A hurricane names Sandy

I have to tell you, I'm exhausted.  I had no idea what an emotional turmoil boils up when you have a hurricane with your name attached to it.  I've been feeling guilty for days, and after all the devastation I've seen on television my guilt, regret, worry, sorrow and fears have only multiplied.  Yes, I know I have had nothing (personally) to do with this, yet there have been several people I know who have commented on the fact it was named Sandy...and "Oh, I was going to call you."  Oh, my.  Trust me people if I could have stopped this disaster I would have.

My biggest concern was for my family and my friends that still live back east, and indeed in the direct path of Super Storm Sandy.  Mostly, for my hometown, in southwest Pennsylvania.  It's a little place nestled in the Appalachian Mountains, called Johnstown.  It is known for flooding that goes back to the disastrous one of 1889.  I worried, that this event might cause another one.  Sure, it did have other floods, and did survive...and I was certain it would survive another should it happen...still...this was a 'super-storm'....so I was indeed worried.

Oh, my.  Why did they put Sandy, Super Storm Sandy as a handle on this particular hurricane.  Of course, the weather people, or whoever attaches names to these events had no way of knowing I'm a 'panic-attack, introvert, la-la-lady with very low self-esteem', or that I would take this event personally, very, very personally.

I KNOW, I KNOW, really, I do know I did not flood your home, nor beach your boat, nor fell your tree, nor disrupt your power, nor leave you stranded...but, for the rest of my life an iddy, bitty, part of my subconscious will whisper that I did.

On the up side, my name will forever more NOT be associated with a hurricane again.

I think I'll go now, to a corner, curl up in the fetal position and suck my thumb, okay?

What can the matter be?

Don't you just hate waking up in the morning with song stuck in your head? That happened to me this morning.

A little ditty from my far off childhood was going round and around in my head.  The name of the song is "Oh, dear! What can the matter be?  Or, Johnny's so long at the fair."  Below you will see what's been cause me consternation this morning.

"Oh, dear! What can the matter be?
Dear, dear! What can the matter be?
Oh, dear! What can the matter be?
Johnny's so long at the fair."

Oh, dear!

Who is this Johnny? Why do I even care? And, even more why am I so concerned that he's late?

Let it go, Sandra, let it go!!!!

Of course I can't. So off to Google I go to do some research. I'm always amazed what I find. Turns out this little ditty started out as a nursery rhyme somewhere around 1780 in England. Soon after it made it's way to America, and somewhere along that way someone added music and we got the versions we have today...yes, there are at least three, and probably even more.

So, below you will find the words to Oh, dear! What can the matter be? Now we all know Johnny. Why we care, and even more why we are concerned.

"Oh, dear! What can the matter be?
Dear, dear! What can the matter be?
Oh, dear! What can the matter be?
Johnny's so long at the fair."

He promised to buy me a trinket to please me
And then for a smile, oh, he vowed he would tease me
He promised to buy me a bunch of blue ribbons
To tie up my bonnie brown hair.

Oh, dear! What can the matter be?
Dear, dear! What can the matter be?
Oh, dear! What can the matter be?
Johnny's so long at the fair.

He promised to bring me a basket of posies
A garland of lilies, a gift of red roses
A little straw hat to set off the blue ribbons
That tie up my bonnie brown hair.

Oh, dear! What can the matter be?
Oh, dear! What can the matter be?
Oh, dear! What can the matter be?
Johnny's so long at the fair.

God love Johnny, I hope he eventually got home, and that his sweetie was pleased with her gifts.

Did I brighten your day?  I know I feel better.

Things they never tell you

I got to thinking this morning how CC my kitty, is the kind of creature that simply 'eats to live'...while Zorro is the kind of creature who's soul purpose is to 'live to eat'...he will devour anything, anytime, anywhere.

