New York state of mirth
A bilious billboard reappeared again and again as I was ferried, via bike basket-nest all over New York. Huh. Piles of desperate people were seeking out their clinics, eliminating that worry. I bent double, speechless, convulsed with laughter, for what seemed like hours.
View From Sunnybank: Twin Towers vision
On Oct. 8 Joe and I flew to New York for three days, guests of our oldest daughter and her lovely man. They treated us to unique tours of Brooklyn and the city from bikes -- or, more accurately, from three bikes. Nothing in Roberto's collection of nine sleek racers suited my small frame, so I was popped into a roomy, cushion-padded, low-slung steel basket in front of a specially constructed pumpkin-orange cycle.
View From Sunnybank: Trial, error, retrial
Sometimes, 2 eager and 2 ignorant add up to 4-get it. Unfortunately, I'm the poster child for pouncing on potential solutions before thinking carefully. Happily, 2 problems in 2 countries resolved because I didn't mind looking silly in my search for solutions.
View From Sunnybank: Special TC flavors
Sometimes, just before drifting off, I'll recall what flavored my day. Something always does. For example: Crossing State Street toward Wilson's Antiques I'd passed a miniature dachshund sitting upright in a low-slung stroller, gazing confidently around. His owner, a casually dressed man, pushed his charge while chatting with companions.
The View From Sunnybank: Tweaking favorites
The silliest, best idea I've had lately involves London ceramic chimney pots. I already owned two, bought cheap 20 years ago, and still boasting London soot. They partially disguise my tall, skinny overhead irrigation pipes.
The View from Sunnybank: Hedge monster
When mother and David moved to Bryn Garth cottage in 1981, they wanted to muffle the traffic sounds coming from the two-lane highway far below. Laurel introduced itself at a local nursery. It sat in its pot, those fat, perfect leaves thick, shiny and unblemished, ignored by disease or insects.
The View from Sunnybank: Bumping heads
It's incredibly frustrating to function financially in England if one lacks British citizenship. Even dangling deposit money in front of official noses doesn't make a dent in their demeanor.
Dee Blair: Bandits, bees, copycats
That night I woke with a start to hoarse murmurs and splashes in the main fountain from invader-waders caring not a whit for stealth. I bolted down the stairs to the kitchen window. A full moon revealed two well-fed raccoons playing in the pool, tweaking the swans' beaks.
Dee Blair: Car chooses a timeless tour
Close your eyes. Picture a long, slim, paved country lane framed either side by precisely planted, half-century-old oaks emphasizing its gentle curve to the vanishing point. Sunlight filtered benignly through those sentinels' lush leaves onto a closely mown carpet of dappled, emerald grass.
The View from Sunnybank: Dumb bunny
I was invited to Mensa's July luncheon meeting at a Traverse City restaurant to rattle on about my column (especially the "England saga") and mingle with the folks. It had been in my date book for nearly five months.
The View From Sunnybank: Fair day
This 10-day return trip was necessary. The insurance claim wants settling. We'll visit David (my late mother's cherished husband), now happily snug in a lovely countryside care home nearby. Elderly, he's felt much safer there, surrounded by devoted caregivers.
The View from Sunnybank: Are you sure?
One afternoon two smartly dressed ladies rang the bell and wandered through, discussing the merits of text-messaging. Hands waved, voices rose and fell as Lady One told of how her daughter had shared Darly's first day at nursery school by "texting" her mother, who was on her way home from shopping.
The View from Sunnybank: Wonderful life
Millicent, 72 years old, was a widow. Ten years before, her husband, a minister, had died suddenly, leaving her alone in a drafty parsonage in Essex. One morning she calculated that 46 years had been spent in her kitchen, willingly preparing meals for village fetes, and a myriad of good causes.
The View from Sunnybank: A love story
I'm sitting comfortably in my favorite bought-for-a-buck from-the-old-library upholstered chair, which, oddly, I keep in the kitchen. Curled into it I enjoy gazing at the garden. Today, though, my eyes lingered on the antique Hoosier cabinet by the sink. I love its lines, and of course, its story.
Dee Blair: Slime and diamonds
As we navigated the river early that morning gulls flew overhead, screaming, while silent geese at the mouth of the river floated serenely in a tight flock, ignoring our slow passage. The sun was just hinting, and the Grand Traverse Resort's glass walls shimmered in eerie, reflected morning light.
The View From Sunnybank: Subtle delights
Frequent visitors to Sunnybank Gardens gradually become aware of strategically placed, often subtle, delights. For example: lions, or parts of same, have traditionally graced European homes and gardens for centuries. A big heraldic lion announces the garden's entrance.
The View from Sunnybank: Lilliputia
How many times have I watched the vigorous tug-of-war between robin and worm? How does the creature resist? He's slippery, and should slide like butter into that lethal beak, but no. Worm manages to brace himself; the robin must fight for every bite. Amazing.
The View from Sunnybank: What's up
Treasured garden plants are struggling to recover from last summer's massive Japanese beetle invasion, and the past winter's severity. My poor Harry Lauder's Walking Stick tree had a long think before finally putting out some leaves: he's still licking his wounds.
