...there was a quiet little street.
It was not a long street, it came to a dead end after only a few short blocks. It was not even paved, it was in fact, covered with layers of gravel that eventually flung itself to its outer edges leaving potholes where cars actually drove. The people living on the street would take turns knocking on neighbors' doors to collect money to buy new gravel to fill up the holes.
Once the money had been collected, some Saturday morning truckloads of gravel would arrive and all the men living on the street would go out with shovels and rakes and spend the day filling the holes, and leveling off the street surface the best they could. It made for a tiring day.
Then, one year, the dead end part of the street was annexed to the city, the people rejoiced, and immediately requested their end be paved and brought up to city code. Oh, it was expensive and the homeowners spent many, many, MANY years paying off the expense on their property taxes. However, everyone knew it was worth the price.
Years passed.
At first the city took very good care of this several block stretch of dead end street. The crews would come out with their city trucks, hose down the gutters and then the sweeper swept out the loosened the debris that had begun to collect there. They even came in the autumn and cleared the drains of all the fallen leaves.
Years passed.
The city no longer had funds to look after the street. It fell into neglect. Potholes appeared, native greenery began to grow along the gutters, and once the rainy season appeared it was the locals that donned boots and headgear and with rake in hand went out in downpours to push and pull fallen leaves out of the drains. Complaints to the Powers To Be, fell on deaf ears. Sometimes an anonymous somebody would buy a couple of bags of 'Road Repair Pothole Patch' plop them into a pothole, slice it open and hope the local drivers would run over it until it leveled off and fill the hole. Poor substitute for an up-grade repair, but 'close enough for who it's for'.
This Tuesday.
Lo, the mailman delivered a brochure from the Bureau of Transportation addressed to:
"Current Resident".
The label read: ADVANCE NOTICE OF PREVENTIVE STREET MAINTENANCE.
Dear Resident:
This summer, the City is planning to repair and seal your street,...What????? Us ladies were ecstatic, phones began to ring. Gone would be the potholes and the native greenery from the gutters. We were all "twitterpated".
Then, as all bubbles seem to do...our bubble burst. I re-read the brochure. Damn, that fine print! What that first paragraph really said was.
"This summer, the City is planning to repair and seal your street, or nearby street, as part of its neighborhood street maintenance program." Sigh. "You will receive at least 24 hours' notice before work begins, and your street will be closed."
Now, the good thing is the brochure also states the street will be cleaned first and yesterday after a long, long time, the street sweeper did go up and down the street...once...at least loosening the local greenery, if not physically removing it from the gutters. However, I'm not getting too excited...the sweeping could have been a simple fluke.
The brochure assures me (if) my street is going to be worked, I will wake up some morning and find a 'door hanger' notice announcing the work will begin in 24 hours and I will have to move my parked car (LOL), and to keep all my people, pets and other vehicles off the street until repairs are made.
I've decided I'm not going to get excited until my 'door hanger' appears. And, there you have it...Once upon a time, there was a quiet little street.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Am I the only one?
Okay, I know you regular readers have a pretty good idea I'm kind of a peculiar kind of a gal. Like constructing a cardboard laundry room in my garage...then painting it white. I also spent a day (literally) dragging two slightly used park benches from my back to front yard. Oh, and lest we forget, there was the retaining wall and dirt moving project of a few years ago.
Then there are all those personal 'little' things I report on about becoming aged that nobody else will have the guts to report. (No, I will NOT re-report them here.)
However, last night another peculiarity of mine pushed itself to the surface. This is something I've noticed before, but always forgot about once I'd finished this particular 'thing'.
I worked in the yard a bit yesterday and I got some dirt under my fingernails. Oh, I washed my hands several times afterwards, but as I was getting ready for bed I noticed there was still a bit of grime under the nails. I have a specific old toothbrush for such occasions and I put a bit of liquid soap on the brush and began working the nails on my right hand. Brush in my left hand, back and forth it went. I worked loose old cuticle on the top of the nails, and massaged under the nails removing particles of dirt. I got a rhythm going...I could have written a song.
It was time to transfer the brush to my right hand and start the same routine on my left hand. First loosening the cuticles and then I began to work on the dirt under the nails. WAIT A MINUTE! What the heck? My right hand was not moving at all. Nope, I was holding it rigid, and my left hand was doing all the labor. Back and forth went my hand, the brush firmly anchored in my right fist. Rub, rub, rub went my fingers back and forth across the brush, cuticles neatly loosened.
Time to work on the dirt under the nails. Again, it was the left hand that did the work. How odd. At this point I decided this was ridiculous, and tried to make my right hand make the toothbrush do all the work. OMG, that was soooooo hard, and clumsy, and uncomfortable...and to make matters worse my poor left hand wanted to take charge so badly I thought my hands might come to blows.
It was absurd. But, at the same time I was fascinated. How did I not concentrate on this before? And, how did I not realize just how dominant my left hand was. Oh, sure, I've always done many, many things with my left hand, but this incident certainly brought it home. I've concluded I'm one peculiar duck.
So, I washed my hands, admired my pushed back cuticles and clean nails then slipped that brush back into its holder. Finally I reached for my tooth toothbrush. I uncapped the toothpaste tube with my left hand, spread the paste on the brush with my right, and then brushed my teeth with the brush in my left hand. That hand snickering all the while.
Finally, ready for bed, my curiosity got the best of me, and I began to wonder whether I'm the only one who, when cleaning their nails with a toothbrush uses their dominant hand in the same manner as I? I'm very perplexed...am I the only one?
Then there are all those personal 'little' things I report on about becoming aged that nobody else will have the guts to report. (No, I will NOT re-report them here.)
However, last night another peculiarity of mine pushed itself to the surface. This is something I've noticed before, but always forgot about once I'd finished this particular 'thing'.
I worked in the yard a bit yesterday and I got some dirt under my fingernails. Oh, I washed my hands several times afterwards, but as I was getting ready for bed I noticed there was still a bit of grime under the nails. I have a specific old toothbrush for such occasions and I put a bit of liquid soap on the brush and began working the nails on my right hand. Brush in my left hand, back and forth it went. I worked loose old cuticle on the top of the nails, and massaged under the nails removing particles of dirt. I got a rhythm going...I could have written a song.
It was time to transfer the brush to my right hand and start the same routine on my left hand. First loosening the cuticles and then I began to work on the dirt under the nails. WAIT A MINUTE! What the heck? My right hand was not moving at all. Nope, I was holding it rigid, and my left hand was doing all the labor. Back and forth went my hand, the brush firmly anchored in my right fist. Rub, rub, rub went my fingers back and forth across the brush, cuticles neatly loosened.
Time to work on the dirt under the nails. Again, it was the left hand that did the work. How odd. At this point I decided this was ridiculous, and tried to make my right hand make the toothbrush do all the work. OMG, that was soooooo hard, and clumsy, and uncomfortable...and to make matters worse my poor left hand wanted to take charge so badly I thought my hands might come to blows.
It was absurd. But, at the same time I was fascinated. How did I not concentrate on this before? And, how did I not realize just how dominant my left hand was. Oh, sure, I've always done many, many things with my left hand, but this incident certainly brought it home. I've concluded I'm one peculiar duck.
So, I washed my hands, admired my pushed back cuticles and clean nails then slipped that brush back into its holder. Finally I reached for my tooth toothbrush. I uncapped the toothpaste tube with my left hand, spread the paste on the brush with my right, and then brushed my teeth with the brush in my left hand. That hand snickering all the while.
Finally, ready for bed, my curiosity got the best of me, and I began to wonder whether I'm the only one who, when cleaning their nails with a toothbrush uses their dominant hand in the same manner as I? I'm very perplexed...am I the only one?
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
So...
...there's this mole.
(Isn't there always.)
It's been very persistent this last week. Every morning I go out to my back yard, and...there...on both sides of my sidewalk are two mounds of dirt. They're directly across from each other. It's been infuriating. I've been taking out my broom and dust pan, sweeping up the mess, and depositing the dirt in various gardens.
Grrrr!
The first couple of days, after the clean-up, I would simply stomp the sod back down over the open hole, somewhat covering it up, and walk away.
Crap.
When I discovered being nice, and hoping the mole might consider living in harmony with me was not going to work, and getting frustrated at having to clean up every morning after its night time labors I decided to take decisive action and shove some rocks down the holes and block its way. Yeah, right!
Sigh.
The mole's invasion continued...it simply pushed the rocks out along with new dirt. Finally yesterday, and as Popeye used to say "That's all I can stands, can't stands no more." I cleaned up the piles of dirt, swept the sidewalk clean (again), (and...this is hyperbole)...rolled boulders the size of the moon into the gigantic open pits, then shoved the sod back into place and stomped, stomped, stomped till sweat dropped of my brow. As Elmer Fudd used to say, That'll show that "wasically wabbit"...er' mole who's in charge around here.
Well, to tell the truth, when I awoke this morning I expected to find that the mole had somehow managed to push my boulders out of their tunnels and I would find a note attached to them stating, "Ha, ha, fooled you...I win. Been here long before you, will be here long after." I was not looking forward to the trek along the sidewalk to the battle ground.
Son of a gun.
There were no mounds of dirt, no boulders, no note. I win! I win! But, as Foghorn Leghorn would say..."That's a joke son, that's a joke." Nobody ever wins over a mole.
(Isn't there always.)
It's been very persistent this last week. Every morning I go out to my back yard, and...there...on both sides of my sidewalk are two mounds of dirt. They're directly across from each other. It's been infuriating. I've been taking out my broom and dust pan, sweeping up the mess, and depositing the dirt in various gardens.
Grrrr!
The first couple of days, after the clean-up, I would simply stomp the sod back down over the open hole, somewhat covering it up, and walk away.
Crap.
When I discovered being nice, and hoping the mole might consider living in harmony with me was not going to work, and getting frustrated at having to clean up every morning after its night time labors I decided to take decisive action and shove some rocks down the holes and block its way. Yeah, right!
Sigh.
The mole's invasion continued...it simply pushed the rocks out along with new dirt. Finally yesterday, and as Popeye used to say "That's all I can stands, can't stands no more." I cleaned up the piles of dirt, swept the sidewalk clean (again), (and...this is hyperbole)...rolled boulders the size of the moon into the gigantic open pits, then shoved the sod back into place and stomped, stomped, stomped till sweat dropped of my brow. As Elmer Fudd used to say, That'll show that "wasically wabbit"...er' mole who's in charge around here.
Well, to tell the truth, when I awoke this morning I expected to find that the mole had somehow managed to push my boulders out of their tunnels and I would find a note attached to them stating, "Ha, ha, fooled you...I win. Been here long before you, will be here long after." I was not looking forward to the trek along the sidewalk to the battle ground.
Son of a gun.
There were no mounds of dirt, no boulders, no note. I win! I win! But, as Foghorn Leghorn would say..."That's a joke son, that's a joke." Nobody ever wins over a mole.
Monday, July 28, 2014
WKRP
Oh my gosh. I do so love my old time television show channels. Sunday Evenings one of those channels shows back to back episodes of WKRP. I try not to miss a single one. Some episodes are funnier than others, some dealt with meaningful issues of the time, while others delved into the personalities of the characters working that the somewhat inept radio station in Cincinnati, Ohio. I couldn't help but fall in love with these people.
Anyway, one of my favorites was when, for a Thanksgiving Day promotion, they decided to heave live turkeys out of a helicopter. I have to say to this day, the news report 'live' from the scene of the turkeys departure from the aircraft still cracks me up. "Oh, the humanity!" And of course, the line "As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly." is burned into my memory bank forever.
