Skip to main content

The Strange Interlude


The Strange Interlude

“I know what I want to be when I grow up.” I remarked to Meg at the local nursery after I’d purchased some violas and a shrub. She smiled, “When you grow up. I like that.” I nodded, “Yeah. I’m starting a new career. I know very little.” We said good-bye and then I exited the shop into the parking lot.

Now nearly three years have passed since I’d become a single parent and a widow. It’s a strange interlude. The pandemic shutdown revamped my life a bit. My business of nearly thirty years took a big hit—but I was ready to let it go for a while or forever. Whichever came first. I wasn’t concerned. And if I was, I didn’t know it. Upon dissection of that, it was because I’d survived so much. I’d always, we’d always worked to our max and perhaps beyond our potential my husband and I. That included perhaps uncountable tasks we’d achieved whether we knew it or not.

Many things have changed. However, there were quite a few things that have remained the same. I’ve trained myself better in computers, not something my husband would have ever anticipated of me. On that same vibe I took an advanced Algebraic course out of John Hopkins for fun a year after he’d passed. He knew me as a lover of logarithms—works better for my chemistry mind. And my despise for Algebra. Something he was good at and taught on a high school level.

What has remained the same was our feisty geriatric male guinea pig who is still trying to hump one of our most geriatric bunnies that weigh more than twice his weight. As I write this, he goes to hump that bunny’s backside twice and after the second time of sliding off her—he then realizes it’s not only not doable. But also, she is not his species. Yes, much of nature remains the same.

I now fold into my Strange Interlude as if I’m writing my husband as he reside in some far off land, the living haven’t perhaps haven’t been yet:

So, Honey, I’ve gotten gutter guards put in last year and I got under one side of our deck to extend the flow from the gutters twenty feet away from the house. The grass looks greener. I had our old oak tree stump  that stood three feet in height removed two years ago and partially de-stumped a few inches down. Then I de-stumped and de-rocked another two feet down. And our seventy-five-foot swamp maple, I’d questioned for years before your illness I’d questioned the hazard I’d felt the tree may present. Last summer, I finally had that taken out and partially de-stumped a few inches; then I de-stumped another eighteen inches down pulling out about 400 rocks and some boulders.

Over the past two springs I removed our arborvitaes that had been decimated by the deer during and after the pandemic and replaced them with deer resistant box wood shrubs, they are safe and work just fine. I took the two Korean lilacs and four azalea shrubs near the back of the house out. They were growing too close to the foundation and replaced them with deer resistant shrubs. I removed the five forty-plus year-old hemlocks against the side of our deck. I tried to transplant them like you would have tried to do. However, the summer drought of 2022 was too much for them. I just removed them from the transplanted area in the back by the still living fully section of arborvitaes you had put in 1999. Too, we’ve had even more wildlife than ever in our backyard. A coyote, groundhog, a bear and a couple foxes have now trapesed through our yard over the past year. I think you’d marvel of it.

Tony and Cathy down the street have sold their home and will be moving soon. Vinny down the street just had an addition put on his home. Looks classy. I had part of our sidewalk and our apron redone this past autumn. Looks good and our eldest’s car  has much less chance of scraping. Yeah, I helped her get a brand-new car. It’s cute and she pays for her own car insurance too. Hey, by the way, she got to ski out west like you’d always wanted to take her skiing. Portions of the street are getting quieter. Mr. Weiss has moved along too. The McGarry’s moved out. Gail and Bryan down and around the corner are having siding redone. They took out their front tree, the drought did a number on it, apparently.  And across the street from them remember the house decorated to the nines? Well, Marsha and her husband just sold the house recently and no longer live there as well. I think Amby is still alive. You know the old Marine who I used to see out walking his dog? He’s got to be like age 97 or something now. His son passed I think like 18 months ago, I think.

Oh, and my vegetable and fruit garden—I made a garden in your memory instead. Our wedding colors painted on nice rocks, with echinacea, allium, and lavender plants present, and the raspberry shrubs are still against the garage behind all that. Oh, I got rid of the old refrigerator and my office fish tank. Got to save a little money you know. And something you’d thought would have been a real good idea. I got a mini drying rack in the furnace room for the fleece we use for pet care. I knew you’d like that too.

Well, I’d better get. We still have one child home to serve. So, there’s that.---Jody-Lynn Reicher


Popular posts from this blog

2023 Holiday Letter from the Reicher's

Well, I didn't think I'd be doing a Holiday Letter this year, but here goes... The Spirit of Norm is in the air. As the wind whips with minus a true snowstorm.  In hopes the Farmers Almanac was correct, I pray to the snow gods. Rain ensued the month of December thus far. We have nearly tripled the amount of rainfall usual for December in New Jersey. And I've witnessed its treachery. Storms such as these hit us hardest in July. Then remained fairly intense through til about early October.  Our daughters are doing well, Thank God.  Their Dad would be proud of them. Our oldest Sarah, now a Junior at UCLA pursuing her degree in Chemical Engineering. She's digging the whole California scene. Which I thought it was for her. She's had some good traveling on her off times from school. For her March 2023 week off, she drove her and a few friends out to Lake Tahoe and went downhill skiing for a first in nearly 5 years. She had to rent the ski equipment.  Funny enough when

Sledging the Hammer

  "You could have a steam trainIf you'd just lay down your tracks..."---Peter Gabriel's 'Sledgehammer' lyrics. This is not the tune that lay in my mind this morning as I reminisced about yesterday's volunteers to help on trail crew.    However, as I looked up the proper definition of sledging that song popped up. I say sledging, which is my own take on swinging a hammer that we call a "Double Jack". The Single Jack is six pounds. I know that because our regular crew of five including me and one staff supervisor are handling Harriman State Park Trails, and have to carry about four of those, two shaping hammers, along with a hoist, belay bag with heavy equipment, first aid kit, double Jack, three 18lb rock bars, a lopper, three buckets, three eye to eyes, two burlap straps, two green wrapping straps, two pick Mattox, a roe hoe or two, a bar for either the two ton or one ton hoist, the feathers with pegs for splitting rocks that we drill... s

It Follows Me...

One may wonder what would inspire someone to work hard labor voluntarily. For me it’s the love of many things. It’s the passion that won’t be broken. Because there are so many aspects to such service for me, that it may seem beyond comprehension. I’d compare it to my youthful desire to enter the military as a young child. Then for a multitude of reasons only to follow through thirteen years later at age eighteen entering the Marines. There were things that followed me throughout my life. Sometimes they were questions of how I ever gave up my over decade’s life dream to become a New Jersey State Trooper. My childhood desire to never wed—to never have any serious relationships with another human being. I desired only service in military and law enforcement nearly my whole childhood. Too the extent that even one of my Marine Corps superiors expressed to me last July, “I never thought you’d ever get married. It just wasn’t who you were. You were always a loner.” I replied, “Yeah. I know.