So glad to be living now

Let's face it, a lot has happened in my lifetime.  Especially when it comes to electronic gadget-tromity.  (Is there such a word?)

I remember when we all wrote with pencil/pen and paper.  And, actually correctly spelled the words.  I remember short-hand, manual typewriters (I have one), the smell of mimeograph ink,...talk about getting a cheap high...whoa doggies.  I recall taking a typing class in high school, the teacher would cover up the huge picture of the keyboard at the front of the room, so we had to remember which key was where and type like a crazed loon-a-tick.  Am I the only girl in the world that almost failed typing?  I'm still awful at it today, and am so grateful for spell check.

I recall my job at the phone company, every afternoon I had to sit behind a machine called a check-writer.  I would diligently write out checks for venders, companies, even individuals who were overcharged while using a pay phone.  Remember phone booths?

Everything went on paper cards with holes punched it them, so if I made a mistake on a check, I could go to the key punch department and make a new card to correct my error.  It was an amazing time, and very efficient.  Computers filled a whole room, and the room had to be cool because of the heat it generated.

Oh, how times have changed, and I am so thankful I have been here to see the marvels.  I was reminded of this last night, and I believe (for me at least) the most wonderful marvel of all is FACEBOOK, yes, facebook.  I love being able to reach out and touch my family and friends with a single swipe of my computer keyboard.  And I will tell you why and bring this to a close with a conversation I had with my beautiful granddaughter on facebook last night.

Sandra Hiller

I am bored out of my gourd.

Like ·  · 10 hours ago · 

PublicFriendsFriends except AcquaintancesOnly MeCustomClose FriendsSandy's KitchenSee all lists...FamilyAcquaintancesGo Back

• 

  Michelle DeGrazia Schubert Throw an impromptu dance party!

  10 hours ago via mobile · Like
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  Sandra Hiller OMG...I was thinking about going to bed...

  10 hours ago · Like
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  Michelle DeGrazia Schubert Well, that works too...

  10 hours ago via mobile · Like
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  Sandra Hiller Hmmm, I wonder if Frankie dances...a party might not be out of the question.

  10 hours ago · Like · 1
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  Michelle DeGrazia Schubert Do it!!! With the windows open! :) She'll love it!

  10 hours ago via mobile · Like
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  Sandra Hiller Yeah, but Bird Lady won't. LOL

  10 hours ago · Like
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  Michelle DeGrazia Schubert Bahahahahaha!!!!

  10 hours ago via mobile · Like
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  Sandra Hiller Man...I can't stan's it no mores...I'm going to bed. This evening has been re-dick-U-liss.

  10 hours ago · Like
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  Sandra Hiller Nighty, night sweetie pie, I love you.

  10 hours ago · Like
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  Michelle DeGrazia Schubert Night, Grandma! Love you too!

  10 hours ago via mobile · Like
• 

Would have I picked up the phone to call her?  No, I would not have wanted to disturb her so late at night.  Would I have called anybody?  Of course not.  But on facebook, you never know who is going to be there, anytime, from anywhere.  I was comforted that someone was, and that my granddaughter in these few moments, spent some time with me.

I think it was AT&T that once had a commercial that said something like....REACH OUT AND TOUCH SOMEONE.  Thank you facebook...I love I can do that anytime I want.   Hellooooooo, out there.....Hellooooooooo.

It's the end of an era

Last night I saw a commercial, there were a lot of children with all kinds of different electronic gadgets, they were in a school auditorium and expounding on all the things their gadgets could do, and how important they were for learning, and keeping in touch with family and friends, too, I suppose.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm all for every and anything that can keep our children interested in education and on the same level as students all those around the world.  And, I'm aware there are a lot of educational applications that teach even the youngest child their A,B,C's and 1,2,3'.  That's a very good thing, especially for a single parent, or parents that are too busy to help out with that.

Here's the thing....

I remember when my girls were little, they had their favorite books, the hand held kind, that I read to them over, over, and over again.  Bonnie liked "Are You My Mother?"  Karen liked "Little Black Sambo"  Those two books went through a lot, and I would not take back one single second of sitting with them and reading those stories for all the money in the world.  Precious time, precious time.