Then, last night they had an episode about garbage. I don't remember ever seeing the particular show before, and this one came pretty close to matching that of the turkey drop.
It seems Cincinnati's refuse workers were in the throes of a garbage/trash strike, and the morning guy (the always outspoken Johnny "The Doctor" Fever) suggested everybody take their garbage/trash and leave it on City Hall's front steps.
Unbeknownst to The Doctor, and the station, it was discovered WKRP, not only had 'a listener' they had listeners, who were doing exactly what The Doctor had asked them to do. Throw their garbage/trash on City Hall's steps. Well, of course the half hour show continued to spiral out of control from there.
Eventually the good doctor was required to apologize for the morning remarks, which was a very bitter pill for Johnnny Fever to swallow. However with the help of Bailey, another WKRP employee, Johnny is able to squeak out an apology, but not before he manages to say (on air), to Bailey, "This is, uh, your Doctor speaking. Hello, and good afternoon Cincinnati. I sure would like to take you home and kiss you all over in the dark."
After which, his courage renewed, he announces on air... "Attention fellow babies. If you're driving around out there with your car full of garbage right now, and you were on your way to City Hall, the Doctor feels kind of responsible for that. So why don't you cruise on by the mayor's home? Or maybe the Union chief's home? We'll get those addresses for you real soon so you can find 'em real easy. The point is, if your trash comes flying out on the lawn, it could be an accident, or it could be a political statement! My point here is, we don't have to take this garbage anymore!"
"I'll tell you something else, we oughta all stop paying our utility bills! What's the utility company gonna do, close its doors? And let's talk about the telephone!"
Sigh! My point is, these folks always, always had good intentions, they simply just didn't know how to go about them. Maybe that's what made them so endearing, maybe once in a while all of us should 'unload' no matter how ridiculous that unloading might be. Hey, don't you wish you had the guts to throw your garbage on the front steps of your city hall...or at least a bucketful of e-coli laden water once in a while.
Anyway, one of my favorites was when, for a Thanksgiving Day promotion, they decided to heave live turkeys out of a helicopter. I have to say to this day, the news report 'live' from the scene of the turkeys departure from the aircraft still cracks me up. "Oh, the humanity!" And of course, the line "As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly." is burned into my memory bank forever.
Then, last night they had an episode about garbage. I don't remember ever seeing the particular show before, and this one came pretty close to matching that of the turkey drop.
It seems Cincinnati's refuse workers were in the throes of a garbage/trash strike, and the morning guy (the always outspoken Johnny "The Doctor" Fever) suggested everybody take their garbage/trash and leave it on City Hall's front steps.
Unbeknownst to The Doctor, and the station, it was discovered WKRP, not only had 'a listener' they had listeners, who were doing exactly what The Doctor had asked them to do. Throw their garbage/trash on City Hall's steps. Well, of course the half hour show continued to spiral out of control from there.
Eventually the good doctor was required to apologize for the morning remarks, which was a very bitter pill for Johnnny Fever to swallow. However with the help of Bailey, another WKRP employee, Johnny is able to squeak out an apology, but not before he manages to say (on air), to Bailey, "This is, uh, your Doctor speaking. Hello, and good afternoon Cincinnati. I sure would like to take you home and kiss you all over in the dark."
After which, his courage renewed, he announces on air... "Attention fellow babies. If you're driving around out there with your car full of garbage right now, and you were on your way to City Hall, the Doctor feels kind of responsible for that. So why don't you cruise on by the mayor's home? Or maybe the Union chief's home? We'll get those addresses for you real soon so you can find 'em real easy. The point is, if your trash comes flying out on the lawn, it could be an accident, or it could be a political statement! My point here is, we don't have to take this garbage anymore!"
"I'll tell you something else, we oughta all stop paying our utility bills! What's the utility company gonna do, close its doors? And let's talk about the telephone!"
Sigh! My point is, these folks always, always had good intentions, they simply just didn't know how to go about them. Maybe that's what made them so endearing, maybe once in a while all of us should 'unload' no matter how ridiculous that unloading might be. Hey, don't you wish you had the guts to throw your garbage on the front steps of your city hall...or at least a bucketful of e-coli laden water once in a while.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Lazy, hazy crazy days of summer
Today's blog is compliments of my being misty-eyed, nostalgic and slightly melancholy.
Those Lazy Hazy Crazy Days Of Summer
Roll out those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer
Those days of soda and pretzels and beer
Roll out those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer
Dust off the sun and moon and sing a song of cheer.
Just fill your basket full of sandwiches and weenies
Then lock the house up, now you're set
And on the beach you'll see the girls in their bikinis
As cute as ever but they never get 'em wet.
Don't hafta tell a girl and fella about a drive-in
Or some romantic movie scene
Right from the moment that those lovers start arrivin'
You'll see more kissin' in the cars than on the screen
Roll out those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer
Those days of soda and pretzels and beer
Roll out those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer
You'll wish that summer could always be here.
Songwriters: C. TOBIAS, H. CARSTE
Those Lazy Hazy Crazy Days Of Summer lyrics © DOWNTOWN MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Wish you were there? Anywhere?
Seriously, I just had a thought....if you have a place that YOU wish you were there...let me know, Frankie and I will research it, and I will blog about it and then, the three of us will explore all of that places possibilities.
Wish I was there.
This morning Frankie and I were discussing places we've never been, and where we'd like to go. A couple of days ago, either on Facebook, or perhaps my e-mail something was said about...wishing I was there. I don't even remember who was doing the wishing or where it was they wanted to go, but it got me to thinking about the places I wish I was and I happened to share that with Frankie.
Me: "Gee, Frankie, I wish I was in Wales today."
Frankie: "Really? I wish I was back in bed."
Me: "You are such a 'wet blanket' all the time. Can't you just for once get into the spirit of imagining? It's not like I'm asking you to spend money, or put yourself out, or even expend much energy for crying out loud."
Frankie: (realizing I'm going to rant) "Okay, okay, where in Wales do you wish you were?"
Me: (Taken aback) "Well, let's go check."
I drag her to the office, sit at the computer, and Google Wales. I'm immediately smitten with a tiny little town called Tenby, located along the coast of southwest wales in an area knows as Pembrokeshire. It sits on a hilltop where the remains of a castle and walled town can still be explored. Parts of the town are very, very old, while the outer suburban areas are much more modern. The older section has what appears to be the oldest surviving buildings and they gently curve around the bay, these buildings butt up against each other and are painted in lovely pastel colors of yellows, greens, blues, pinks and peaches that sparkle in the sunlight.
I think we will rent the Dragon Cottage for a month, and since it accommodates six adults, I believe Frankie and I will put the word out that should anyone like to join us, they will be welcome to stay with us there.
You have to realize this is a fairly small town, and there are not a great deal of activities, but we will take full advantage of all the historical places and points of interest in the immediate area. In particular, Carew Castle, Manorbier Castle, Tenby Museum and Art Gallery, Dinosaur Park, Manor House Wildlife Park and Upton Castle Gardens. Then we will take time to peruse the countryside, where the custom of the UK seems to be having rock fences outlining each field, and I suspect owner property lines. Of course we will try all the local restaurants and enjoy local cuisine while trying to pick up as much of the language as we can, then spend the rest of the time relaxing in our beautiful Dragon Cottage.
Me: "Frankie, to tell the truth, I don't even care if it rains the whole time we're there. You are coming aren't you?"
Frankie: "You bet, this has been a lot of fun. Next time I get to pick a 'wish I was there' place, okay? Can I pick anywhere I want?"
Me: (Delighted Frankie's actually shown an interest) "Sure thing."
Frankie: "I wish you hadn't gotten rid of all those National Geographic Magazines when you put the house on the market."
Me: "Me too, Frankie, me too."
Well, hind sight, is after all 20/20.
Where do you wish you were?
Me: "Gee, Frankie, I wish I was in Wales today."
Frankie: "Really? I wish I was back in bed."
Me: "You are such a 'wet blanket' all the time. Can't you just for once get into the spirit of imagining? It's not like I'm asking you to spend money, or put yourself out, or even expend much energy for crying out loud."
Frankie: (realizing I'm going to rant) "Okay, okay, where in Wales do you wish you were?"
Me: (Taken aback) "Well, let's go check."
I drag her to the office, sit at the computer, and Google Wales. I'm immediately smitten with a tiny little town called Tenby, located along the coast of southwest wales in an area knows as Pembrokeshire. It sits on a hilltop where the remains of a castle and walled town can still be explored. Parts of the town are very, very old, while the outer suburban areas are much more modern. The older section has what appears to be the oldest surviving buildings and they gently curve around the bay, these buildings butt up against each other and are painted in lovely pastel colors of yellows, greens, blues, pinks and peaches that sparkle in the sunlight.
I think we will rent the Dragon Cottage for a month, and since it accommodates six adults, I believe Frankie and I will put the word out that should anyone like to join us, they will be welcome to stay with us there.
You have to realize this is a fairly small town, and there are not a great deal of activities, but we will take full advantage of all the historical places and points of interest in the immediate area. In particular, Carew Castle, Manorbier Castle, Tenby Museum and Art Gallery, Dinosaur Park, Manor House Wildlife Park and Upton Castle Gardens. Then we will take time to peruse the countryside, where the custom of the UK seems to be having rock fences outlining each field, and I suspect owner property lines. Of course we will try all the local restaurants and enjoy local cuisine while trying to pick up as much of the language as we can, then spend the rest of the time relaxing in our beautiful Dragon Cottage.
Me: "Frankie, to tell the truth, I don't even care if it rains the whole time we're there. You are coming aren't you?"
Frankie: "You bet, this has been a lot of fun. Next time I get to pick a 'wish I was there' place, okay? Can I pick anywhere I want?"
Me: (Delighted Frankie's actually shown an interest) "Sure thing."
Frankie: "I wish you hadn't gotten rid of all those National Geographic Magazines when you put the house on the market."
Me: "Me too, Frankie, me too."
Well, hind sight, is after all 20/20.
Where do you wish you were?
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Summer
grasshoppers, butterflies, fireflies and crickets
sudden summer showers
the smell of ozone on the air
humidity
long, slow evenings
silhouette twilight's
soft summer breezes
busy honeybees
sunflowers
tomatoes
peaches
country roads with tar bubbles
laundry air drying on a clothes line
hand hewed clothes posts
clothes pins
blankets thrown over grass
girls sunbathing
frogs singing at night
porch lights
bicycles
vacations, picnics, family reunions
neighborhood baseball
swings, teeter-totters, aluminum slides
orange and fudgesicles
hay rides
huckleberries at the side of the road
aurora borealis
this was my childhood summer.
sudden summer showers
the smell of ozone on the air
humidity
long, slow evenings
silhouette twilight's
soft summer breezes
busy honeybees
sunflowers
tomatoes
peaches
country roads with tar bubbles
laundry air drying on a clothes line
hand hewed clothes posts
clothes pins
blankets thrown over grass
girls sunbathing
frogs singing at night
porch lights
bicycles
vacations, picnics, family reunions
neighborhood baseball
swings, teeter-totters, aluminum slides
orange and fudgesicles
hay rides
huckleberries at the side of the road
aurora borealis
this was my childhood summer.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Baaa, haaa, haaa
My hexagram for the day states "...you shouldn't move to fast today." Baaa, haaa, haaa! Little does it know I couldn't even if I wanted to.
You see, I had a bit of a mishap. Yes, over the weekend, my puppy and I collided. Well...here's what happened.