I spent most of my life in the gigantic green pasture of the 'lives to eat' side of the fence.  There was not a food I would not at least 'try' if given the opportunity.  I've had snails smothered in garlic butter, love liver and onions, and even sardines in mustard sauce.

It's not that I would not eat snails again, they were yummy, and I still eat liver and sardines...but something is different; now I 'eat to live'.  And, frankly, it's awful.

Used to be food looked colorful, inviting, savory, beautiful, and ooooh, the smells...spicy, sweet, musty, mysterious, sour...all exciting.  I enjoyed a new ethnic experience and never ordered from the "American" side of the menu.  My taste buds all a twitter before I even entered the door.

It was wonderful and I was never disappointed.

Then, I guess when I got about 65 I noticed the food still looked colorful, inviting, savory, beautiful, spicy, sweet, musty, mysterious, sour...but they no longer excited me.  Since that time, it has gotten worse, much worse...bummer.  Now, sadly, I've become a person that 'eats to live'.  Unfortunately, I tend to do it all day long.  I think I'm hungry and approach my cupboard with great anticipation, perhaps fill a cup half full of oyster crackers thinking their salty taste, and crunchy texture will somehow turn my taste buds on.  They don't.

So, how come, nobody ever tells you that your taste buds begin to diminish, (shudder) die.  Now, see...I can tell some of you are doubting me, so, since I love research I went on line and here is what I learned.  Take heed.

Q: Do your taste buds change as you get older? Why?

A: Like all the other cells in the body, those special sensory cells that make up the taste buds eventually wear out. As we age, the taste buds begin to disappear from the sides and roof of the mouth, leaving taste buds mostly on our tongue. The remaining taste buds eventually become less sensitive. Smoking and eating scalding liquids can damage them further. Our sense of smell also decreases as we get older, and smell and taste are intimately linked.

You should not ignore a decreased sense of taste. Diminished taste and smell can lead to decreased appetite and poor nutrition because eating may lose some of its appeal. To compensate, people may add extra salt or sugar to their food, which can lead to problems for those who have high blood pressure or diabetes 

And there you have it...in a nutshell.

Dang it, and just when my remaining taste buds are screaming for lobster and steak.  Guess I might as well get myself a cup of oyster crackers, apparently my taste buds won't know the difference.

Heee, heee, heee.

Frankie got to the kitchen first this morning, and was fixing herself a cup of coffee.

I arrived a few minutes later.  

scr-eeee-ammm.

I looked around in terror...had somebody entered the house?  Was there a rat in the living room?  A huge spider perhaps?

I saw nothing, everything looked fine.

Me:  "What the heck is the matter with you?"  I asked with just a hint of anger and fear in my voice.

Frankie:  "You," she stated, stirring Hazelnut flavoring into her coffee.  "It's you...go take a look at yourself."  She actually gave a little shiver.

I want coffee badly, but was curious enough to walk to the bathroom to have a peek.

Baaaaaaaa,  haaaaaaaa,     haaaaaaa,     haaaaaa.  Insert deep breath here.   Baaaaa, haaaaa, haaaa.

I could see now why Frankie had such a reaction when she first saw me.

Remember my late night self inflicted hair cut a while ago???

Well, just a few days ago I was talking with my granddaughter, Michelle, on the phone, and she with giggles asked me if my hair was growing back.  I had told her yes.

This morning, the image in the mirror indeed told me that was a true statement.

I could not believe what I saw. I will try to describe.

The hair on both sides of my head, just above my ears was flattened tightly against my head, all the way up to the crown (I didn't look at the back).  However, the top of my head...well...that threw me into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.  There, two inches tall, (I measured) was my hair...newly blond-ed, standing straight up was the most ridiculous looking Mohawk I have ever seen.  Well, it wasn't 'straight up' because tufts of hair were leaning to the left and leaning to the right, leaning toward the front and back, while apparently some could not decide which side they wanted to affiliate.  It was hysterical.  