This morning I thought about Bookmarks...you know, those long, thin, beautifully decorated things you put between the pages of a book so you can open it to the exact spot you stopped reading.  The day is coming when no one is going to have to use them...because...there will be no books.  Electronic books will take over, and in a few generation no one will know the smell of an old book that has sat musty, dusty, on a library shelf.  They won't find a curled down corner, or a favorite passage underlined, or handwritten messages in the border of a particular page.  But, most of all they will not know what a bookmark is, or why they were ever needed.

I love books, I have hundreds...ask anybody.  I collect bookmarks...I don't have hundreds, but I do have a coffee mug full of them standing on end, waiting for me to choose one.  When I'm done with a book I put that particular mark back in the mug, and pull out a different one for the next book I read.  I've got my collection as gifts, freebies from charities, and even some I've picked up at check-out in stores like Dalton's, Barnes & Noble, or Powell's Books.

Can you imagine?  Powell's Books...a distant memory?  God forbid.

And so it is today I honor the humble bookmark, whether a little slip of paper, one lovingly hand embroidered, or one from my favorite charity.  Their job is humble, nothing splashy about it at all.  Yet, when I tuck one in for the night it has the most important job in my world.

Oh, I just had a great idea...I have to go.

Dear Mr. Candidate,

I am not voting for you.  For the first time since I became a registered voter, I may not vote for anybody at all.

I'm so disgusted with your lies, promises, gooey smiles, and pretense that you really care about ME.  You don't.

I know you cannot single-handed fix Medicare, illegal aliens, taxes, or bring home the troops, YOU have too deal with a great many more people in government than could possibly fit into your Oval office, much less get them 100% on board with all YOUR plans.  Give me a break, I was not born yesterday.  None of the things YOU promise YOU are going to fix...YOU will NEVER, EVER single-handedly FIX.

I think the only way to save America's future is to become an isolationist nation.  We have got to stop trying to save the world, the world has bled us dry AND lets face it, the world no longer wants our help.  We are hated, round the globe.

No fooling around...THIS IS WHAT WE NEED, TO DO.

Send undocumented aliens home...let their own countries take care of them.  My own family might need help, and should not come second to illegal freeloaders any more.

We need to close all embassies, around the world, bring those people home and make them find actual jobs....they will soon come to realize the true state our economy.

We will suggest, not demand, to all other American citizens it would be in their best interest to return home as well.   I THINK we are still a Democracy, so the choice to come home will be up to them...whatever consequences befall those that choose to stay where they are, their fate is in their own families hands...the government will not spend money to bring them home.

We will, however, bring home our troops, where ever they might be.  Not in two years, 18 months, Christmas.  Now!  Right now!  It is time they...all of them....begin to protect our own borders...with a show of force THAT WE ARE MAD AS HELL, AND NOT GOING TO TAKE THE WORLD'S ABUSE ANY MORE.

Mister Candidate, listen to America...not the rich who are lining your pocket so you can sit in what used to be a respected, trusted, historically endowed Oval Office.  America needs a President that truly is for the people.

The poem on Statue of Liberty's table reads:

The New Colossus” by Emma Lazarus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles.
From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!"” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Perhaps it should read....I was the Mother of Exiles, standing here at sea washed, sunset gate, in my hand a beacon that once glowed world wide.  I'm no longer a mighty woman with a torch but one who's mild eyes are now full of tears, and who's silent lips command:

"My new name is Mother of America, and from my beacon-hand glows a single, dying flame; I have your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.  I have the wretched refuse, of these teeming shores: the homeless, down trodden citizens tempest-tossed, who's daily struggle is simply to survive...It is to them I now lift my lamp, these citizens of a once great nation, who live behind my golden door...and it is those I am now going to protect.

I'm sorry world, I cannot help you any more....you are going to have to fend for yourselves...I have a country to save."

Mr. Candidate, I expect the same from you...no more, no less...lift you lamp in defense of your citizens, not the almighty dollar and what it can do for you.

Thank you for your time.
Sincerely your,
Sandra Ann Hiller

Thinking

Yesterday my family had and unexpected, sad, still unbelievable experience.