Back story: Zorro, has a favorite little thing he likes to do, and I confess, I love when he does this. He climbs up on my chest, puts his nose up against mine and stares into my eyes, it cracks me up every time. His narrow, long nose and the tilt of his head makes him look like a Lemur when it stands on it's back legs and looks longingly into the early morning light. I tell ya, it is really, really cute and I adore these moments...most of the time.
Anyway, there I was Saturday afternoon waiting for the washer and/or dryer to beep, lounging on the sofa watching something on TV. Probably Green Acres or another old time show, when Zorro decided he was going to do his Lemur thing. Mostly I have a second or two to prepare myself for his leap, but this time I missed and one of his front paws landed just below my sternum, and sunk in. The pain was awful, and it took a second or two for me to take my hand and place his paw in a spot that didn't hurt. Ouch, ouch, ouch.
Of course with my upbringing, I took my hand and vigorously rubbed the spot, probably rubbing more vigorously than I should have, and went about the business of doing laundry. I didn't think much about what had happened.
By the time evening came I could feel pain, pretty bad pain. It took a while to remember how the heck I'd hurt myself, then remembered the unfortunate encounter I'd had with Zorro. I went to bed thinking, 'It'll be better by tomorrow'.
I wasn't. Sunday, the pain was super bad, I could barely touch the area without wanting to scream. Just to show how bad it was, I even contemplated going to Emergency Services. Did I have a bruised liver, a broken sternum. Hmmm? Nah, I hate doctoring, I'll be fine. And, so the day went. For a while I would sit up...very....very...straight. Then, I'd walk around for a while. Then I would lay down...straight...side laying hurt a lot. I went to bed.
Ow, ow, ow. I would doze off, but wake up because I hurt. Eventually I got up and grabbed my tube of Arnica Gel and rubbed it across the bruised area. I couldn't apply a lot of pressure, but I did manage to smear the area pretty good. I re-applied the gel a couple of times during the night.
Monday morning, although it hurt a lot when I touched the bruised area (which by the way has not turned black and blue) I still couldn't tell exactly where the injury was. But, thanks to the gel, I was feeling a bit better, at least I knew nothing was broken. However, bending over, getting up, sitting down, lying down, sitting slumped over, was not an easy task. It hurt...all the time.
Monday night it was still hurting all the time so when I went to bed I reapplied the gel, then spent most of the night on my back. When CC jumped up onto the bed I gasped aloud, fearful she would land on my bruise. Fortunately she did not. I slept reasonably well.
This morning I awoke, still in pain, but I discovered I'd recovered enough that when I applied a new dose of Arnica I could apply a bit of pressure and I discovered where the impact had been. It's just below and slightly to the right of my sternum, where the ribs are attached, apparently Zorro's paw, must have landed exactly there...where the sternum and ribs attach. The pain radiates out from there.
The good things about all of this are I must watch my posture, I'm sure I've not broken anything and my liver has not been bruised. The bad things are, I have a hard time sitting for any length of time, it still hurts to lay on my right side, bending over to pick things up or slumping over is quite painful, and it's going to take some time to heal. Oh, and laughing and coughing...well, let's just say for the next few days I'm going to try not to.
Am I going to survive? You bet ya', though it's going to be a while for the pain to stop. And, you'd think I've learned my lesson, right? That I would discourage Zorro from wanting to do his Lemur trick. I should, I know I should...but, it's just so darn cute.
I gotta go, I've been sitting too long. Ow, ow, ow.
You see, I had a bit of a mishap. Yes, over the weekend, my puppy and I collided. Well...here's what happened.
Back story: Zorro, has a favorite little thing he likes to do, and I confess, I love when he does this. He climbs up on my chest, puts his nose up against mine and stares into my eyes, it cracks me up every time. His narrow, long nose and the tilt of his head makes him look like a Lemur when it stands on it's back legs and looks longingly into the early morning light. I tell ya, it is really, really cute and I adore these moments...most of the time.
Anyway, there I was Saturday afternoon waiting for the washer and/or dryer to beep, lounging on the sofa watching something on TV. Probably Green Acres or another old time show, when Zorro decided he was going to do his Lemur thing. Mostly I have a second or two to prepare myself for his leap, but this time I missed and one of his front paws landed just below my sternum, and sunk in. The pain was awful, and it took a second or two for me to take my hand and place his paw in a spot that didn't hurt. Ouch, ouch, ouch.
Of course with my upbringing, I took my hand and vigorously rubbed the spot, probably rubbing more vigorously than I should have, and went about the business of doing laundry. I didn't think much about what had happened.
By the time evening came I could feel pain, pretty bad pain. It took a while to remember how the heck I'd hurt myself, then remembered the unfortunate encounter I'd had with Zorro. I went to bed thinking, 'It'll be better by tomorrow'.
I wasn't. Sunday, the pain was super bad, I could barely touch the area without wanting to scream. Just to show how bad it was, I even contemplated going to Emergency Services. Did I have a bruised liver, a broken sternum. Hmmm? Nah, I hate doctoring, I'll be fine. And, so the day went. For a while I would sit up...very....very...straight. Then, I'd walk around for a while. Then I would lay down...straight...side laying hurt a lot. I went to bed.
Ow, ow, ow. I would doze off, but wake up because I hurt. Eventually I got up and grabbed my tube of Arnica Gel and rubbed it across the bruised area. I couldn't apply a lot of pressure, but I did manage to smear the area pretty good. I re-applied the gel a couple of times during the night.
Monday morning, although it hurt a lot when I touched the bruised area (which by the way has not turned black and blue) I still couldn't tell exactly where the injury was. But, thanks to the gel, I was feeling a bit better, at least I knew nothing was broken. However, bending over, getting up, sitting down, lying down, sitting slumped over, was not an easy task. It hurt...all the time.
Monday night it was still hurting all the time so when I went to bed I reapplied the gel, then spent most of the night on my back. When CC jumped up onto the bed I gasped aloud, fearful she would land on my bruise. Fortunately she did not. I slept reasonably well.
This morning I awoke, still in pain, but I discovered I'd recovered enough that when I applied a new dose of Arnica I could apply a bit of pressure and I discovered where the impact had been. It's just below and slightly to the right of my sternum, where the ribs are attached, apparently Zorro's paw, must have landed exactly there...where the sternum and ribs attach. The pain radiates out from there.
The good things about all of this are I must watch my posture, I'm sure I've not broken anything and my liver has not been bruised. The bad things are, I have a hard time sitting for any length of time, it still hurts to lay on my right side, bending over to pick things up or slumping over is quite painful, and it's going to take some time to heal. Oh, and laughing and coughing...well, let's just say for the next few days I'm going to try not to.
Am I going to survive? You bet ya', though it's going to be a while for the pain to stop. And, you'd think I've learned my lesson, right? That I would discourage Zorro from wanting to do his Lemur trick. I should, I know I should...but, it's just so darn cute.
I gotta go, I've been sitting too long. Ow, ow, ow.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Good times
Okay, I admit it, I've had a crush on somebody...forever. He's a good looking dude, dark curly hair, kind of rugged looking, bedroom eyes...yes, the kind of guy you would not mind having his slippers under your bed. Sigh. I've watched him from afar for more years than I can remember. I've watched him age, which he has done much more gracefully than I. But, then I think men do.
Of course, I'm talking about James Garner.
I've got a few mementos of him, an autographed picture, complete with certificate of authenticity, some pictures I've downloaded from the Internet showing him aging...still the handsome devil that he is, and a book with a synopsis of every single episode of his popular television series, The Rockford Files.
Now it's true, I don't know much about the man's personal life, but I can imagine he's exactly kind of man he portrayed in all the roles he chose to play. Always a gentleman, always ready for deadpan comedy, always a sexy, sweet, kind lover. Oh yes...I'm swooning.
There are of course more movie roles than I can possible list here that have been on the 'big screen' and television, and he's played with the biggest of female leads. Wish I could have been one of them. However, I will list a few of my favorites here. Maverick, Support Your Local Sheriff, Murphy's Romance, Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood and My Fellow Americans.
But, my all time favorite film role is the one he played later in life, 1999 to be exact, in a made for television movie beside Dame Julie Andrews called One Special Night...oh dear, my throat is 'lumping up'. It is perhaps the most touching love story you will ever, ever know. I purposely will not divulge the plot so you can 'feel' the story as it moves along.
Then there were the TV series, Maverick and of course The Rockford File. Who among us has not enjoyed both of those. In the end though, I guess I have to say it was Jimmy Rockford that finally stole my heart. Dear, sweet, Jimmy, that living on the edge private detective, who got beat up, threatened, car-chased, car-wrecked but, went about setting things right while trying not to end up in jail himself in just about every episode, James Rockford. Man, I loved Jimmy. He loved his dad, and would do anything for his friends. He lived in a junkie trailer on the beach in Malibu, next to a restaurant I've actually had lunch...and dinner. He, in the series, hung out there, too...wish we could have been there at the same time. But, such is life.
And, that's what brought about this blog today. I've learned James Garner has passed away, and this is my lame attempt to honor him, and to let him know that even though we've never met, I've always been an adoring fan.
So, this one's for you Jimmy, this one's for you.
In loving memory, James Garner (born James Scott Bumgarner; April 7, 1928 – July 19, 2014).
Of course, I'm talking about James Garner.
I've got a few mementos of him, an autographed picture, complete with certificate of authenticity, some pictures I've downloaded from the Internet showing him aging...still the handsome devil that he is, and a book with a synopsis of every single episode of his popular television series, The Rockford Files.
Now it's true, I don't know much about the man's personal life, but I can imagine he's exactly kind of man he portrayed in all the roles he chose to play. Always a gentleman, always ready for deadpan comedy, always a sexy, sweet, kind lover. Oh yes...I'm swooning.
There are of course more movie roles than I can possible list here that have been on the 'big screen' and television, and he's played with the biggest of female leads. Wish I could have been one of them. However, I will list a few of my favorites here. Maverick, Support Your Local Sheriff, Murphy's Romance, Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood and My Fellow Americans.
But, my all time favorite film role is the one he played later in life, 1999 to be exact, in a made for television movie beside Dame Julie Andrews called One Special Night...oh dear, my throat is 'lumping up'. It is perhaps the most touching love story you will ever, ever know. I purposely will not divulge the plot so you can 'feel' the story as it moves along.
Then there were the TV series, Maverick and of course The Rockford File. Who among us has not enjoyed both of those. In the end though, I guess I have to say it was Jimmy Rockford that finally stole my heart. Dear, sweet, Jimmy, that living on the edge private detective, who got beat up, threatened, car-chased, car-wrecked but, went about setting things right while trying not to end up in jail himself in just about every episode, James Rockford. Man, I loved Jimmy. He loved his dad, and would do anything for his friends. He lived in a junkie trailer on the beach in Malibu, next to a restaurant I've actually had lunch...and dinner. He, in the series, hung out there, too...wish we could have been there at the same time. But, such is life.
And, that's what brought about this blog today. I've learned James Garner has passed away, and this is my lame attempt to honor him, and to let him know that even though we've never met, I've always been an adoring fan.
So, this one's for you Jimmy, this one's for you.
In loving memory, James Garner (born James Scott Bumgarner; April 7, 1928 – July 19, 2014).
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Remember....
when you thought your prince would come?
what you would do if you could put time in a bottle?
when you wished you were born rich instead of good looking?
how you'd diet and diet and diet?
when you thought 50 was old?
where you wanted to go on all those exotic vacations?
when you were a senior in high school?
how you wanted a 'robin's egg' blue Cadillac convertible?
when you thought you could be a 'star'?
how you felt when 'he' came into view?
how you dreamed of living in California?
who had a profound effect on your life?
who was your first best friend?
why things happen the way they do?