By now Frankie is leaning against the bathroom door jam.  She is apparently pleased I have started my the day in a state of embarrassment.  Thank goodness, we did not set the place on fire, or have need of EMT's...how embarrassing would that have been?

Frankie:  "Really, sweetie, you have GOT to get yourself a new hair style, this on is bad, bad, bad." She turned and left.

I'm still looking at the vision in the mirror and sigh.  I hate to admit it, she's right.

...

I'm thinking wigs, yeah, that's the ticket, or better yet, maybe I'll simply shave my head...maybe...get a tattoo one that says...Honk if you love Jesus.

Stay tuned it folks, this can only get worse.

Noooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This cannot be happening.  I'm breathing into a bag.   I'm so upset I could scream, cry and spit all at the same time.

Times Square, my wonderful, friendly, colorful, yet some how innocent, and naive, Times Square has gone to the dark side.  There are no cameras you can wave at to tell your friends and family you are actually, ACTUALLY there.  Gone are the days you used to be able to talk on the phone with loved ones 'back home' and wave at them at the same time.

People dressed like the Statue of Liberty would roam about, for hours, even on the hottest days..how cool was that.  You could see brides and grooms having their picture taken for prosperity in this iconic place.  Films were shot there, and always, always you could find New York's Finest lingering about...not in an aggressive way, but like a friendly neighbor, 'I'm here to protect you' kind of way.

Once in a while Mickey Mouse and Minnie would show up.  Grover and Cookie Monster stopped by to wave hello and have their pictures taken with visitors.  Then, of course, there was Naked Cowboy...he would play his git-tar, and sing, and for a fee you could stick a greenback down his boot and have your picture taken with him.  Oh, how my sister and I wanted to do that.  

TGIF was on the corner, that is where the wonderful camera was...thousands of folks would stand there waving to folks back home.  Now the restaurant and camera are gone...a black skeleton, being refurbished, probably for some up-scale, fashion place with price tags I could never afford appears to be taking its place.  Commercialism has taken over.  

Oh, there are still events, almost daily, but the cameras are situated that I no longer feel as though I'm a participant.  I feel like a stranger from a foreign land...not understanding the language.  So sad, so sad.

Now, there are no cameras from which a tourist can wave to folks back home, they are up, across the street, and pan so quickly there is no way your friends and neighbors can see you, much less wave back.   I saw Naked Cowboy...I guess for the last time, a few weeks go...and I can't tell you the last time I saw the Statue of Liberty.  Oh, sure, costumed people occasionally roam around, but most I don't even recognize.  And once I saw two Grover's...that's going to screw up some kids psyche...and tan-amount to having two Santa Clauses sitting side by side in a department store...PPPPPPlease.

Sigh

....

....

I guess I will not be visiting this favorite haunt much any more, it has lost its appeal.  Somebody ate the icing off my cake.

Aggggghhhh.

Some days I seem to get out of the bed on the wrong side.  Not literally, but I'm sure you get my drift.

My intentions are always honorable, I mean to get up, get busy, and hip-pity-hop-pity through the day.

Grrrrr, first I overslept...didn't even wake until after eight.  I even had lights out before 1AM last night so it isn't like I didn't get a good night's sleep.  Neither the dog nor the cat stirred this morning, (it was cold in the house) so maybe I could blame my tardiness on the fact I didn't want to crawl out from under the warm blankets.

Then of course, oversleeping threw my morning routine off, my pets were famished, and Zorro was wildly going around my ankles in ever quickening circles...he has no idea just how much danger that puts him in.  If he trips me, he's gonna be one squished puppy.  And that dear friends and family you can take literally.

Baaaahaaaaahaaaaa.

This of course takes me to our peanut butter, hurry to make the bed habit.  Let me quickly mention, this particular jar, is so thick, it's kind of like spreading almost set concrete.  It comes out of the jar in clumps rather than the creamy, easily spreading variety.  It's not spoiled or anything like that, but I have a feeling it must have been close to the bottom of the barrel when it finally hit the jar.  Most of the peanut oil went with the beginning of the batch.