My niece's husband passed away, he was 45 years old.  Oh, there was so much more life that could have been lived.  We don't know yet the circumstances of his passing.  An autopsy is going to be preformed.  Of course we are speculating the circumstances, but, like Paul, he was alone, so his last minutes will be a secret between him and his Creator.

A wonderful wife and three lovely children are left behind.  Full of fear of tomorrow, Sorrow from the loss, and wonder...oh, the wonder.  I wonder how we will survive.  I wonder if we could have and should have done something, anything, to prevent this horrible thing from happening.  I wonder if we loved enough.  I wonder if we laughed enough....I wonder if______________.  Fill in the blank.

Harold marched to his own drummer, was a very unique man.  He suffered from panic attacks, something I myself live with.  So, I know there were days that were difficult for him.  Especially during the times we want to hibernate, while the world demands our attention.  He was a good husband and father, accepting his step-daughters as his own.  However, it is his son that will suffer the most, he is much younger than the girls, and has a great deal to process not just in the days and weeks ahead, but for the rest of his life.

I talked with my sister last night, they are coping the best they can...I told her my daughter said she would drive me up to be with them, but she told me that her grand-daughter told her to tell me, they are in a stage of cocooning.  I get that.  We all handle grief in our own ways, we were raised to know that death is not the end, but a new beginning.

A friend who had MD once told me she was afraid to die.  I remember saying to her that I thought it was okay to have a fear of HOW we might die (some are pretty horrendous) but there was no reason to fear death.  She seemed comforted by the words.  She passed away at a young age, too.  She suffered from seizures and had one while she was home alone, with no one to help her.  I was there when EMT's and police arrived, I was comforted that her struggle was over and that she was finally at peace.

I feel the same peace for Harold, his struggle is now complete.  But the love he has for his family continues to live on and will for the rest of THEIR lives.  He was a good man, and will be missed.

Our family saying has always been we come from good, strong Shaffer stock, and that will be our comfort and support.  And, our faith in 'a better place' will give us the strength to see us through.

As I wrote on facebook this morning:  This chapter of you life was already written, The Lord knows what is in the chapter ahead. Rely on Him for your strength.


   So be it with you...so be it with you.

Aaaaahhhh.....

...dang, I hate when Frankie sneaks into the bed room, leans over, nose inches away from mine and begins to speak.  She knows that scares the begeezes out of me.

Frankie:  "What are you doing down there?"
Me:  "Well, I was sleeping."
Frankie:  "No silly, I mean down there."

She is pointing toward the foot of the bed.  I discover my head, neck and shoulders are no longer on the pillows, I have scrunched myself into a floppy, messy ball.  Kind of like a raggedy Ann or Andy doll.  What am I doing down there?

I used to get indigestion quite a bit at bedtime, and I read on the internet that if you lift the headboard off the floor and put big chunks of wood under it, slanting the bed, you will not get acid re-flux.  (Sorry to be discussing such things early in the morning.  I hope I've not spoiled you appetite.)  So I decided to do that. I'm sure I wrote here in my blog the experience I had trying to get the wood under the headboard in the first place.

I had great hopes this was going to help my affliction.

However, I must confess, like Frankie this morning, I have discovered myself almost at the bottom of the bed every morning, and have pondered this from time to time.  But, never tried to think it through until Frankie asked about my downward slide this morning.

I've come to the conclusion, humans are not meant to sleep at an angle.  We are meant to lie flat, and carrying that a bit further, who invented the pillow, the very first 'slant' our bodies adjusted to?  And, when?  Surely the cave man was not concerned about acid re-flux, at first he didn't even have fire.  I imagine finding a cave, food and clothing were his primary concerns.  What were the first pillows made from.  I know mattresses were at times simple boards, or straw, often times not even bound together so that folks had to re-adjust the straw in able to make the bed comfortable for sleeping.  Oh, and imagine, the bugs...imagine the bug bites.

Somebody must have thought one day, (probably a tired, cranky wife and mother) she was not putting her head on straw...one more night...took the goose feathers from that evening's dinner, threw an old piece of cloth around them and for the first time had a good night's sleep. Hence, sleeping at an angle was born.