Remember...
what you would do if you could put time in a bottle?
when you wished you were born rich instead of good looking?
how you'd diet and diet and diet?
when you thought 50 was old?
where you wanted to go on all those exotic vacations?
when you were a senior in high school?
how you wanted a 'robin's egg' blue Cadillac convertible?
when you thought you could be a 'star'?
how you felt when 'he' came into view?
how you dreamed of living in California?
who had a profound effect on your life?
who was your first best friend?
why things happen the way they do?
Remember...
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Staycation update
It is hard to believe my staycation is almost over. Where has the time gone.
On July 13th we arrived in a little place called McCall, Idaho. We visited a place called Hell's Gate Park. I wasn't sure I was ready for another park, but it is always amazing how each park has something unique about it. This park has basalt columns that looked (to me) like the pipes of a church organ. Although while continuing through the park some of the 'pipes' were vertical, kind of piled up on each other, others were in intricate fan shapes. Of course we could also visit the Lewis & Clark Discovery Center or the Jack O'Connor Hunting Heritage and Education Center and a gift shop, too. There are areas of ancient Petroglyphs in the park as well, although some have been vandalized with 'modern day' people painting over them...what a shame.
Later, near the shores of Payette Lake we had a magnificent meal at the Mill Restaurant. A quaint place with a rustic setting, it is noted for its excellent beef dinners and even some local wines. If we went away hungry it sure wasn't their fault. After a such a relaxing meal, tummies full, we returned to our McCall motel, tired but eagerly awaiting what excursions would unfold during our last two days of this adventure.
July 14 dawned and we were on the road again, headed for Hagerman Valley and a tour of the Thousand Springs State Park that flow from the River of No Return. This park was created in 1980 by the United States Congress though it's name was changed in 1984 to The Frank Church—River of No Return Wilderness Area in honor of the U.S. Senator Frank Church. It is the second largest protected wilderness in the contiguous United States, after Death Valley, and is nicknamed 'The Frank,' with this wilderness reserve protecting several mountain ranges, extensive wildlife, and the popular whitewater rafting river: the Salmon River.
Finally, ending the next to last day of this trek in the winter resort town of Ogden, Utah. Getting tired, folks, getting tired, but not as tired as the folks getting on and off our air-conditioned motor coach. At least, I've been able to sleep in my own bed.
July 15. Our final day was spent in Salt Lake City...and the only place from this whole trek, I've actually been. Of course the highlight of the day was to visit the Mormon Square, a magnificent sight indeed, followed by a visit to a place called Cart Memorial Park...the one place I could not locate on the Net.
However, I was able to locate a place called Memorial Grove Park, and I think this is where we actually went. It's a lovely garden honoring fallen heroes of war. It has a Vermont marble Pagoda, a Meditation Chapel of Georgian Marble and the Memorial House that was originally (in 1890) a stable and storage shed.
The house was upgraded in 1926 and became a Legion Home used for veteran of wars activities. Over the years the place was upgraded several times and finally opened to the public in 1994. In 1999 a tornado tore through the park, and although hundreds of trees were uprooted and damaged, none of the buildings were destroyed. Volunteers helped greatly to restore this park to the pristine condition it is today.
Our last night was spent in St. George, Utah where we stayed at the Abbey Inn, we had dinner and then breakfast before boarding our motor-coach for the final ride home, today, July 16.
WHAT A WONDERFUL STAYCATION.
On July 13th we arrived in a little place called McCall, Idaho. We visited a place called Hell's Gate Park. I wasn't sure I was ready for another park, but it is always amazing how each park has something unique about it. This park has basalt columns that looked (to me) like the pipes of a church organ. Although while continuing through the park some of the 'pipes' were vertical, kind of piled up on each other, others were in intricate fan shapes. Of course we could also visit the Lewis & Clark Discovery Center or the Jack O'Connor Hunting Heritage and Education Center and a gift shop, too. There are areas of ancient Petroglyphs in the park as well, although some have been vandalized with 'modern day' people painting over them...what a shame.
Later, near the shores of Payette Lake we had a magnificent meal at the Mill Restaurant. A quaint place with a rustic setting, it is noted for its excellent beef dinners and even some local wines. If we went away hungry it sure wasn't their fault. After a such a relaxing meal, tummies full, we returned to our McCall motel, tired but eagerly awaiting what excursions would unfold during our last two days of this adventure.
July 14 dawned and we were on the road again, headed for Hagerman Valley and a tour of the Thousand Springs State Park that flow from the River of No Return. This park was created in 1980 by the United States Congress though it's name was changed in 1984 to The Frank Church—River of No Return Wilderness Area in honor of the U.S. Senator Frank Church. It is the second largest protected wilderness in the contiguous United States, after Death Valley, and is nicknamed 'The Frank,' with this wilderness reserve protecting several mountain ranges, extensive wildlife, and the popular whitewater rafting river: the Salmon River.
Finally, ending the next to last day of this trek in the winter resort town of Ogden, Utah. Getting tired, folks, getting tired, but not as tired as the folks getting on and off our air-conditioned motor coach. At least, I've been able to sleep in my own bed.
July 15. Our final day was spent in Salt Lake City...and the only place from this whole trek, I've actually been. Of course the highlight of the day was to visit the Mormon Square, a magnificent sight indeed, followed by a visit to a place called Cart Memorial Park...the one place I could not locate on the Net.
However, I was able to locate a place called Memorial Grove Park, and I think this is where we actually went. It's a lovely garden honoring fallen heroes of war. It has a Vermont marble Pagoda, a Meditation Chapel of Georgian Marble and the Memorial House that was originally (in 1890) a stable and storage shed.
The house was upgraded in 1926 and became a Legion Home used for veteran of wars activities. Over the years the place was upgraded several times and finally opened to the public in 1994. In 1999 a tornado tore through the park, and although hundreds of trees were uprooted and damaged, none of the buildings were destroyed. Volunteers helped greatly to restore this park to the pristine condition it is today.
Our last night was spent in St. George, Utah where we stayed at the Abbey Inn, we had dinner and then breakfast before boarding our motor-coach for the final ride home, today, July 16.
WHAT A WONDERFUL STAYCATION.
Monday, July 14, 2014
Nature Journal
July 12 1995
I noticed today leaves falling from the alder trees.
Thoreau writes, “we begin to see dandelion gone to seed here and there...perhaps before we had detected its rich, yellow disk.” He is right I personally see more the ‘downy’ dandelion than the sunny yellow flowers, (which we've all plucked and held under our chins to see if we like butter.) Perhaps the fuzzy heads are more noticeable because as the dandelion flower matures, it towers high above the earth hugging greenery of the mother plant. Plant ‘down’ tends to be a year round cycle, which I hadn't thought much about until reading ‘Faith in a Seed’. Here in Oregon dandelion tends to be the first to seed, and left unattended they tend to ‘puff’ spring through fall.
As well as dandelion, fireweed and wild purple aster, depending on the kind of summer we have seed anytime from late August through October. However, my personal favorite is the seedpod from the milkweed, which matures in September. I believe Thoreau had a fondness for it, too.
Thoreau’s command for the language was wonderful, his use of words in Faith in a Seed are fascinating, colorful, and for 1995 most imaginative as in…”Late in the fall I often meet with useless and barren thistledown's driving over the fields who's capital was long ago snapped up, perhaps by hungry goldfinch.” He also pondered many things, that I’m sure to some made him appear to be a lunatic. He was intrigued by the minute, and trained himself to observe the smallest of things and how they behaved in nature. As an example, he would go back to check some nuts deposited in the ground by a squirrel, to see whether the squirrel would remember where they were. In time the nuts were gone. Thoreau asked, “...do squirrels ‘remember’ where the nuts are buried or hidden, or simply ‘re-discover’ them by scent?”
He believed that when seeds came up from a plant that had not grown in a particular place it was because a bird or animal dropped it there. The same is especially true of the wild blackberry, however in other cases I believe they can also come back by root, which have not been totally destroyed or removed from the ground when plant has been removed for whatever reason. Hence, some plants grow where they’d never been, while others ‘re-appear', as those along our creek bank.
For instance, the nearest oaks I know are at the end of our street, so that the tiny oak I found growing in the ‘west 40’ (when we cleared the lots), and the seedling I found this summer in the back lot may both have started from the two parent trees mentioned above. The acorns carried to my place either by Steller’s jays, scrub jays or squirrels. (October 25th, 1995 it occurred to me this morning there is another oak closer. It sits along the fence on the Middle School property line.)
As a lark, one year I brought home a handful of acorns and planted them in the garden just outside our bedroom window...in this case, not one germinated. Was this simply a case of bad luck or timing...or does nature like to take care of itself? Case in point, I think dispersal of seeds also has something to do with weather. Several years ago there were hundreds of maple seedlings growing under and around the vine maple just to the east of our back lot. It was obvious the growing conditions were perfect for germination that year. However, none of them grew into trees. By the next summer they had all died. Only the original vine maple remained. (We almost lost this vine maple altogether, when some fellow who lives on the street above didn't set the brake on his sports utility vehicle and it careened down the hill and broke off all but one of the beautifully spread trunks.) (September 17, 2000 we managed to save this tree, caring for the healthy new growth that slowly sprung from the original broken trunks.)
This ends the second segment of my Nature Journal, in time, hopefully, others will appear.
I noticed today leaves falling from the alder trees.
Thoreau writes, “we begin to see dandelion gone to seed here and there...perhaps before we had detected its rich, yellow disk.” He is right I personally see more the ‘downy’ dandelion than the sunny yellow flowers, (which we've all plucked and held under our chins to see if we like butter.) Perhaps the fuzzy heads are more noticeable because as the dandelion flower matures, it towers high above the earth hugging greenery of the mother plant. Plant ‘down’ tends to be a year round cycle, which I hadn't thought much about until reading ‘Faith in a Seed’. Here in Oregon dandelion tends to be the first to seed, and left unattended they tend to ‘puff’ spring through fall.
As well as dandelion, fireweed and wild purple aster, depending on the kind of summer we have seed anytime from late August through October. However, my personal favorite is the seedpod from the milkweed, which matures in September. I believe Thoreau had a fondness for it, too.
Thoreau’s command for the language was wonderful, his use of words in Faith in a Seed are fascinating, colorful, and for 1995 most imaginative as in…”Late in the fall I often meet with useless and barren thistledown's driving over the fields who's capital was long ago snapped up, perhaps by hungry goldfinch.” He also pondered many things, that I’m sure to some made him appear to be a lunatic. He was intrigued by the minute, and trained himself to observe the smallest of things and how they behaved in nature. As an example, he would go back to check some nuts deposited in the ground by a squirrel, to see whether the squirrel would remember where they were. In time the nuts were gone. Thoreau asked, “...do squirrels ‘remember’ where the nuts are buried or hidden, or simply ‘re-discover’ them by scent?”
He believed that when seeds came up from a plant that had not grown in a particular place it was because a bird or animal dropped it there. The same is especially true of the wild blackberry, however in other cases I believe they can also come back by root, which have not been totally destroyed or removed from the ground when plant has been removed for whatever reason. Hence, some plants grow where they’d never been, while others ‘re-appear', as those along our creek bank.
For instance, the nearest oaks I know are at the end of our street, so that the tiny oak I found growing in the ‘west 40’ (when we cleared the lots), and the seedling I found this summer in the back lot may both have started from the two parent trees mentioned above. The acorns carried to my place either by Steller’s jays, scrub jays or squirrels. (October 25th, 1995 it occurred to me this morning there is another oak closer. It sits along the fence on the Middle School property line.)
