Shorts in February

Dear Seth,

     I hope you like school. I wonder what subjects you like best. Do you like robots?

     Spence and I encountered robots. We went to visit my brother Bob. In the Pittsburgh airport, we walked along moving walkways—robot sidewalks. On one, we passed a robot repair shop. 

     Bob’s house in Florida has robots to work for him. His round robot sweeper is called a shark. At home I use a broom and dust pan. Bob’s dishwasher washes, rinses, and dries dishes. At home, I wash dishes by hand and let them air dry. Bob has a robot to get rid of kitchen scraps—the garbage disposal. He turns on the water, swish, and flips a switch, grrr. Scraps vanish. At home? I chop scraps into pieces and add shredded paper. I feed the mix to worms. They poop out compost for the garden. Speaking of poop, Bob has a robo kitty litter that hums and turns to clear cat droppings. At home, I scoop cat poop with a slotted spoon.

     Robots weren’t the only change on our trip. Weather was different too. 

     I wore a turtleneck with sleeves pushed up to come home. I rolled my suitcase in the hot 77℉ sunshine. A gentle breeze blew large, green, palmetto tree leaves. The plane flew us into cloudy skies. I put two sweaters on in the Pittsburgh airport. We made a dash for Spence’s pickup in 31℉ air. My face and ears felt like icicles. I pulled on my warm winter jacket, hat, and gloves. Spence turned on the heater. He drove the truck home. Along the way, we passed leafless trees. Purple-tinged ice covered every branch. 

     Do you like hot, sunny winters or cold, icy winters? Do you want robots or you to do work?

Love,

Janet

The first photo is the automatic kitty litter. The second is Little Girl near her water jug. 

Dear Spencer,

     I hope you like school. Do you enjoy playing with your brother?

     The other Spence and I visited my brother Bob in Florida. He has two orange tabby cats. Their names are Little Girl and Big Boy. They have an automatic kitty litter box. It doesn’t look like a box. It’s shaped like a barrel on its side. The barrel has a circular opening. The cat makes a visit and leaves. Then the barrel hums into action. It turns to empty the litter. It turns the other direction to sift the litter through a screen. A few more turns and the litter is ready. Neat, huh? One problem. Little Girl is fine with the robot. Not Big Boy. He protested by peeing on the floor. I bet your mom wouldn’t like that. We cleaned up his mess and set his old litter box where he peed. He’s used the old box. Maybe crawling into the barrel scared him.

     The cats’ water bowl has a jug. Gravity releases water from the jug. The cats knocked the jug off. Water spilled over the floor. Guess what happened after Bob cleaned that mess? Did you guess the cats knocked the jug down? They did. Again and again and again. So Bob built a frame for the jug. Now the cats can’t knock it down. No more splashing. Just lap, lap, lapping water.

     The cats hid from me more than from Spence. They played in the living room while he read on the sofa at night. And they were curious when he made pizza dough. They sat in the kitchen doorway. They watched him mix the dough. They watched him knead the dough. They watched him roll the dough.

    What could you do that curious cats would watch?

Love,

Janet

The first photo is a view of the church from the production platform. The second is Bob’s light control station on the production platform.

Dear Susan,

     When I visited my brother Bob in Bradenton, Florida, I thought of you.

     He drove me to Bayside Community Church the afternoon of Wednesday, February 5 and unlocked the side door with his key. I was surprised that so many people were inside. People were snacking in the cafe area. Another waved a long pole in the lobby. Bob wasn’t surprised.  “We’re the third largest campus in the Bayside Community,” he said and led the way with his walker. The auditorium had three sections of folding chairs with a stage in front and a production platform in back. Bob lifted his walker up two steps, shuffled up, and repeated until he climbed the half flight. “This is my station.” He pointed to the far right of a long desk. “I control all kinds of lights." He nodded toward the front. “The panels have millions of tiny LED lights each.” Further down the desk were stations for the audio mixer and general director, the video guy, and the lyric guy. The last two projected sermons, lyrics, or photos to screens. Leaving the platform, Bob grabbed both railings and swung step to step. I toted the walker.

     In the front of the auditorium, chairs had been removed to make room for tables. The church would hold discussion groups after the service that night. Normally Bob would run the lights then participate in the discussion, but he would be preparing for surgery the following morning. He wouldn’t attend. A guitar, drums, and small organ sat center stage—ready for the night’s service. Like your church, the music at Bob’s church is a big part of the service. I thought of you singing with St. Paul’s choir and wondered if your choir had flown to Europe yet.