Hmmm, I'm sure it was more comfortable, and probably warmer, too.  However, did this simple invention bring on the first 'crook in the neck', did folks find themselves in the morning, sleeping just below that pillow meant to make sleeping better?  I'm starting to think so.  Over time, and generations later we adjusted to pillows.  Down, feather, eventually foam, and other space age fillers.  Then we moved on to the beds themselves.  First came springs, topped with cotton batting, etc.  Then came the choice of soft, medium, firm.  Twin, full, queen and king.  After that, adjustable, the head went up and down, the foot as well.  (I think we first saw them in hospitals.)  And finally, now the full size is on the way out, I think, while memory foam, and remote control pressure filled mattresses are in.

All of this is well and good...I wonder what our ancestors would think of all these marvels?  However, all this does not explain why I end up at the foot of the bed every morning, except for the fact, we are not meant to sleep at an angle.  As for my indigestion, acid re-flux, I don't have it very much any more.  Possibly because I stopped eating meals at 9:30/10:00 at night, or maybe, just maybe it might be because, my body is trying to sleep like cave man, with no pillow at all.

Hmmmm.....

      I've decided I like the word contemplation.

CONTEMPLATION:

1   a : concentration on spiritual things as a form of private devotion

b : a state of mystical awareness of God's being

2

: an act of considering with attention : study

3

: the act of regarding steadily

I've been contemplating a lot lately.  Everything fascinates me.  I contemplate the streaks of melting condensation and they slowly creep to the bottom on my skylights.  I even watched a spider the other day wrap an insect in a silky film, lunch for another day.  Have you every watch one weave a web?  I have.  It is a marvel.

I've contemplated my life.  Ever excited about the things I've done, the things I've yet to do.  But, I've never contemplated about what I could have or should have done.  I guess that means my life has unfolded exactly the way it should have.  And I needn't contemplate what might or could happen in the future.  Whatever will be, will be.

Contemplating is good for the soul.  And, the mind.  They (whoever they are) say we only use a thimble full of what our brains can encompass, so I suspect contemplating is also good for our mental health.  

There are days I contemplate the state of America, and mourn.  I contemplate the state of the world and I not only mourn, but moan in pain.  I'm disgusted how we humans treat each other.  How have we come to such a point we've lost tolerance for our differences, and become Hell bent on wanting destroying each other? 

Sometimes contemplation gives me a 'heady-ache' as Tigger would say.

So, today I'm only going to contemplate on the things that bring me joy.  How the sun hangs so perfect in the sky, constantly moving, never sleeping.  The joy I get from spending time with my dear friends Larraine and Casey, while we study the Bible.  The intensity of the spider who continues to re-build his web, even though it is attached to the edge of my storm-door and I destroy it every time I go through it.  The excitement of Zorro when he know we are going to the front yard.  The twitch of CC's tail when a bird lands in the shrub just outside the bay window or the wind blows a leaf tightly against it.

So, dear friends and family, contemplate with me today, on the little things that bring us joy.  I bet they will cost you nothing but time.

Slosh

This is my word of the day.  Chosen because this morning I sloshed coffee all over the kitchen counter top before I even got a taste.

While I was cleaning up the mess I got to thinking about the different ways things get sloshed.

The first one that came to mind is that 'people get sloshed' I won't say if I ever found myself in that particular situation, although it could be plausible.  The way to getting 'sloshed' might be fun at the time, but the morning after...not so much.

Of course, you can slosh things on counter tops, like I did this morning.  Cleaning up this slosh was not a bad job, but sometimes a slosh can be devastating.

Suppose you are in your best clothes, headed for a very important job interview.  It's a very rainy day, you are standing at an intersection waiting for the light to change.  A huge delivery truck hits a puddle just right and sloshes water over your new shoes, and your legs/pants all the way up to your knees. Not much you can do about that but carry on best you can.

I remember the day three eggs rolled off the edge off my kitchen counter...what a slosh-y mess that was, yokes and whites just kept jiggling all around the floor while I tried to contain the mess under a bunch of paper towels.