As a lark, one year I brought home a handful of acorns and planted them in the garden just outside our bedroom window...in this case, not one germinated. Was this simply a case of bad luck or timing...or does nature like to take care of itself? Case in point, I think dispersal of seeds also has something to do with weather. Several years ago there were hundreds of maple seedlings growing under and around the vine maple just to the east of our back lot. It was obvious the growing conditions were perfect for germination that year. However, none of them grew into trees. By the next summer they had all died. Only the original vine maple remained. (We almost lost this vine maple altogether, when some fellow who lives on the street above didn't set the brake on his sports utility vehicle and it careened down the hill and broke off all but one of the beautifully spread trunks.) (September 17, 2000 we managed to save this tree, caring for the healthy new growth that slowly sprung from the original broken trunks.)
This ends the second segment of my Nature Journal, in time, hopefully, others will appear.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Staycation 3
We headed back to the USA on Friday, I knew going to be a long day on the road. I spent a lot of time Googling the map trying to discover exactly what route we would be taking. In particular I was looking for a place called the Crowsnest. That should not have been difficult, and I could find 'images' of Crowsnests, problem was there were several, and I was not quite sure exactly which one I was looking for. There are two major highways out of Banff, 93 or 1. I Googled both. Highway 93 eventually turns into highway 95, and takes about six hours and 45 minutes to reach our destination, Couer d'Alene; while highway 1 turns into 22 which turns into 3, which turns into 93, which eventually turns into highway 95 and eight hours and 45 minutes we arrive in Couer d'Alene. Naturally, I figured we'd take the shorter route and that's where my search began to look for the Crowsnest.
I zoomed in, I zoomed out...zoom, zoom, zoom. I could not find the Crowsnest to save my soul. I checked the itinerary again, yep, it states..."motor through a land of startling contrasts in Kootenai National Park and over the 'Crowsnest' to Couer d'Alene." Hmmm. I was about to give up, when I decide to try the longer route and lo, there it was...the Crowsnest.
The trip seemed very long to me, and a bit tedious, kind of like the trek from the coast of Maine (north) to the Canadian border, but to finally arrive at the stretch of highway for a view of the Crowsnest was something else and well worth the trip, the mountain rises majestically, as though pushed up from the belly of the earth by a great hand...and indeed, I guess it was. Anyway, it is almost symmetrical, and looks like rings of terraces, (rock bands) of ash fall, sandstone, and pyroclastic rocks that are occasionally embedded garnets if you know where and how to look. I learned it is an easy climb to the summit, and many visitors make the trek.
Moving along we eventually entered British Columbia and passed through little towns on route 3 like Fernie (pop: 4,000+) and Cranbrook (pop: 19,000+) eventually crossing the border back into America. Couer d'Alene here we come.
Yesterday morning some of us took a breakfast tour of Lake Couer d'Alene, enjoying On-the-Water Dining aboard a lovely cruise boat. As they relaxed in comfort and style, they perused a menu that offered choices of glazed ham, oven roasted turkey, club sausage, wood smoked bacon and sausage patties, Quiche Lorraine, Idahoan au gratin potatoes, scrambled eggs, chef’s pasta salad, fresh fruit, fresh breads, rolls and miniature desserts...so much to eat, so little time. All the while they got to watch the beautiful panoramas of Lake Coeur d’Alene glide past outside the picture windows. Actually, and to tell the truth, I didn't do this, as motion sickness overcomes me...especially on water. Not a pretty picture.
However, finally, an afternoon was open and guess what? WE WENT SHOPPING in beautiful Couer d'Alene.
Today we're back on the road headed to a place called McCall, Idaho...more to follow.
I zoomed in, I zoomed out...zoom, zoom, zoom. I could not find the Crowsnest to save my soul. I checked the itinerary again, yep, it states..."motor through a land of startling contrasts in Kootenai National Park and over the 'Crowsnest' to Couer d'Alene." Hmmm. I was about to give up, when I decide to try the longer route and lo, there it was...the Crowsnest.
The trip seemed very long to me, and a bit tedious, kind of like the trek from the coast of Maine (north) to the Canadian border, but to finally arrive at the stretch of highway for a view of the Crowsnest was something else and well worth the trip, the mountain rises majestically, as though pushed up from the belly of the earth by a great hand...and indeed, I guess it was. Anyway, it is almost symmetrical, and looks like rings of terraces, (rock bands) of ash fall, sandstone, and pyroclastic rocks that are occasionally embedded garnets if you know where and how to look. I learned it is an easy climb to the summit, and many visitors make the trek.
Moving along we eventually entered British Columbia and passed through little towns on route 3 like Fernie (pop: 4,000+) and Cranbrook (pop: 19,000+) eventually crossing the border back into America. Couer d'Alene here we come.
Yesterday morning some of us took a breakfast tour of Lake Couer d'Alene, enjoying On-the-Water Dining aboard a lovely cruise boat. As they relaxed in comfort and style, they perused a menu that offered choices of glazed ham, oven roasted turkey, club sausage, wood smoked bacon and sausage patties, Quiche Lorraine, Idahoan au gratin potatoes, scrambled eggs, chef’s pasta salad, fresh fruit, fresh breads, rolls and miniature desserts...so much to eat, so little time. All the while they got to watch the beautiful panoramas of Lake Coeur d’Alene glide past outside the picture windows. Actually, and to tell the truth, I didn't do this, as motion sickness overcomes me...especially on water. Not a pretty picture.
However, finally, an afternoon was open and guess what? WE WENT SHOPPING in beautiful Couer d'Alene.
Today we're back on the road headed to a place called McCall, Idaho...more to follow.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
Staycation
So, the adventure from my office continues.
After spending a few days in Calgary, we headed off to Banff. Over the years I've heard a lot about Banff, and even know folks who have been there. I've seen pictures of the magnificent Banff Springs Hotel, well at least from the outside. Now thanks to the Internet I was able to catch a glimpse of the interior. Trust me when I say it is very, very palatial. I swear, with all the stonework, high ceilings, thick (looks like velvet) draperies that abound everywhere I envision castles of old. I imagine drafts moving the heavy wall trappings. I hear creaks echo, bouncing off the high ceilings and long, long hallways. This place much to beautiful, luxurious, and expensive to ever imagine me staying there. Still we did partake of their lavish buffet, some pictures can be found of the food when I Googled images in the net. I fear the folks actually eating this sumptuous food are sure to put on a few pounds.
However, what I liked most about the Banff adventure was the day at Lake Louise, with snow capped Mt.Victoria in the background, and a visit to Moraine Lake and glacier fed Peyto Lake where we rode in a huge snowcoach up to Athabasca Glacier where we stood on old snow, a thousand years old. Can you imagine that? The snowcoaches are quite comparable to the coaches that are used to observe the polar bears, except, of course, we did not see any polar bears. Although, according to the pictures I've seen I imagine those actually making the trip to the glacier had the opportunity to see all sorts of creatures and of course beautiful flora as well. Fireweed, Lupine, Indian Paint Brush, Blue-eyed Grass and Alberta Rose to mention just a few. We took the Icefield Parkway back to our lovely motel in Banff, and will pack up and take off for the good old USA in the morning heading for Couer d'Alene, Idaho.
Shoot, you'd think by now I'd be getting tired of all this research, but actually looking forward to the days to follow, I'm just excited as ever. I think a chance to shop might be on the agenda soon, too...what do you suppose I just might buy.
After spending a few days in Calgary, we headed off to Banff. Over the years I've heard a lot about Banff, and even know folks who have been there. I've seen pictures of the magnificent Banff Springs Hotel, well at least from the outside. Now thanks to the Internet I was able to catch a glimpse of the interior. Trust me when I say it is very, very palatial. I swear, with all the stonework, high ceilings, thick (looks like velvet) draperies that abound everywhere I envision castles of old. I imagine drafts moving the heavy wall trappings. I hear creaks echo, bouncing off the high ceilings and long, long hallways. This place much to beautiful, luxurious, and expensive to ever imagine me staying there. Still we did partake of their lavish buffet, some pictures can be found of the food when I Googled images in the net. I fear the folks actually eating this sumptuous food are sure to put on a few pounds.
However, what I liked most about the Banff adventure was the day at Lake Louise, with snow capped Mt.Victoria in the background, and a visit to Moraine Lake and glacier fed Peyto Lake where we rode in a huge snowcoach up to Athabasca Glacier where we stood on old snow, a thousand years old. Can you imagine that? The snowcoaches are quite comparable to the coaches that are used to observe the polar bears, except, of course, we did not see any polar bears. Although, according to the pictures I've seen I imagine those actually making the trip to the glacier had the opportunity to see all sorts of creatures and of course beautiful flora as well. Fireweed, Lupine, Indian Paint Brush, Blue-eyed Grass and Alberta Rose to mention just a few. We took the Icefield Parkway back to our lovely motel in Banff, and will pack up and take off for the good old USA in the morning heading for Couer d'Alene, Idaho.
Shoot, you'd think by now I'd be getting tired of all this research, but actually looking forward to the days to follow, I'm just excited as ever. I think a chance to shop might be on the agenda soon, too...what do you suppose I just might buy.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Tubes
I've recently become interested in tubes, you know, hand cream, toothpaste tubes. I think about half of mine come with 'flip tops', while the other half still have the tops one must 'screw off and then back on'. And, having nothing better to do, I've been watching (studying) myself, and how I handle the the 'flip tops' as compared to the 'screw tops'.
Now, I suppose the 'flip tops' were invented in order to save a 'fella' or 'gal' a few seconds every time they open a tube, after all, those moments are so important they should not be wasted. One could spend them much better than 'screwing and unscrewing'. And, I'm also supposing, in the next twenty or so years every tube will have a 'flip top' so that the next generation won't even know a tube ever had to be 'screwed'.
Such is the way time moves along.
But, back to my study. I suspect what I'm about to report might simply be an "Old Person", thing, or maybe I stand alone as a Village Idiot. Regardless, my analysis is, whether the tube is 'flip top' or 'screwed' I will 'screw' every---single---time. Seriously. I will. I was brought up with 'screw' tops and it appears I will leave this good old earth 'screwing' as well.
Here's the thing. I've absolutely have no problem with things that 'pump' compared to things that 'flip' or 'screw', I will always, always 'pump'. It's absolutely ridiculous to 'unscrew' a container with a 'pump'. Yes, pumping is quicker, cleaner, and frankly a lot more fun, than 'screwing', and maybe if they can find a way to make a tube 'pump' I will give up'screwing and unscrewing' them and 'pump' my silly little head off.
However, what I want to know is, and to expand on my analysis, where do you stand on the 'flip-top', 'screw-top' issue? Is it only us older folk who prefer to 'screw', or are a lot of your younger folk more comfortable 'screwing' as well? Seriously, I need to know I hate to believe I'm the only Village Idiot out there.
Now, I suppose the 'flip tops' were invented in order to save a 'fella' or 'gal' a few seconds every time they open a tube, after all, those moments are so important they should not be wasted. One could spend them much better than 'screwing and unscrewing'. And, I'm also supposing, in the next twenty or so years every tube will have a 'flip top' so that the next generation won't even know a tube ever had to be 'screwed'.
Such is the way time moves along.
But, back to my study. I suspect what I'm about to report might simply be an "Old Person", thing, or maybe I stand alone as a Village Idiot. Regardless, my analysis is, whether the tube is 'flip top' or 'screwed' I will 'screw' every---single---time. Seriously. I will. I was brought up with 'screw' tops and it appears I will leave this good old earth 'screwing' as well.