Take care,

Janet

The first photo is Bob’s workshop with the rocking horses. The second is the crosses standing on the kitchen counter. 

Dear Anita,

     I hope you and the Tibetan terriers are content and will soon receive mild weather.

     Do you remember proofreading Bob’s PicandTics website, https://picsandticks.me/? One line read, “My handmade clocks and framed pictures decorate any room.” They decorated every room at his house. A clock with gulls hung in the dining room, crosses stood on the kitchen counter, and proofs littered living room tables. A 12” by 18”color print of a sunset and the serenity prayer lay on his printer. Projects rested in the laundry room. Wood waited in his workshop—the garage. When I took photos, he said, “You didn’t take the garage did you? It’s a mess.” But he’d made four rocking horses like we had as children. I couldn’t help myself.

     The day before his surgery, Bob touched up five, different-style crosses—blowing off dust and dabbing black paint or white out. We packed the crosses, two photos with inspirational sayings, and two large print Bibles he couldn’t read after injuring one eye working on projects.

     At Christian Books the manager and salesperson studied Bob’s items with poker faces. “We’re a church. We don’t have any money. We don’t usually sell this kind of thing.” Finally the owner offered Bob a price. Bob said, “That covers my supply costs. Nothing for my labor.” The three men maintained expressionless faces. The salesman upped the price. Bob accepted. Later he said, You probably thought I was foolish. I wanted to see how the product sold.”

     “No. I wished you’d put your website on the items so people could buy from you directly.”

     But Bob wasn’t worried. “Oh, they’ll tell them who made the pieces.” I hope he’s right.

Love,

Janet

The first photo is the sunset on Holmes Beach. The second is a sandpiper in the surf.

Dear Pat,

     I appreciated your lovely letter updating me about you and your cats—Ivy smiling for treats and Dave rocketing around the apartment because he’s Dave. I wish he was calmer for you.

     You’d asked if Spence and I got off on our own while we were in Florida with Bob. The evening before his surgery, we left Bob watching FBI TV shows so we could watch the sunset at Holmes Beach. Bob had warned, “It’s February, tourist season. You might not get a parking place.” But cars were leaving the beach. Spence pulled into a spot in the first row at 5:50.

     A band of retired musicians played vintage jazz behind the cafe. The yellow-white sun hung close to the horizon. Sand castles and open spaces spread across the beach. No children raced about. Adults lounged in chairs. Half of the adults wrapped themselves in beach towels rather than sat on them. Spence and I walked straight to the water. I stuck both feet in and jumped out. Though the day had been 81℉ earlier, the Gulf water was frigid. We walked on wet sand. The sun lowered and glowed red. People walked or sat and watched the sun too. A fisherman had caught a speckled trout and a shark. “I throw them back. Don’t count on me for dinner.”

     Scurrying in and out of the wintry surf, a lone sandpiper snapped up morsels for its dinner. Seagulls dined in groups. The sun slid behind the horizon at 6:15, and we turned around to walk back up the beach. Spence said, “Did you notice? The air cooled when the sun set.” Indeed. The Gulf reflected light for a while. Once we got to the car and headed towards Bradenton, dark engulfed us. Sunsets don’t linger in Florida like they do in the north.                                                                                                                                                                             

Take care,

Janet

The first photo is the Surgery Center. The second is my view in the waiting room of a painted tree inside and a live tree outside. 

Dear Maggie,

     I thought about all the days you drove through ice and snow to care for patients. My first day driving a patient came February 6—a sunny, 79℉ day in Bradenton, Florida. While my brother Bob drove to the Surgery Center, I took notes. Operating his Chevy Bolt differed from driving my manual Subaru Crosstrek. Key fob near. Foot on brake. Press power. Push shift button. Slide to reverse or drive. Go. I’d driven the Bolt before but forgot the details. In the parking lot we changed seats, and I drove around the block. Yikes. The accelerator and brakes reacted quickly.  