Oh, and then there was the time not long ago I discovered the plumbing problem under the kitchen sink.  I had to slosh through the water to clean up that mess.  To make matters worse, I discovered this tragedy at bedtime.  Just what a person needs to end a day.

And finally, I tend to think we all slosh through life.  Sometimes we just have to step in a puddle, sometimes the slosh can be ankle deep, but we manage.  As long as the slosh does not cover our heads, we will forge ahead.  We keep going till we need a boat.  Remember Noah?

I hear whispers,

they are coming from the bedroom closet.  "Now what?" I wonder aloud.

I push open the closet door.  Two bears, in a heap, are blinking at me.  One is  large, beige and very floppy, the other has dark brown wiry fur, with grey paws.

Obviously I had forgotten to take them out of the closet.  Poor babies, they get shoved in the closet every time I get a call someone is coming to look at the house.  I feel really bad, I love them.

The floppy bear is "Burgie Bear".  My dear labradoodle from the time he was a pup had great mothering instincts and would gently carry stuffed animals in his mouth, indoors and out, in order, I suppose to tell the world he had great fathering instincts.

The smaller bear, Squeezy, I bought for myself right after Paul passed away.  He was my comfort, rock, and has been covered in tears.  He has a red winter scarf around his neck.  We slept together.

Anyway, after Burgie passed away I could not bring myself to get rid of his bear, and I put him in the washer and dryer and was so pleased to see Burgie Bear come out of that ordeal a 'new' bear.  So, to keep them close, sat them on top of my jewelry box, on top of my chest of drawers.  Burgie bear, being so much larger spends his day hugging Squeezy.  We had a great arrangement.

Lately, however, I've been treating them quite badly, throwing them helter-skelter into the closet when people come to call.  Hence, the whispering in the closet.  I'm sure they are both very confused.  I know I would not like being thrown into a dark closet on some old lady's whim.

So this morning I sat them down to have a heart to heart.  I explained what's going on.  Promise to be more careful, placing, not throwing them into the closet when needed.  And re-assure them, I still love them dearly, and we are family, and Whither, I go, they too shall go.

I think they understand.  They are sitting on top of the chest of drawers, and Burgie is hugging Squeezy.  All is right in their world.

Chapter Seven Selling House

Okay, yesterday was kind of a bummer...I wrote on facebook that my house got a very bad review, and that did hurt my feelings, I wanted to cry, and frankly...give up.

It said the interior of my house was 'poor' the exterior was 'poor', and it was 'chopped up', BUT did have good square footage for the price.

Do these people not know the time and labor I've put into this experience, and how excited I was to be having this experience?  I guess not.

Anyhooo, after reading that report, I decided to give the clean-up on more shot.  My Realtor had told me the library was too dark and that I needed to pack up books, to open the area up.  And, I have to admit I have been dragging my heels regarding that.  I'm a writer.  I love books.  It's a library, and libraries are supposed to have books.  I know I only had to pack them away, not burn them, but somehow that seemed sacrilegious, and could not bring myself to do it.

But, in order to remove myself from the 'poor' interior status, yesterday I charged ahead.  I had years of Scientific American magazines, they are already gone...recycled....yesterday.  I also had many, many years of National Geographic magazines.  I love, love, love national geographic magazines, it took more than an hour but I personally checked the covers on every single one made two piles and took to the garage years of them for future recycling.  I kept about two dozen of them,  two for Karen that I took articles out of that I know she will like, and for myself their 100th year anniversary copy, all that had articles about Australia, the original one with the wide eyed girl, two about the discovery of Titanic, one about America's anniversary in 1976 and a few more.  Goodbye precious magazines.  Next I tackled books, paperbacks, health saving, time saving, money saving, weight losing fad diets, and others that were clearly about scams. Man, were they heavy.

But, I had emptied more than six shelves, so I began moving my other precious possessions around, hoping that by moving them, it would give the appearance I had removed more than I actually had.  At the end I still had two empty ones.  Paul designed the library to have adjustable shelves, and these two were five feet long, 1x12 boards, that were movable and bracketed to the outside walls of the two floor to ceiling bookcases.

I stood on my office stool and began to unscrew the brackets, the lower brackets were fairly easy to reach, although tippy-toeing was required on the back ones.