I hit the road running while Zorro licked and licked I managed to get the bed made.

Should I get dressed, or go to work...I was already late, so I went to work in my toasty warm nighty.  And here I am.

I checked my e-mail, and my I Ching.  Then went to Facebook to check on news from family and friends ...there was hardly any.  Then went to my blogs.  I posted a new Pebble Whisper, and intended to post a new Ramblings but got sidetracked.

Now I'm further behind...I'm so glad I have such an understanding boss.  By now most bosses would be docking my pay.  Baaaaaahaaaaaahaaaaa.  (Like she actually pays me.)

But I digress.

I remembered an e-mail I got last night from my niece, Christy.  She wrote about a web-site called  Encounter With Gorillas.  It was fascinating, and I viewed it again, and then posted the site on Facebook and I hope some people take a look at it today.  Great stuff, hope for humanity.

"Anyway," said only in the way Ellen DeGeneres can and does, my morning is shot, it is already after ten o'clock.  I do consider my blogs part of my work program, because it is work.  I am, after all, a writer, Baaaaaahaaaaaahaaaaaa, (I like to believe, anyway).  I'm in the publishing business, so writing is part of my work, right.  So I will not allow myself to feel guilty about what I'm doing now.

So, since the day is already shot to heck and back.  I'm going to take a coffee break.

Hey, boss...be back in ten!

It's what we make it

A couple of days ago a friend on Facebook posted something about "the meaning of life", a great preponderance for all of us.  I sat staring at those words, and wanted badly, very badly, to be profound.

I got 'nuttin'.

I've written here before how I do my most profound thinking in the shower...maybe the hot water clears the cobwebs from my brain.  Anyway, while that wonderful water poured over me...I was struck by my 'meaning of life'.

Physically, it means I still have the ability to breathe.  In and out, in and out.  And have the ability to make choices about my health that will allow me to breath for as long as I possibly can.

Spiritually, it means I believe in a hereafter, and it will be glorious, I will reconnect with family and friends already there and spend eternity with them.

Mentally, it means I still have my facilities about me...my wits, so to speak.  I can discern right from wrong, good from evil, love from hate, and friend from foe.

Creatively, it means I can color my world in bright hot colors, or drab grey and black ones when I look outward, but more importantly inward.  I've been told I look at the world through rose colored glasses so I guess you know my choice.

Attitudinal, My glass can be half empty or half full.  Always, always my glass is half full.

I think the problem we have with trying to explain 'the meaning of life' is we try to look at the whole picture without taking into consideration fine intricate nuances, the delicate shadows of dark and light, the dust particles shining through a beam of sunlight.  In other words, we make it hard, it's not.

I kind of like my 'Meaning of Life', it makes sense to me.  And I believe, in the end it is what we make of our life, that gives it meaning.

Silliness overtook me...

yesterday afternoon.

I was talking with my cousin who lives in Ohio.  We talk about once every two weeks.  She's in her nineties, quick as a whip, smart, and funny...oh, so funny.

She was telling me how a Podiatrist had been to her facility, and that she had her toe nails trimmed, mentioning that he had injected some kind of pain reliever into her toes...apparently this is a painful procedure.  He told her not to wear her shoes the rest of the day.  She sighed, and there were a few seconds of silence.

Then she said she might have her toenails permanently removed.  I said "Ouch!"

Frankly, I was shocked at first as I didn't know that was a treatment...I had always seen nail removal as a torture bad guys did.  Then, I thought it might be a pretty good idea.  I, myself, am at the point I can no longer bend my legs into a tight pretzel position making my own toe nail clipping more difficult.

Suddenly I was overcome with laughter.  "Oh, Vivian, this is so funny," I manage to choke out.  "Picture this."