     Bob registered at 9:40. I stayed at the Surgery Center, texting Spence at Bob’s house and Andy, Bob’s friend from church. Both texted encouraging words back—Andy included praying hand icons. I wrote a letter. At 11:10 the center texted Bob had moved to the operating room. By 11:42, my bottom numbed from sitting so I walked outside. A mockingbird perched on a sign and sang for joy. I soaked in the moment. At 11:58, the center texted Bob had  moved to  recovery. I could visit in fifteen minutes. When I reached Bob, he was nibbling crackers and sipping coke. The nurse blew hot air under his blankets to warm him. His doctor bustled in to say, “Everything went well.” The nurse prepped Bob to leave. Using my cheat sheet, I started the engine. Reaching for a non existing shifter and stepping on an absent clutch, I drove him home.

     Spence wheeled Bob up and in the house over a cement step. After Spence’s homemade meatloaf dinner, Bob and I watched The Blessing Bracelet, about counting blessings. I counted Spence’s help, driving without mishap, the mockingbird, and Bob’s successful surgery.

Love,

Janet

Dear Marilyn,

     I hope you can walk to the lake and don’t have doctor appointments today.

     In the recovery room with my brother Thursday, February 6, the nurse told us a visiting nurse would come to his house the next day and remove his catheter. Back home he called to see when they were coming. The man answering had no idea. “I’ll have someone call you.” No one called. Bob called again. A woman said, “They’re making appointments now. We’ll call later.” They called. Bob’s insurance didn’t cover home visits. “Go to your doctor’s office before eleven tomorrow. They’ll take the catheter out.”

     Friday morning, I drove Bob to his doctor’s office. Since I’d driven his Chevy Bolt the day before, I wasn’t reaching for my Subaru’s shifter or stepping on an imaginary clutch. Bob kept pointing out damage from Hurricane Milton last October. “That sign’s missing,” and “the tarp’s covering part of a missing roof.” I didn’t look. I concentrated on the multiple lanes and traffic lights—more than where I live in Western Pennsylvania. I did notice one thing—no potholes.

     We passed the statue of a witch doctor to enter the doctor’s office. The receptionist blurted, “We take out catheters at eight and never on Fridays.” She glared. “I’ll send a note to the nurse. Have a seat.” I wanted to verbally slap her but kept my mouth shut. A kinder nurse called Bob and me in. She said the doctor wanted the catheter in two days and made an 8:15 appointment for Monday. Spence and I were leaving Sunday. “Will your friend Andy drive you, Bob?”

     “I’ll drive myself.” Not my choice. But he’s tough—not one complaint about the runaround.

Love,

Janet

The first photo is the view under the royal poinciana tree with the palmetto tree across the way. The second is the mist on Friday morning

Dear Sophia,

     Are you enjoying ninth grade? I wonder if you still have to take physical education.

     The mornings of February 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9, I stepped outside barefoot for my physical workout—to the backyard of my brother Bob’s house in Bradenton, Florida. I stretched in yoga poses under a royal poinciana tree just getting its leaves back after Hurricane Milton blew them off last October. My fingers and toes didn’t mind the cement sidewalk bisecting the Bermuda grass lawn. My old knees? I placed Bob’s waffle cushion on cardboard over the cement to protect  them and gazed at a palmetto tree in the green space behind the houses in his community.

     The first sunny, forget-me-not-blue sky morning, a mocking bird in the palmetto sang a whole opera for me. The next day I made it out early enough for sunrise. In the span of a few downward dog, mountain, and cow poses, the sky changed from gray to light blue to bright blue. The mockingbird hid in the poinciana tree and kept singing no matter what pose I took. A modest bird chorus joined in. Gulls flew over in pairs and trios. A squirrel scampered across the green. 

     Friday gray clouds blanketed the sky. Mist covered the entire green space. A few chirps sounded but no bird songs. I stretched and figured the birds were waiting for the sunrise to sing. Sunrise came. The only song was the squeaks and rattles of garbage trucks. I asked Bob what happened to the birds. He said, “Birds don’t like fog. The sun will burn it off. You’ll see.”  It did. And Saturday while I stretched, the birds were singing again.

     Birds chatter at our home feeder. But I won’t go out for barefoot yoga with them—not yet.

Love,

Janet

Dear Xavier,

     You danced to music last summer. Do you like music? You were a happy little brother.

     I visited my little brother Bob. He lives in Florida. The weather was warm. I went out to his backyard. I stretched in yoga poses. My bare feet touched cement. My hands reached for the sky.