Here's the thing. I've absolutely have no problem with things that 'pump' compared to things that 'flip' or 'screw', I will always, always 'pump'. It's absolutely ridiculous to 'unscrew' a container with a 'pump'. Yes, pumping is quicker, cleaner, and frankly a lot more fun, than 'screwing', and maybe if they can find a way to make a tube 'pump' I will give up'screwing and unscrewing' them and 'pump' my silly little head off.
However, what I want to know is, and to expand on my analysis, where do you stand on the 'flip-top', 'screw-top' issue? Is it only us older folk who prefer to 'screw', or are a lot of your younger folk more comfortable 'screwing' as well? Seriously, I need to know I hate to believe I'm the only Village Idiot out there.
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
I'm on a "Staycation"
My sister is in the midst of a wonderful vacation. Won't be home until mid-month. I'm excited for her, because this trip has been in the works since January. As the months have passed we've talked a great deal about this, so that as the day of departure arrived I was every bit as excited as she.
So, she sent me a copy of her itinerary and I've been following her adventures. Day by day I can see where she is and what she's doing. Thank you, Internet. Yep, I can check out her hotels/motels, the sights they are visiting and even some of the restaurants in which she is eating. A few days ago they lunched in a bakery, and oooooh, my! What delicious looking, too big to actually fit in your mouth sandwiches, with wedges of pickles on top, and goodies, too. You should have seen all those desserts, to say nothing about the breakfast oooie-gooies. Can you imagine having lunch while the odor of baking breads and cakes waft through the dining area....I can. Boy, am I getting hungry.
Already she and her tour group have done quite a bit, and I'm preparing a bit of a scrap book I intend to send to my sister when she gets home. A kind of "Staycation" view of her "Vacation". You know, it will be filled with all the points of interest I liked most. After she thumbs through it she can do...whatever.
Anyway so far there are two points of interest I've enjoyed the most. The first being the Perrine Memorial Bridge, where Evil Knievel made a dramatic attempt to cross the Snake River, and the second being the Head Smashed In Buffalo Jump Interpretive Centre. Not only is the name fascinating, so is the Centre. The unique architecture so blends in with the colors of the environment I think it could easily be missed. The Blackfeet Tribe of Native Americans used the Buffalo Jump (cliff) as a means to kill the buffalo in mass by herding them toward the cliff so they had no choice but to 'jump' off. They would process the meat at the base of the cliff, and after their work was completed they would enjoy a time of recreation. The "jumps" ended in the 1900's, and the site became a World Heritage Site in 1981 as a testimony of prehistoric life and the customs of aboriginal people. The legend surrounding the name of this site is a young Blackfoot wanted to watch the buffalo plunge off the cliff from below, but was buried underneath the falling buffalo. He was later found dead under the pile of carcasses, where he had his head smashed in.
There are many more adventures to come before my sister will be safely home, and I can't wait to be along for the ride. Best part is, I don't have to worry about luggage, running out of money, gorging myself on too big for my mouth sandwiches...with wedges of pickles on top or sleeping in unfamiliar beds and locations. Ah, yep, there's nothing quite like a good old fashioned "Staycation".
So, she sent me a copy of her itinerary and I've been following her adventures. Day by day I can see where she is and what she's doing. Thank you, Internet. Yep, I can check out her hotels/motels, the sights they are visiting and even some of the restaurants in which she is eating. A few days ago they lunched in a bakery, and oooooh, my! What delicious looking, too big to actually fit in your mouth sandwiches, with wedges of pickles on top, and goodies, too. You should have seen all those desserts, to say nothing about the breakfast oooie-gooies. Can you imagine having lunch while the odor of baking breads and cakes waft through the dining area....I can. Boy, am I getting hungry.
Already she and her tour group have done quite a bit, and I'm preparing a bit of a scrap book I intend to send to my sister when she gets home. A kind of "Staycation" view of her "Vacation". You know, it will be filled with all the points of interest I liked most. After she thumbs through it she can do...whatever.
There are many more adventures to come before my sister will be safely home, and I can't wait to be along for the ride. Best part is, I don't have to worry about luggage, running out of money, gorging myself on too big for my mouth sandwiches...with wedges of pickles on top or sleeping in unfamiliar beds and locations. Ah, yep, there's nothing quite like a good old fashioned "Staycation".
Monday, July 7, 2014
My Winter House Guest...
...is
...is
...dead.
I was out drinking my morning cup of coffee, enjoying the cool air, the birds singing, and my flowers flowering. It was a great start for the day.
Then, you know how something comes into view, at the very edge of your peripheral vision? That happened. Out of the corner of my eye, behind a potted fern I see a brown blob. What the heck is that? Curiosity being what it is, caused me to put my mug of coffee into the other hand, and give the blob a push.
It didn't move. Whatever this was, was not alive. With my index finger I bring the blob out from behind the fern. Hmmm. I have to confess I did not recognize what this was. Ah-ha, this thing was belly up, and I could now tell it had been deceased for quite a while, a simple shell of its former self. Gently with my thumb and forefinger I turn it over.
Gasp!
It was Bobby. My winter house guest. I got him standing on what remained of his legs, and stared at him in dismay and sadness. We had been together for a very long time, and seeing him is this state was very disheartening. I could not believe our adventure had come to an end. I guess now there is only one thing to do, make him a tiny little specimen box and add him to my Thoreau collection.
Goodbye Bobby. Thanks for a wonderful friendship. You will be missed....sigh...it never occurred to me you would ever die.
...is
...dead.
I was out drinking my morning cup of coffee, enjoying the cool air, the birds singing, and my flowers flowering. It was a great start for the day.
Then, you know how something comes into view, at the very edge of your peripheral vision? That happened. Out of the corner of my eye, behind a potted fern I see a brown blob. What the heck is that? Curiosity being what it is, caused me to put my mug of coffee into the other hand, and give the blob a push.
It didn't move. Whatever this was, was not alive. With my index finger I bring the blob out from behind the fern. Hmmm. I have to confess I did not recognize what this was. Ah-ha, this thing was belly up, and I could now tell it had been deceased for quite a while, a simple shell of its former self. Gently with my thumb and forefinger I turn it over.
Gasp!
It was Bobby. My winter house guest. I got him standing on what remained of his legs, and stared at him in dismay and sadness. We had been together for a very long time, and seeing him is this state was very disheartening. I could not believe our adventure had come to an end. I guess now there is only one thing to do, make him a tiny little specimen box and add him to my Thoreau collection.
Goodbye Bobby. Thanks for a wonderful friendship. You will be missed....sigh...it never occurred to me you would ever die.
Saturday, July 5, 2014
Lions, tigers and bears, oh my!
Well, at least cougars,coyotes and bears.
Yes, over the last decade coyotes have been spotted boldly going where one would think coyotes would not care to go. One morning a coyote stopped at the end of my driveway and pondered me and my furry friends looking out my bay window pondering him. He was not the least bit spooked we were watching him, and took his good sweet time in sauntering away. I confess I was a bit unsettled by the encounter, because I could have been out in the front yard with my two dogs at the time Mr/Ms Coyote was taking his morning constitutional. Who knows what might have happened.
However, this year even more wild creatures are moving about the neighborhoods. Bears and cougars to be exact. Fortunately, some of them have been captured and released to their natural habitats that are (we're lucky) close by.
Last week folks reported several (I think 7) cougar sightings, but it was not until yesterday one was sited and treed in a north-east neighborhood. The police were called and stood by 'just in case', and eventually the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife authorities showed up, tranquilized the creature and carted it off.
Silly me, I assumed they would release it to the 'natural habitats close by'.
Then, this morning, watching the news, I was curious about the way the media was handling the story, and wondered why they were so vague about what happened to the cougar 'after' it was taken from the neighborhood. So, being the curious person that I am, I began snooping about the web. And I learned:
"The approximately 110-pound cougar was euthanized by Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife (ODFW) staff, said ODFW spokesperson Meg Kanady, because it had lost its fear of people."
I was stunned. Once they had this beautiful creature under control, I would have thought euthanizing it would have been the very last resort. I'd like to know if veterinarians were call to examine the creature or, if they were not call, why? Was it because it was a holiday, and everyone was disturbed their festivities were interrupted? I'd hate to think that was the case. It seems to me the least they could have done was to take it possibly to the zoo, have their medical staff give it a physical, and draw some blood samples to check for disease and illness. Surely the zoo has an area they could have isolated it to prevent possible transfer of illness to the other animals.
Okay, I realize at this point I don't know the whole story, but as an amateur naturalist, this euthanasia really, really disturbs me. I think it disturbs a lot of other people too, otherwise the news report this morning would not have left out the part about the cougar being euthanized. Matter of fact one website was conducting a poll:
The cougar was "humanely euthanized" because it had lost its fear of humans. Do you agree with this decision? The results so far this morning. Yes, I do: 23.55%. No, I don't. 76.45%.
Actually, my thinking is all these creatures who have roamed away from their environment is not necessarily because it's summer, and they are hungry, and we are sloppy careless humans that leave garbage, trash and pet food lying about providing them with easy meals. I think they are trying to tell us something...and I think we should try to find out what that something is. Where's a good Shaman when you need one?
Anyway, I so very, very sorry about the outcome of yesterday's cougar incident. My personal opinion is it could have been handled much better. Maybe the holiday had something to do with it, maybe not. I simply hope this does not create a prescience, giving the Department of Fish and Wildlife an easy out to get rid of displaced wildlife.
Because THAT would be wrong on more levels than I can count.
Yes, over the last decade coyotes have been spotted boldly going where one would think coyotes would not care to go. One morning a coyote stopped at the end of my driveway and pondered me and my furry friends looking out my bay window pondering him. He was not the least bit spooked we were watching him, and took his good sweet time in sauntering away. I confess I was a bit unsettled by the encounter, because I could have been out in the front yard with my two dogs at the time Mr/Ms Coyote was taking his morning constitutional. Who knows what might have happened.
However, this year even more wild creatures are moving about the neighborhoods. Bears and cougars to be exact. Fortunately, some of them have been captured and released to their natural habitats that are (we're lucky) close by.
Last week folks reported several (I think 7) cougar sightings, but it was not until yesterday one was sited and treed in a north-east neighborhood. The police were called and stood by 'just in case', and eventually the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife authorities showed up, tranquilized the creature and carted it off.
Silly me, I assumed they would release it to the 'natural habitats close by'.
Then, this morning, watching the news, I was curious about the way the media was handling the story, and wondered why they were so vague about what happened to the cougar 'after' it was taken from the neighborhood. So, being the curious person that I am, I began snooping about the web. And I learned:
"The approximately 110-pound cougar was euthanized by Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife (ODFW) staff, said ODFW spokesperson Meg Kanady, because it had lost its fear of people."
I was stunned. Once they had this beautiful creature under control, I would have thought euthanizing it would have been the very last resort. I'd like to know if veterinarians were call to examine the creature or, if they were not call, why? Was it because it was a holiday, and everyone was disturbed their festivities were interrupted? I'd hate to think that was the case. It seems to me the least they could have done was to take it possibly to the zoo, have their medical staff give it a physical, and draw some blood samples to check for disease and illness. Surely the zoo has an area they could have isolated it to prevent possible transfer of illness to the other animals.
Okay, I realize at this point I don't know the whole story, but as an amateur naturalist, this euthanasia really, really disturbs me. I think it disturbs a lot of other people too, otherwise the news report this morning would not have left out the part about the cougar being euthanized. Matter of fact one website was conducting a poll:
The cougar was "humanely euthanized" because it had lost its fear of humans. Do you agree with this decision? The results so far this morning. Yes, I do: 23.55%. No, I don't. 76.45%.