Picture me contemplating.  How the heck was I going to remove the brackets higher up.  First, I wondered if I could somehow 'hike' myself up on the top of the credenza, from the stool...but remembered the scene of me trying to right myself from the bathroom floor the night before and realized there might be 'folly' in that.

Shoot, am I going to have to drag the ladder in from the garage.  Seriously...that was my intention.  However on the way to return the stool to the garage, I spy, my kitchen chairs.  I sit the stool down next to one...the chair seat is a few inches higher...that's about all the height I need.  Hmmmmm.

I leave the stool, grab a chair and return to the library.  Da, da.  Perfect fit.  I'm working away, working away.  I'm going to be able to do this, and not get caught not being careful...is this cool or what?

My back is to the door.

"What's ya doin?"

I darn near dropped the screwdriver.  I turn, and there is Frankie.  Damn it.

"Do you have Bonnie on speed dial?"
Me:  "Shut up, and go away."
Frankie:  "Oh, no. This is way too good.  Where's your camera?"
Me:  "I'm perfectly safe, I'm not going to hurt myself or fall."
Frankie:  "I can see the headline now...Stupid old woman falls from chair, breaks hips and legs...more to follow...."

If I were younger I would have jumped off the chair and throttled her.  But, I continued working all the while, and by the time this conversation was done, the last bracket came off the bookcase.  I was so dang proud of myself.  I slowly get down off the chair.

Me: (Fists clenched, arms waving over my head in triumph) Da, da,...da,.......daaaaa, da. Da.

Frankie leaves the room.

Next I tackle the furniture, and move the whole room around.  It looks great.  Frankie refused to come look. But later in the afternoon, I hear Zorro growling from deep in his throat.  I check to see what's up.  He's growling at the new furniture arrangement...apparently he doe not understand what and where everything is. I love that dog to bits. I reassure him everything is okay.

I consider the library re-arrangement a job well done.  Hopefully, my labors will help remove me from the 'poor' status.

However, here's the thing, I would appreciate if you could refrain from mentioning to my family that I was standing on top of a chair to work.  I don't think that would 'sit' well with them.

Chop, chop.

Here is some good advise coming at ya.  "Never, ever decide to cut your hair when you are:

1.  Tired
2.  It's bedtime
3.  You're old."

That being said, you must know by now what I did last night.

Oh, yes.  I cut my hair.

I will not say I did such a bad job that I can't leave the house full of embarrassment, it's just ...well, ...short...really...really...really short.

I kept seeing a little cluster of hair that needed to be just a tiny bit shorter, first on the left side, then on the right, in the back...across the front.  I finally got happy with those parts, and then, you guessed it, I held the mirror above my head...and the crown of my head looked exceptionally long compared to the rest of my head.

Chop, chop.

I was having a ball.  Hair flew everywhere...on me, on the floor, into the sink.  Not to worry, the hair did not go down the drain.  I always close it off and take wet tissues to wipe all the cut hair out of the sink before re-opening it.

Chop, chop.

I glanced at the bedside clock, it is almost midnight.  What the heck am I doing?  I know I need to stop, but I am by now, a demon possessed.  I cannot put the scissors down, whack, hack.

Finally, and only because there is not much hair left I am forced to stop.  Hallelujah.  I put my barber supplies back into their drawer, brush all the clippings from my shirt onto the floor, clean out the sink and get ready for bed.  I'm done.

Oh no...I forgot...back to the bathroom I go.  I get down on all fours, and with my finger-tips push all the hair clippings into a neat pile on the bathroom carpet and put them into the waste paper basket.  I am so tired; and think as long as I was already down here, I might just crawl to the bed on my hands and knees.  And would have, except for the fact I had not yet brushed my teeth and could not reach my tooth brush and paste from the position I was in.  Dang it...I had to stand up.  I put my forearms on the toilet seat and gave a heave...I was most thankful I had the strength to pull myself up.

It took great effort to brush my teeth, and the vision of Zorro already asleep in the bed is the only thing that kept me going.

Finally, lights out...I think I must have been asleep before my head hit the pillow.

One good thing did come out of all this...I sure don't have bed head this morning.