     A mockingbird sang in a palmetto tree. The bird is gray and black. It’s small but has a loud voice. The mockingbird mocks, or copies, bird songs. This mockingbird sang cardinal songs. Birdie, birdie, birdie and cheer, cheer, cheer. The mockingbird sang the Carolina wren song. Teakettle, teakettle, teakettle. The mockingbird sang seagull calls. KeOW, keOW, keOW and ha ha ha.

     The mockingbird flew out of the palmetto tree. The bird hid in the poinciana tree near me. I couldn’t see the bird. I could hear it. The bird never stopped singing.

     Later I drove Bob to his doctor. I waited and walked outside. A different mockingbird perched on a sign. This bird didn’t hide. It let me take photos. It tilted its head toward the sky. It sang for joy.

     Would you dance to the mockingbird’s song?

Love,

Janet

The first photo is of Bob and me showing the backs of our T-shirts. The second is of me showing the front of my T-shirt. 

Dear Lori and Eliza,

     I hope you and your special animals are cozy and warm. What a winter and no joke.

     I turned around an old joke—my relative went on vacation and all I got was this T-shirt. Early February, Spence and I escaped the snow and ice to visit my brother in Florida. The day after Bob’s outpatient surgery, he offered to make me a Wells Wood T-shirt with his transfers and heat press. I just needed to buy a T-shirt with no more than 30% cotton. “You can get a shirt at Target,” he said. So after dinner Friday night, while Bob watched FBI TV shows he’d recorded, Spence drove me to the nearby Target. It had rack after rack of ladies t-shirts. We inspected labels—most lacked fabric contents. “At least 30% recycled polyester” or “threaded content” were the most explicit. We drove to Bealls. The store had plenty of shirts with fabric labels but only two polyester t-shirts. One was orange, small, and showed my cleavage. One was white, large, and bigger than I usually wear. I opted for cover and settled for the large white shirt.

     Saturday morning. Bob made transfers: “Just Bob Doing Bob Things” for his shirt; a photo of  West Creek Road winding through the fall woods and “Janet of Wells Woods” for mine.

     He tested the machine and method on his shirt. Oops. The transfer came out a bit scorched and a half inch off centered—still wearable. I measured and measured to place the transfers on mine. We reduced the pressing time. My transfers came out centered but the color of the fall trees, tinged orange-gold on paper, were tinged purple-orange on the fabric—a cool mystical effect. The t-shirt is one I’ll treasure for the memories the two fellas played in its creation.

Love,

Janet

Dear Bob and Norma,

     I hope this card finds you cozy, warm, and well. While you had a sleet storm and below freezing temperatures, Spence and I basked in eighty-one degree air under blue skies. 

     That Saturday my nephew, your second cousin, Robert Michael Lohse III—yes, another Robert—made a side  trip to visit us at my brother Bob’s house in Florida. Robert runs errands on Saturdays and ends his day at an Amish market halfway between Bradenton and Sarasota. Since the market is closed Sundays, produce is two for the price of one between 7 and 8 p.m. that night. My mom would have been proud of him for shopping then.

     Robert, a golf pro and chef, works at Sarasota Hospital in Venice, Florida. He’s second in command of the food service. I pestered him for work stories. The hospital has 210 beds. They serve meals to 230 patients, all the staff, and visitors daily. He is in charge of thirty people. When I asked what he’d been cooking because he had cooked for hospitals in the past, his blue eyes bore into my hazel ones and said, “If I’m cooking, I’m in trouble. I’ve got plenty of other work to do.” After his ten to twelve hour days, he calls to check on Bob. Bob suspects Robert needs Bob to keep Robert awake during the long commute home.

     I’m glad he squeezed us into his busy schedule. Robert gives great hugs—I collected four before he left—and I enjoyed his stories.

Love,

Janet

The first photo is Little Girl watching Bob make the puzzle. The second is Little Girl and Big Boy on top of the puzzle cover. 

Dear Amelia,

     Did you make the Lego Christmas puzzle? I hope it was fun. Maybe you worked with Cindy.

     I worked on a puzzle with my brother Bob in Florida. We had started a 1000 piece puzzle when you were six. The picture was a cabin on a lake. Bob has two orange tabby cats. Can you guess what they did? If you guessed they broke the pieces we connected, you’re right. They lost pieces too. Bob didn’t want to work on a puzzle we couldn’t complete. 