Actually, my thinking is all these creatures who have roamed away from their environment is not necessarily because it's summer, and they are hungry, and we are sloppy careless humans that leave garbage, trash and pet food lying about providing them with easy meals. I think they are trying to tell us something...and I think we should try to find out what that something is. Where's a good Shaman when you need one?
Anyway, I so very, very sorry about the outcome of yesterday's cougar incident. My personal opinion is it could have been handled much better. Maybe the holiday had something to do with it, maybe not. I simply hope this does not create a prescience, giving the Department of Fish and Wildlife an easy out to get rid of displaced wildlife.
Because THAT would be wrong on more levels than I can count.
Friday, July 4, 2014
Happ-E-birth-Day America
Oh, it's a grand old day, for a grand old America.
This morning my mind wanders back to Fourth of July Family Picnics. We would stuff ourselves with food, and spend the afternoon playing our own version of the yard game Croquet. They were wild man, we would have the start point on the west side of the front yard at the curb, and the end point would be at the east side of the front yard at the curb. We would have to go to the back yard, jump a creek, work our way around shrubs, ferns and other landscape, cross a bridge, and work our way out to the front yard and the end post. I mean those games were great. Especially for the last two that took turns, because eventually everybody would lose interest in us and we would plot how we were going to 'cheat' and win the game. Oh, there was a lot of shouting and laughter, and jolly good fun. My brother and brother-in-law started this new way to play the game, and I thank them greatly, our Fourth of July was never, ever, dull.
But, once more, I've digressed.
What I really want to write about is some of the symbols of America. Of course, there is the Eagle...which could have been the Wild Turkey (the bird not the whiskey) had Ben Franklin had his way. There are the Historical Landmarks, Statues of the Fathers of our Nation, and the Declaration of Independence (which occasionally tours America), and the Constitution of the United States.
However, my favorite is the American Flag. It has changed much in 238 years. At the time I was born the flag had 48 white stars and 13 red and white stripes. There was one star to symbolize each state, and the 13 stripes to represent the original states. I have seen three of those symbols proudly flying overhead, those with 48, 49 and 50 stars.
History records that a woman named Besty Ross, a seamstress by trade, an upholsterer actually, was commissioned by George Washington to design the first national flag, and while researching for this blog, I read that George wanted a six pointed star, but Betsy knowing how difficult a six pointed star was to cut, showed him she could cut out a five pointed star with one clip of the scissors. (Whether this is true or not...well, let's just leave this to American legend.) At any rate, our nation's flag was born with five pointed stars.
I think I've mentioned how much I enjoy old time television shows, one of my favorites just happens to be a half hour show called Green Acres. It's a silly little show, but its story lines are always unique, and I never know what the topic will be. But, I'm pretty sure yesterday's show was specifically chosen to be shown because...if you know the show at all, is about a New York City lawyer (Oliver Wendell Douglas) who always wanted to be a farmer, and watch the little seeds 'shooots' up into the air and grow into something wonderful.
However, rather than wearing farmer attire he had his lawyer suits for every occasion, plowing, fence pole digging, barn painting, etc. Well, yesterday the local farmers were in the general store discussing that somebody had to speak to Oliver about not dressing like a farmer. No one could, but he began to get the message when everywhere he went his 'plowin' suit was the general topic for discussion.
Oliver needed to wear coveralls. Farmers wear coveralls. The local farmers then have a discussion of where coveralls came from, and who actually made the first pair of coveralls?
Why, of course.
Betsy Ross.
And, the story line grew from there. The farmers tried farming in suits, Lisa had Oliver's tailor make him a $150.00 pair of coveralls with mink straps, the farmers wives burned their husbands coveralls cause they liked their husbands working in suits. It was a very funny show.
We all know Betsy Ross did not sew together the first pair of coveralls. But she did do a bang up, firecracker job on the first flag. For which we are all most thankful and a great many of us will display ours in our yards today in honor of America's birthday.
It's A Grand Old Flag
Happ-E-birth-Day America!
This morning my mind wanders back to Fourth of July Family Picnics. We would stuff ourselves with food, and spend the afternoon playing our own version of the yard game Croquet. They were wild man, we would have the start point on the west side of the front yard at the curb, and the end point would be at the east side of the front yard at the curb. We would have to go to the back yard, jump a creek, work our way around shrubs, ferns and other landscape, cross a bridge, and work our way out to the front yard and the end post. I mean those games were great. Especially for the last two that took turns, because eventually everybody would lose interest in us and we would plot how we were going to 'cheat' and win the game. Oh, there was a lot of shouting and laughter, and jolly good fun. My brother and brother-in-law started this new way to play the game, and I thank them greatly, our Fourth of July was never, ever, dull.
But, once more, I've digressed.
What I really want to write about is some of the symbols of America. Of course, there is the Eagle...which could have been the Wild Turkey (the bird not the whiskey) had Ben Franklin had his way. There are the Historical Landmarks, Statues of the Fathers of our Nation, and the Declaration of Independence (which occasionally tours America), and the Constitution of the United States.
However, my favorite is the American Flag. It has changed much in 238 years. At the time I was born the flag had 48 white stars and 13 red and white stripes. There was one star to symbolize each state, and the 13 stripes to represent the original states. I have seen three of those symbols proudly flying overhead, those with 48, 49 and 50 stars.
History records that a woman named Besty Ross, a seamstress by trade, an upholsterer actually, was commissioned by George Washington to design the first national flag, and while researching for this blog, I read that George wanted a six pointed star, but Betsy knowing how difficult a six pointed star was to cut, showed him she could cut out a five pointed star with one clip of the scissors. (Whether this is true or not...well, let's just leave this to American legend.) At any rate, our nation's flag was born with five pointed stars.
I think I've mentioned how much I enjoy old time television shows, one of my favorites just happens to be a half hour show called Green Acres. It's a silly little show, but its story lines are always unique, and I never know what the topic will be. But, I'm pretty sure yesterday's show was specifically chosen to be shown because...if you know the show at all, is about a New York City lawyer (Oliver Wendell Douglas) who always wanted to be a farmer, and watch the little seeds 'shooots' up into the air and grow into something wonderful.
However, rather than wearing farmer attire he had his lawyer suits for every occasion, plowing, fence pole digging, barn painting, etc. Well, yesterday the local farmers were in the general store discussing that somebody had to speak to Oliver about not dressing like a farmer. No one could, but he began to get the message when everywhere he went his 'plowin' suit was the general topic for discussion.
Oliver needed to wear coveralls. Farmers wear coveralls. The local farmers then have a discussion of where coveralls came from, and who actually made the first pair of coveralls?
Why, of course.
Betsy Ross.
And, the story line grew from there. The farmers tried farming in suits, Lisa had Oliver's tailor make him a $150.00 pair of coveralls with mink straps, the farmers wives burned their husbands coveralls cause they liked their husbands working in suits. It was a very funny show.
We all know Betsy Ross did not sew together the first pair of coveralls. But she did do a bang up, firecracker job on the first flag. For which we are all most thankful and a great many of us will display ours in our yards today in honor of America's birthday.
It's A Grand Old Flag
- Written and composed by
- George M. Cohan,
- Chorus
- You're a grand old flag,
- You're a high-flying flag,
- And forever in peace may you wave.
- You're the emblem of the land I love,
- The home of the free and the brave.
- Ev'ry heart beats true
- 'Neath the Red, White and Blue,
- Where there's never a boast or brag.
- But should auld acquaintance be forgot,
- Keep your eye on the grand old flag.
Happ-E-birth-Day America!
Thursday, July 3, 2014
Sully
Just as I was contemplating what to write about today, I heard my mailman's truck on the street and the familiar dull click of my neighbor's mailbox door being shut. So, I waited a while and soon I heard the mail truck (sounding as though it needed a tune-up) at the end of my driveway, and then the dull click of my box door going shut.
Zorro and I made the trek to the mailbox, and there within were two pieces of mail. One from a local Realtor, the other the newest AARP Bulletin. I took my cup of coffee and sat outside on my back patio and began to thumb through the Bulletin.
On page 10, I saw the picture of a guy I admire greatly. The headline read Conversation With Sully Sullenberger. By Hugh Delehanty. You do remember Sully, don't you. The pilot that landed his jet liner in, (on) the Hudson River. An event that came to be known as "Miracle on the Hudson".
What a great guy! So humble, so 'not' wanting to be a hero. So eager to want the episode to blend into the background, like a grey tapestry. To this day he continues to tell people that 'miracle' was a group effort, saying, "...(that) experience and the judgment my crew and I developed over many decades allowed us to have the creative reserve to deliver the airplane full of people to the surface intact".
Anyway, anytime I hear or see anything new about Sully, I'm immediately interested. And so it was this morning I read the entire interview.
Here are two of the questions that were asked, and Sully's answers.
Q: It's been five years since the "miracle on the Hudson," How did that event change your life?
A: It was, at first, very difficult, very shocking, but with time you have to make it part of you, not simply something that happened to you.
Q: What about you is different?
A: It's made me think that whatever trivial things I have to deal with don't even hold a candle to that.
I thought they were great questions, and about all the ways Sully could have answered them. If a proud and pompous man, he could have given puffed up, peacock pretty answers. Instead, he gave (in my opinion) true hero answers. The Miracle on the Hudson, was simply one square, one part of all the colors in his tapestry of life. Simply put, part of him.
And, isn't it true, that like Sully, our lives too, are squares? With each event, large or small, brightly coloring our tapestry of life. It is how we allow the events of our lives to affect us that make us who we are.
Here is how I would answer those two questions.
Q: "In the last five years how have the events of your life changed you?"
A: I want to believe they have become part of me, and are not just things that happened to me. So that whether earth shattering or minuscule they are woven into me, and have become part of my life tapestry.
Q: "What about you is different?"
A: I'm older and hopefully wiser, so that "whatever trivial things I have to deal with" in the future nothing will "hold a candle" to all the things that have happened in my past.
I think I would be uncomfortable living in a 'hero's' skin, I want to be a Sully and simply enjoy each moment, remembering it could be my last.
Zorro and I made the trek to the mailbox, and there within were two pieces of mail. One from a local Realtor, the other the newest AARP Bulletin. I took my cup of coffee and sat outside on my back patio and began to thumb through the Bulletin.
On page 10, I saw the picture of a guy I admire greatly. The headline read Conversation With Sully Sullenberger. By Hugh Delehanty. You do remember Sully, don't you. The pilot that landed his jet liner in, (on) the Hudson River. An event that came to be known as "Miracle on the Hudson".
What a great guy! So humble, so 'not' wanting to be a hero. So eager to want the episode to blend into the background, like a grey tapestry. To this day he continues to tell people that 'miracle' was a group effort, saying, "...(that) experience and the judgment my crew and I developed over many decades allowed us to have the creative reserve to deliver the airplane full of people to the surface intact".
Anyway, anytime I hear or see anything new about Sully, I'm immediately interested. And so it was this morning I read the entire interview.
Here are two of the questions that were asked, and Sully's answers.
Q: It's been five years since the "miracle on the Hudson," How did that event change your life?
A: It was, at first, very difficult, very shocking, but with time you have to make it part of you, not simply something that happened to you.
Q: What about you is different?
A: It's made me think that whatever trivial things I have to deal with don't even hold a candle to that.