Chapter Six Selling House

I now know how a fish feels.  Living in a see-through container, vulnerable, naked, no where to go, no where to hide.  Glug, blub, glug, blub.

I've been living in a fish bowl myself since putting the house on the market.  My OCD is driving Frankie and me insane.  She is not allowed to leave dishes in the sink...and she must wipe it down after used.  If we happen to see a minuscule bit of lint on the floor we must bend over and pick it up.  If there is a LOT we must grab the carpet sweeper from the closet and sweep it up.  Oh, and pet fur, that is a whole other issue.
Sweep, sweep, sweep.

I got a call about 9:30 last night, a Realtor wants to bring a client around today at noon.  I immediately got up and began sweeping the living room carpet because I knew this morning there was going to be a new batch of pet fur...I've already swept it once today.  It's a living nightmare I tell you.

Stay calm, everybody loves fish, and enjoys their leisure swims through their fluid homes.  They never appear upset, or anxious.  Glub, blub, glug, blub.

Relax, Sandra, relax, if someone does not like your fishbowl, so what?  Is it the end of the world?  Is it really going to matter in 20 years?  I think not.  I feel like I've done the best I can to make my home attractive.  Have I done enough?   Probably not.  Should I do more?  Probably.

However I refuse to live in an austere, sterile environment, even fish in pet stores have a pleasant well lit, comfortable living room.  My home is still MY home until I sign papers that says it isn't, so welcome to my living room.  It might be a fishbowl at the moment, glub, blub, glub, blub everybody.

When did THIS happen?

Although this does not technically fall into the category of things they never tell you, it does relate to the fact that the older a person gets, the harder it is to multi-task.  Up to this morning I was at least able to think about one thing, do a specific other thing at the same time, and get both things right.

So it was this morning I was brushing out my hair and thinking about something else.  I never actually look at ME in the mirror anymore, but I do glance at the particular spot of my body and is requiring maintenance.  Having appropriately brushed my hair to my own satisfaction, I entered my office and went to work.

Zorro became quite anxious about not having had time to explore his front yard, and his pestering was beginning to be tiresome, I decided to take a break and go out front for a few minutes.  Before doing so, I went potty, and decided to re-brush my hair.  The front looked great.

Hmmm, I wonder if I have 'bed head'?  I pick up my hand held mirror, turned around to check the image of the back of my head in the cabinet mirror.

Tee, hee, hee.

Ooooo my gosh...

LOL, LOL, LOL.

The back looked like a group of mice had tried to build a nest back there while I slept.  Seriously, it was such a mess, tufts of hair going hither and yon, north, south, east and west.  I was hysterical.  Matter of fact I'm still laughing.  Thank God, I decide to check the back.  Otherwise, my hair would have looked like that all day.

Which, brings me back to the beginning of this blog.  When did it happen?  How long ago and what ridiculous things have occurred because I cannot think one thing and do something else at the same time?

It just ain't right!  And,

it boggles my mind.  Hey, maybe the day will come when all I can do is boggle.

Ambidextrous

I don't have a lot of early childhood memories, but the ones I do I remember vividly; like when the precious ring my grandfather bought for me bounced down the steps and into the black abyss of a floor vent.

This morning the closet door to memories opened and one fell out, maybe the fact today is the first day of school here in Portland had something to do with it.  Anyway, I think I must have started life out as a 'lefty'.  Apparently, I didn't realize that, until the day I sat in my first grade class and the teacher kept taking the pencil out of my left hand and putting it into my right.  I must have been puzzled, but eventually I learned to write with my right hand.

I guess I must have thought it was a school rule or something that we had to write with our right hands, until I was in second grade, noticed a classmate was definitely writing with her left hand...hmmm.  Maybe there was no rule.  By then I'd been acclimated to writing with my right hand, it was all good.

Time passed, and over the years I began to ponder things I did differently than others.  Little things, insignificant things, every day things.