     This year, we started a new 1000 piece puzzle. The picture has three children fishing in a stream. Because of the cats, Bob bought a fancy wood tray with a felt lining for the puzzle. The pieces don’t slide. The tray has four drawers. We separated pieces by color—green, blue, flowers, and extras. Some pieces stayed on the main tray. The best part was the rubbery-plastic cover to put over the puzzle. The cats took turns sleeping on the mat. They didn't hurt the puzzle.

     But this year we worked slower. Were the puzzle pieces darker than the other puzzle? Maybe our eyesight wasn’t as good. We assembled the border and small parts but could have used your help to move faster. The day Spence and I had to fly back home, the light over the puzzle table burnt out. Spence replaced two dead light bulbs. What a difference! Bob and I could see the colors of the puzzle pieces much easier. I fitted the golds and yellow of the sunrise in the upper right corner. Bob connected pieces in the bottom left corner. He fitted the little boy to the log and said, “It’s a morale booster to get that attached.”

     Do you feel a boost in confidence when you accomplish something?

Love,

Janet

The first photo is Little Girl and Big Boy on Bob’s bed. The second is Little Girl reclaiming Bob’s desk chair.

Dear Addy,

     I hope your tenth birthday and tenth Valentine's Day were fun.

     I had fun when Spence and I visited my brother Bob in Florida—most of the time. We visited to help Bob while he had surgery. Bob has two orange tabbies he calls Little Girl and Big Boy. When we got to Bob’s house, I fetched sheets and pillows to make Spence’s bed on the sofa. The cats watched me walk from the hall closet to the living room. Next I made space for me to sleep on an air mattress in Bob’s office. I moved his desk chair to a round table across the room. Big Boy hid under a chair at that table. Little Girl jumped on the desk chair as I rolled it. She hissed. She growled. But I kept pushing. Both cats scampered when I blew up the mattress with an air gun. I made the bed and closed the office door. Bob didn’t want the cats clawing the air mattress.

     When I ate breakfast at the kitchen table, Little Girl studied me. She hissed, came for a pet, or snatched some food and scampered. When I met her in the hall, she sniffed my hand and accepted pets, or she growled and hissed. And when I scrubbed the kitchen floor for Bob, she sat in the doorway and watched every stroke I made. Not one hiss. Not one growl.

     A puzzle. I never knew what to expect. Little Girl was friendly with Spence. She never hissed or growled at him. Perhaps she was used to men, living with Bob and seeing my nephew Robert.

     Since I hardly saw Big Boy, I asked Bob, “Do the cats hang out in your room?

     “Yeah. That’s Big Boy’s favorite spot. Lil Girl’s favorite place is the desk chair in my office.”

     Duh! I’d moved Little Girl’s chair and shut her out of the room. No wonder she hissed at me.

Love,

Janet

The first photo is Spence’s sunset photo. The second is Big Boy watching Spence tap his computer keys.

Dear Reid and Claire,

     I hope you two are content and managing this frigid winter. Brrr.

     Spence and I escaped the ice and snow to visit my brother. We soaked in six days of sunshine, blue skies, and balmy seventy to eighty degree weather. The trip wasn’t just a break from winter—though we did walk on the beach. We helped Bob with his outpatient surgery.

     Spence bought groceries becoming a frequent shopper at two Publix grocery stores. He cooked meals and entertained both Bob’s orange tabbies by kneading and rolling out pizza dough. Meals were yummy. And Spence performed chores like replacing the burned-out bulbs over the dining room table. That made tapping in puzzle pieces much easier for Bob and me.

     When not busy with domestic duties, Spence put his feet up and launched into his volunteer work. He updated his rental housing newsletter (rhino-news.rhinohio.com) and Stay in Touch, lead stories for CLASH (Cleveland Lead Advocates for Safe Housing). Mostly he researched lead safe housing rules and worked on a presentation. CMHA (Cleveland Metropolitan Housing Authority) asked CLASH to put together a slideshow and train their staff. 

     He did take breaks for solo walks. People watching at yard sales amused him. “Women were haggling. The price was two dollars. They wanted to pay one.” He snickered. “A man was studying a free item. He got out a tape measure. I walked around the block. He was still measuring. Finally he said, ‘I’ll take it.’” Spence laughed. “It was free!” On his last walk, he returned in the dark with a photo of the sunset. After the sun sets in Florida, dark falls quickly.

Love,

Janet