I thought they were great questions, and about all the ways Sully could have answered them. If a proud and pompous man, he could have given puffed up, peacock pretty answers. Instead, he gave (in my opinion) true hero answers. The Miracle on the Hudson, was simply one square, one part of all the colors in his tapestry of life. Simply put, part of him.
And, isn't it true, that like Sully, our lives too, are squares? With each event, large or small, brightly coloring our tapestry of life. It is how we allow the events of our lives to affect us that make us who we are.
Here is how I would answer those two questions.
Q: "In the last five years how have the events of your life changed you?"
A: I want to believe they have become part of me, and are not just things that happened to me. So that whether earth shattering or minuscule they are woven into me, and have become part of my life tapestry.
Q: "What about you is different?"
A: I'm older and hopefully wiser, so that "whatever trivial things I have to deal with" in the future nothing will "hold a candle" to all the things that have happened in my past.
I think I would be uncomfortable living in a 'hero's' skin, I want to be a Sully and simply enjoy each moment, remembering it could be my last.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Breathe deeply, friends, breathe deeply
Yesterday was hot. I'm not complaining you understand, but for me 99 degrees is hot. I drug out my fans and set them up and had them going 'full steam' by mid afternoon. I also had just about every window in the house wide open...with drapes, closed, keeping the sun out, while allowing fresh air to circulate through the house.
I do this, because I've discovered (through trial and error) that keeping the house tightly closed during hot spells, DOES NOT, keep my house cool. Matter of fact by 5 O'clock my house is every bit as hot as the out of doors, plus, it STINKS. Yes, ladies and gentlemen...it STINKS. The air is so stale, thin and re breathed I dash around the house like a loon-a-tick, throwing open windows and doors as though my life depended on it...because it does. I'd sell my soul for a good, lungs filling, deep breath of outside air.
I have a window air conditioner, but I don't use it much. Only when I know we are going to have several days of near hundred degree temperatures and my furry friends and I hibernate in the only cool room of the house. Yes, we eat, hang out, watch TV and sleep in that air conditioned room. It's nice...but makes me appreciate that I'm not a bear...living in a 'den' for months on end would drive me insane...well more insane than I already am.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not an idiot. I know better than to leave my house 'wide open' during heat spells and every night I have a ritual, I methodically walk through the house and, as my mother would say "close up". Windows and doors are checked, re-checked then re-checked again. However, I love having fresh air coming in my room while I sleep, even during the winter. I'm very careful. I follow police directions and make sure the opening is too small for someone to crawl through, and I keep a 'stick' in the window's track, so it cannot be pushed open, nor can the stick be pulled out should someone try to reach in and remove it. I've always felt pretty safe and secure. But, that pretty much 'went out the window' yesterday when I saw on the news some woman had left her window slightly ajar, and three men removed the screen and entered her home. Her dogs alerted her, and she was able to call 911 and all ended well.
Here's the thing. I don't know whether she had her window blocked or not, the report didn't say, but the report did say we should CLOSE our windows every night. That's right, apparently the police now say we need to CLOSE our windows at night. Oh, my goodness, I'm hyperventilating just contemplating that. CLOSE my window. Gasp. I'm not sure I can do that. Gasp, gasp. The thought of breathing the same air all night long is like contemplating somebody throwing a pillow over my head and expecting me to continue to breathe all night long. We all know I'd be gone in minutes. So, I've been thinking about what to do ever since I got up this morning.
I've really got no good solution, but maybe one, that might work. I've got a little fan that I can attach to the edge of my night stand, I just might have to use it year round instead of when the temperatures hover in the nineties. That way I can close the window, but still have air 'circulating', hopefully giving me the allusion fresh air is washing over me. Is this a bummer situation or what?
I guess it's a sign of our times. As a kid we didn't worry about locking the house at night, windows were always wide open, we stayed out till dark and never worried about a Boogie Man. Today, our doors have double and triple locks, windows have blocks, and we hustle around to be indoors at dusk because Boogie Men lurk around every corner.
Breathe deeply, friends, breathed deeply, because as Mrs. 'Lovey' Thurston Howell the Third would say. "We're doomed I tell you, doomed."
I do this, because I've discovered (through trial and error) that keeping the house tightly closed during hot spells, DOES NOT, keep my house cool. Matter of fact by 5 O'clock my house is every bit as hot as the out of doors, plus, it STINKS. Yes, ladies and gentlemen...it STINKS. The air is so stale, thin and re breathed I dash around the house like a loon-a-tick, throwing open windows and doors as though my life depended on it...because it does. I'd sell my soul for a good, lungs filling, deep breath of outside air.
I have a window air conditioner, but I don't use it much. Only when I know we are going to have several days of near hundred degree temperatures and my furry friends and I hibernate in the only cool room of the house. Yes, we eat, hang out, watch TV and sleep in that air conditioned room. It's nice...but makes me appreciate that I'm not a bear...living in a 'den' for months on end would drive me insane...well more insane than I already am.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not an idiot. I know better than to leave my house 'wide open' during heat spells and every night I have a ritual, I methodically walk through the house and, as my mother would say "close up". Windows and doors are checked, re-checked then re-checked again. However, I love having fresh air coming in my room while I sleep, even during the winter. I'm very careful. I follow police directions and make sure the opening is too small for someone to crawl through, and I keep a 'stick' in the window's track, so it cannot be pushed open, nor can the stick be pulled out should someone try to reach in and remove it. I've always felt pretty safe and secure. But, that pretty much 'went out the window' yesterday when I saw on the news some woman had left her window slightly ajar, and three men removed the screen and entered her home. Her dogs alerted her, and she was able to call 911 and all ended well.
Here's the thing. I don't know whether she had her window blocked or not, the report didn't say, but the report did say we should CLOSE our windows every night. That's right, apparently the police now say we need to CLOSE our windows at night. Oh, my goodness, I'm hyperventilating just contemplating that. CLOSE my window. Gasp. I'm not sure I can do that. Gasp, gasp. The thought of breathing the same air all night long is like contemplating somebody throwing a pillow over my head and expecting me to continue to breathe all night long. We all know I'd be gone in minutes. So, I've been thinking about what to do ever since I got up this morning.
I've really got no good solution, but maybe one, that might work. I've got a little fan that I can attach to the edge of my night stand, I just might have to use it year round instead of when the temperatures hover in the nineties. That way I can close the window, but still have air 'circulating', hopefully giving me the allusion fresh air is washing over me. Is this a bummer situation or what?
I guess it's a sign of our times. As a kid we didn't worry about locking the house at night, windows were always wide open, we stayed out till dark and never worried about a Boogie Man. Today, our doors have double and triple locks, windows have blocks, and we hustle around to be indoors at dusk because Boogie Men lurk around every corner.
Breathe deeply, friends, breathed deeply, because as Mrs. 'Lovey' Thurston Howell the Third would say. "We're doomed I tell you, doomed."
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Heck in a hand basket
If there is one thing I've learned, once a day has gone to heck in a handbasket...there's no chance of getting it out of that dang basket.
Nor, all the dang ants that wound up in it, too. I've been a scrubbin' and a sweepin' and a movin' pieces of furniture making sure some of those rascals aren't hiding under them. And...it's such a beautiful day, I want to be outside. Every time I think I can do that...there is a new trail of ants racing up and down the wall.
I think things are good now, and I'm bound and determined to go out and enjoy the summer shade and the lovely east wind that's a blowin' down the gorge. Maybe I'll take my crocheting and a nice tall glass of iced coffee.
Oh, and speaking of "Heck in a hand basket". Here's what I learned...(well, the day's shot anyway).
This from the website World Wide Words
(Investigating the English language across the globe)
Nor, all the dang ants that wound up in it, too. I've been a scrubbin' and a sweepin' and a movin' pieces of furniture making sure some of those rascals aren't hiding under them. And...it's such a beautiful day, I want to be outside. Every time I think I can do that...there is a new trail of ants racing up and down the wall.
I think things are good now, and I'm bound and determined to go out and enjoy the summer shade and the lovely east wind that's a blowin' down the gorge. Maybe I'll take my crocheting and a nice tall glass of iced coffee.
Oh, and speaking of "Heck in a hand basket". Here's what I learned...(well, the day's shot anyway).
This from the website World Wide Words
(Investigating the English language across the globe)
"Going to hell in a handbasket
Q From Brian Walker: Can you please tell me anything about the origin of the phrase going to hell in a handbasket?
A This is a weird one, which has puzzled and confused many writers. The meaning is clear enough, that some situation is getting rapidly out of hand and is going downhill fast. That explains hell, as the ultimate bad destination, but why a handbasket, of all things?
A couple of similar expressions give a clue. An early one was going to heaven in a wheelbarrow, which paradoxically meant “going to hell”. This may relate to a famous stained-glass window in St Mary’s Church in Fairford in Gloucestershire, which shows a scolding wife being taken away in a wheelbarrow by the devil. (I think this is my favorite.)The saying is obliquely referred to in a sermon by an English clergyman:
Oh, this oppressor must needs go to heaven! what shall hinder him? But it will be, as the byword is, in a wheelbarrow: the fiends, and not the angels, will take hold on him.
God’s Bounty, by Thomas Adams, c1618.
Another version was head in a handbasket:
A committee brought in something about Piscataqua. Govr said he would give his head in a Handbasket as soon as he would pass it.
Diary, by The Reverend Samuel Sewell, 23 Mar. 1714.
This second expression is rare. I can find only one later example, which looks very much like a direct reference:
When Murray first refused the certificate of election to Cannon, the Mormon delegate, there was an almost universal howl, especially from republican papers, and the governor’s head was demanded in a hand basket.
The Daily Ledger-Standard (New Albany, Indiana), 28 Mar. 1881.
Some writers have read into this version that it refers to execution by the guillotine, in which the image — as in the terror associated with the French Revolution — is of the executed person’s head dropping into a basket. Guillotines certainly predate both the French Revolution and Mr Sewell’s time (a famous sixteenth-century one is associated with the Yorkshire city of Halifax) but to make this connection would seem to stretch the imagination.
The version you’re asking about is a fairly common American one. Until recently it was thought to have appeared in the early twentieth century but the digitising of historical records has showed that it dates from at least half a century earlier. The first known instance is linked to a famous conspiracy during the American Civil War by the Order of the Sons of Liberty to release prisoners from Fort Douglas and burn down Chicago. Judge Buckner Morris was a principal agitator and is reported to have made a speech in the autumn of 1864:
He referred to the suspension of the habeas corpus, and said many of our best men were at that moment “rotting in Lincoln’s bastilles;” ... that thousands of our best men were prisoners in Camp Douglas, and if once at liberty would “send abolitionists to hell in a hand basket”.
The Great North-Western Conspiracy in All its Startling Details, by I Winslow Ayer, 1865.
We may guess that the phrase was already well known by this time. It wasn't long before variations started to appear:
“Thou shalt not kill; thou shalt not kill!” yelled a young man, an Irishman, who rushed up to us, holding in his hands a Douay Bible. Then he dashed the book upon a table, and filled the hall with the most fearful oaths and imprecations, closing with the declaration: “We’re all going to hell in a castiron hand basket!”
Corydon Republican (Corydon, Indiana), 2 Jul. 1877.
It has also often been shortened:
Politics never interested me. I know people who spend half their lives worrying about how everything’s going to hell in a basket — and it all goes to hell in a basket anyway.
Blood Risk, by Dean Koontz, 1974.
So why handbasket? I can only assume that the alliteration has had a lot to do with its success, and that handbasket suggests something easily and speedily done."
And, this ends your lesson for today. Here I come, summer shade, here I come crocheting, here I come iced coffee.
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