I throw a ball left handed, yet, eat with my fork in my right hand.
I use a knife with my left hand, yet use right handed scissors.
I hold my toothbrush in my left hand, but drink things by using either hand.
Generally, I will grasp a hand rail with my left hand, and go up and down stairs on the left side.
I use gardening tools with my right hand.
Brush and comb my hair with my left.
My office is set up to accommodate the use of my left hand.
I dust, vacuum, prepare dishes for the dishwasher, using both, depending on convenience I suppose.
I will use a screw-driver with either hand, but only use a hammer with my right.
And...here is a real puzzler...I cannot remember for the life of me, what direction to turn a faucet on and off.  Honest, I never, ever get it correct, even thought I know the little saying "Right-y, tight-y, lefty, loos-y."  I will always, always do it wrong.
Oh, and typing...it's a real chore...I will, till my dying day, have a struggle with a keyboard.  My left hand wants to be 'in charge' constantly be-rating my right hand for not being able to keep up.

It's been quite a conundrum, no wonder I've always been on the 'loopy' side.

One day I wondered if I was also 'left-footed', and tried to watch with what foot I started walking.  I've come to believe I am indeed left footed.  Generally, almost always, I take my first step with my left foot.  Is that trippy or what?

If I'm left footed, am I left brained?  Or is that even a trait for us ambidextrous folk?

I think I'm very fortunate to be able to use both hands interchangeably, and frankly, I don't think about it much, except for days like today when kids are heading back to their class rooms, and I am reminded of my first grade experience.  I wonder if my parents might have had something to do with the fact I was changed from a 'lefty' to a 'righty' when it came to using a pen, crayon, pencil, etc.  Because, why else would have the teacher singled me out, and not my classmate.  I will never know, unless I remember to ask my parents when I go to the Great Beyond.

We folks who are ambidextrous are a wonderful breed, don't know how many of us belong to this club, but I'm happy to be a member.  If it's true 'lefties' are always 'right'...what does that make me?  At least now we might have an explanation for my unusual behaviors.  It's because when I'm physically going right, my brain is headed left, and when my brain is going right, I'm physically doing something tending to go left.

Ooooh, I just gave myself a heady-ache.

Remember....

...when I mentioned on Facebook that I broke my computer glasses?  Snapped those suckers right in half one morning while I was cleaning the lenses...I was going to try to mend them with my narrow white surgical tape, but could see that was not going to work this time, the space between the lenses is to narrow to make a permanent seal.  What a quandary.

It took a while for me to figure this out, and I eventually decided to use super glue (I can't recall my brand name).  I took the glue, spread a little on each exposed broken edge, waited a tiny bit to allow the glue to 'set' and pressed the two pieces together.  This glue is generally quick drying, so when the glue would not hold the two pieces together I was not sure what to do.  By now, (and of course) I had managed to glue two of my fingers together.

I call Frankie to the scene.  As soon as she can control her laughter, we brain storm.

I manage to 'un-glue' my fingers.   Finally, pressing hard, the glue is starting to hold my glasses together, however, we both knew this was not the solution I needed.  In other words...bad idea...the splice was not even or for that matter even straight.  How was I going to look in cock-eyed glasses?  Cock-eyed?

Frankie spies the box of tissues sitting on the desk.  She takes one out of the box, and makes a long narrow strip.  Then, she patiently centered and straightened the break and applied more glue all around the splice, then, took the strip of tissue and began to wrap it around the break.  I watched in fascination.  The tissue began to adhere to the wet glue, adhereing the glue to the plastic frames.  Round and round she wrapped the tissue, maybe six or seven times.  With each round, she added a touch more glue, till she finally tore the dry end of the tissue off.  I could see the tissue beginning to dry, adhering it to the plastic frame; in a matter of minutes she took her thumb and forefinger and pressed the tissue tightly to the splice.

"Don't touch."  She implored.

I don't.  How did she do that and not get the glue all over herself?

In no time at all, a neat, sturdy, nerdy, beautiful white tissue seal had formed, perfectly molded to the plastic frames.  Frankie finally picked up the glasses, tested them for durability and announced "They're fixed."

Wow...clever lady...I'm so proud of her.

Oh, I also think I mentioned I'm not going to get new frames, I love my new look.  It definitely suits the NEW ME.

I must tell you sometime about the time, a week later, I spilled super glue all over my leg.  And, how THAT dried really, really quick.  I'm such an idiot.