The View from Sunnybank: Dilbert delivers
Rats had overwhelmed our flood-ruined, single-story cottage in England; after battling them unsuccessfully for three weeks I hired a professional, Dilbert, who'd dispatched rats for 45 years. Dilbert loved his work, and, eyes shining, he tackled this job with enthusiasm. It was a true rescue; I was desperate, exhausted, and needed a champion. Dilbert was a modern knight. But now, having laid the traps, he sighed.
The View From Sunnybank: Rat man
But as the days passed, and I tried to salvage what wasn't flood-ravaged, I began to realize the cottage was infested. I saw rats running along the walls from the corner of my eye as I cleaned. And I heard them.
The View From Sunnybank: People bloom
The other day, weeding, I noticed a young teen sitting on the curb next to his bike. He'd captured, and was about to release, a particularly large "lion." Seeing me he grinned, and held up its fluffy head. "I wish school would end soon, with good math grades for me."
The View from Sunnybank: 'The Donald'
Grinning, I quacked quietly at some ducks indifferent backs, then gleefully recalled a fascinating factoid: Donald Duck comics are banned in Finland -- because he doesnt wear pants! I nearly died laughing, having stepped into traffic after looking dutifully -- the wrong way!
The View From Sunnybank: Home!
Abruptly Joe thumped down the stairs into Sunnybanks warm, suitcase-messy kitchen, wreathed in grins, arms open, shirttails out, shoeless feet slapping the pine floor. I leaped up, and into those welcoming arms. This is why I came back.
The View from Sunnybank: Beginning of the end
Awk! Its a madhouse around here! Ive just stepped on Sparky, the prone electrician (who yelped, then grinned), and squeezed past the long-suffering painter to gawk at a rats birdseed stash crammed between the just-delivered sofas cushions. (That discovery marked the few seconds Ive paused today to remember how fiercely Id battled those huge, determined home invaders for more than three months.) Today, six days before I return to America, is the busiest since this saga began. The end of four months of hard work is at hand.
The View from Sunnybank: Resurrection
The transformation was stunning. The long row of windows sparkled. The walls and ceiling had been scrubbed. The upholstered furniture, parked outside in fresh air, had been whacked with industrial strength rug beaters, then thoroughly vacuumed, then shampooed.
The View from Sunnybank: Disasters avoided
As I applied a rich mahogany stain to the porch stairs of our flood-renovated cottage in England, a workman scraping ivy-covered walls nearby suddenly asked, "What was the stupidest thing you've ever done " and gotten away with?" Doing boring, repetitive stuff, like scraping and staining, gives birth to interesting conversation. I stared at the guy, then grinned. That one was easy.
The View from Sunnybank: Moans, marvels
Our arrival was marred by Dee-saster. Online I'd found an attractive-looking B&B, with a nice write-up, located close to the center of town, but the reality was shocking. The picture lied. Cement covered everything.
The View from Sunnybank: Bangs, bruises
Helen's Wood is a photographer's dream. Hundreds of thousands of colorful wildflowers blanket its leaf-rich ground and steep hills. The narrow, winding path beckoned. Enchanted, I put down my brush and succumbed to the magic.
The View from Sunnybank: A Sunday rescue
The British celebrated Mothering Sunday on March 22, a sunny, warmish day. I spent that afternoon wandering Hereford's ancient, tree-lined park, content to observe parents enjoying the profuse flowers with their children on this special day.
The View from Sunnybank: All about Kate
Rearranging some dusty papers I noticed a grimy photo of Mom and David's slim, lovely Alsatian dog, Kate, resting her head on his knee, her eyes locked on his, and full of love. She died in his arms four years ago, of extreme old age. The picture triggered a glowing memory of her first day with them.
The View from Sunnybank: Thumping woes
When was the last time you heard silence? Doesn't happen. Muzak-scream, frantic drum-bumps and outrageous visual shenanigans make words spoken by newsreaders, or advert announcers, practically impossible to discern.
The View from Sunnybank: Welsh storm
My cheerful younger daughter, Lisa, whisked me off to a wonderful Welsh coastal college town, Aberwrystwith, for a two-day holiday. (She'd visited it once, while on spring break from college in London.) The trip was a jaw-dropper.
The View from Sunnybank: Miss Charlotte
I miss the sniffs of home. There's a special scent -- OK, an odor -- associated with one's own nest; I miss that. I long for my airy, CLEAN kitchen, the perky sound of boiling water added to freshly ground coffee beans that deliver enough "omph" to vanquish mental cobwebs; I miss CLEAN windows.
The View from Sunnybank: British baffles
A common language separates Brits and Americans. Recently, shopping for a new stove in a superstore, I inquired where they might be found; after some curious looks ("It's too cold to camp, surely?") people directed me to an outdoor area, which offered "wee" prima stoves. Mystified by the miscommunication, I waved my arms to indicate size. "Och -- you're needing a hob!" Er, yeah ...
The View from Sunnybank: Bloopers bemuse
Six years ago my brain's circuitry got incredibly muddled after a near-fatal auto accident; rebooting has been a fascinating challenge. Trying to relearn gardening I'd reason, for example, that lilies and daylilies were the same; the name "lily" was simply a shortened form of "daylily" ... right? But, of course, they're very different plants.
View From Sunnybank: Soggy, delicious memories
I'm sitting on the carpet-stripped, unlovely floor of our flooded-out cottage in England, sifting through intriguing parental mementos. Here are limp old London Times Sunday magazines, kept for their wonderful commentaries, or for the alphabetical listing of the 1,000 most-influential people of the 20th century, or for anything that caught my mother's eye. Here's something on tail-less cats
The View from Sunnybank: Alien lives
Along the High Street teen girls stroll by with exposed bellies and tight tops, sporting spiky purple/orange hair, often wearing unbuttoned, insubstantial coats. They seem immune to the cold. Old people -- late-20s and up -- warmly bundled, trudge along, gloved hands clutching shopping bags and parcels, ignoring what can't be reasoned with.
The View from Sunnybank: Washed-out
For two weeks we've waded through cold, ruined rooms, tossing and sorting. Insurance people buzz around, trying to ascertain what can be saved, and what is irretrievable. This process will continue for weeks, so I'll remain here, camping in the one tiny area not destroyed, to coordinate restoration efforts.
The View from Sunnybank: Feast of words
Words, for me, are more delicious than multi-layered chocolate sundaes, or midnight picnics on the beach. Some words confuse, or obfuscate; all have character -- even the littlest ones. Take, for example, "A." Politicians and newsreaders portentously pronounce this little guy as "aee," instead of "uh."
The View From Sunnybank: Never dull
Michigan is never dull. We've received nearly 3 feet of snow; yet, when I peer through the window this outrageously early morning, everything out there is enveloped in a blanket of thick mist -- and it's softly, almost invisibly, raining! Weird. So, naturally, I snatch my umbrella and pop out for a walk in the dark.
The View From Sunnybank: Bray-zen Paddy
My family lived on the Isle of Skye for five years, in the late '70s. My mother's delightful husband, David, offers another interesting story ... "We were driving home from the tiny village of Portree one miserable, sleety, windy day, when Barbara grabbed my arm, shouting, 'Stop the car, David!' There, standing alone in a field, was a soaking wet donkey.
The View from Sunnybank: Magic fingers
Joe and I zipped to Chicago recently to spend a concert evening with Australian Tommy Emmanuel, "a certified guitar player." This classic "Tommy" humor was on the ticket stub. Huh. The guy is simply the most amazing guitarist in the world, that's all.
The View from Sunnybank: White art
What a sight! Winter has vigorously arrived, and my huge fountain is totally buried. If I didn't know better, I'd think there was nothing there. Wind-sculptured snow has blanketed the sides of the fountain's slanted, tarp-wrapped boards, disguising its shape; the whole thing has "vanished" into a white-on-white canvas.
The View From Sunnybank: Out of the blue
I pushed open the heavy garage door that led into the garden and staggered down the slippery sidewalk toward the back door, weighty grocery bags banging against my legs -- when SMACK! Something rather large (and soft, thank heaven) hit my left shoulder, and fell, plop, onto the path beside me.
The View From Sunnybank: Christmas cheer
When I was little, Christmas morning was a magical time. I would usually find just what I'd hoped for under the sparkling tree. Once, when I was 8, a watch, slim, understated, and ticking confidently, peeked out from my Christmas stocking. I wore it to school with enormous pride. I scoffed at older children, who declared Santa didn't exist, because I had the proof.
The View From Sunnybank: Simple gifts
Suddenly, the holidays are here. This year, offering gifts to those we cherish can be a challenge, as wallets are thin, smiles are illusive, and nails and tempers are distinctly shorter. But I'm rediscovering the power to savor, and offer, less tangible gifts, with no pain. In this unnerving economic atmosphere I've tried to take stock of simpler, personal realities.
The View from Sunnybank: Fickle flakes
On Nov. 20, the steady pitter-patter of rain/sleet lulled me; toward first light there was a hushed quality to the air, and I knew. Snow! I thumped downstairs, dressed in a flash and dashed outside. Oh! An ocean of fat flakes fluttered down, teased by wind-driven whimsies into performing aerobatics before landing on the still-warm ground.
The View from Sunnybank: Good and bad
Snow blankets the sleeping garden. Chocolate-brown sedum, etched in white, is lovely. I smile, remembering ... Funny how it's adults who commit garden sins; I have never caught a child willfully abusing our trust. Every season one soul gets a thrill out of smuggling in a little dog, hidden, perhaps, in a small stroller, or large purse.
The View from Sunnybank: Unwashed genius
Recently, I hopped on my ancient bike and pedaled to my own personal cathedral. Only a few blocks away, on the grounds of the magnificent wooded former mental hospital, stands a towering forest of giant evergreen trees, planted, I think, by the prescient Dr. Munson, who believed beauty would help to heal broken minds.