And I proceed to tell her how my body is donated to science, and I'm envisioning me on a slab up at the University Hospital.  Some young student throws off my blanket...and there, naked as a jaybird, is me...not only toe-nail-less but toothless, too. Add to that, I'm hoping I'm AT LEAST in my nineties, and that my tattoos are unrecognizable, down at my ankles.  Now imagine, that my blubber is gone, and there are wrinkles, rows and rows of them, like Venetian blinds down around my hips.  Oh, brother...if only I could afford a tummy tuck...

Somewhere in the room, I'm looking down at me, looking up at me and having the best laugh at the me I used to be and thinking, this poor, unsuspecting wanna' be doctor is wondering what the heck he/she as gotten him/herself into.  I know these wonderful young people treat donated bodies with great respect and I'm certainly glad I'm going to be part of the process to help them become physicians.  But, I also hope my young person has a sense of humor, and has a silent chuckle over the toothless, nail-less, wrinkled, tattooed   wonderful specimen he/she has received.

Work with me people...this is funny.

Garden paths

I delight in paths, especially garden paths.  There are two here I never tire of walking.

One is through the Japanese Garden, the other is through a Formal Chinese Garden smack, dab in downtown Portland.  They both can and will transport you away from our troubles, doubts, anxieties, and sorrows, if only for a little while.

The Japanese Garden is quite large, and is nestled up and tucked against a hillside; it has winding paths that take you past a coy pond, a sand garden, oriental buildings, and the most beautiful trees, shrubs and flowers you can imagine.  One building is designed to hold meetings, and frequently has displays from local artists, floral designers, and even has prints you can buy.  Although, they are always beyond my means, I would love to be able to purchase a few to hang on my walls here at home.

My favorite spot takes you down a winding, old path to an enclosed sand and stone garden.  Somehow it makes you want to talk in whispers.  There are benches, and my friends and I sometimes sit there, to relax a few minutes and chat.  And, it offers us time to refresh ourselves for the trek back up the hill.

Did you know the Japanese revere rocks?  Apparently they do not have an abundance of natural rocks there, so the ones they do are held in great esteem.  Hence you will often see them specifically placed in gardens so all to enjoy their beauty.

Time slows down in this garden, I have never, ever seen anyone rushing along the paths, there is simply so much to savor.  I'm always afraid I will miss something, a butterfly, a cherry blossom, perhaps a beautiful coy.  And, the changing seasons makes each path appear different, I guarantee they will take your breath away.

With each visit, I find I hate to leave.

But, as you are about to there is a tiny gift shop by the exit...oh the marvels.  I have bought post cards that show the garden how it looks during all four season, they are magnificent.  I have of course bought other trinkets, as well.  One is a leave from a collection called Peace Leaves.  They are paper leaves cut in the shape of actual tree leaves, with a brief message on them.  Mine is from Geraldine Helen Foote and it says
"Walk, paced to a heart's beat that beckons."

In this garden my heart beats slowly, as the serene paths encompasses me.

Next is the Classical Chinese Garden it covers an entire city block, and is enclosed on all sides by walls.  You have to microscopically explore the intricate detailing of every inch of this garden to really appreciate its mysterious beauty.  Every pebble, in the path were hand placed by Chinese artisans that came to America in order to make the garden as authentic as possible.  No joke...hand placed pebbles...seriously.   The path in this garden is continuous and winds around a large pond, with hundreds of breathtaking waterlilies floating on the top; serene,buildings in Chinese architecture line the perimeter of the path.  They are decorated with beautiful carved furniture in a dark wood, teak or mahogany, I think. And the furniture styles reflect different dynasties, each piece purposely chosen, and purposely set in its specific place to be admired for its intrinsic beauty.

For me, the center piece of the buildings is The Tower of Cosmic Reflections, or the Teahouse.  It is about halfway along the path from each direction you travel.  You must stop in for a rest.  You'll  find you have a choice of dozens of  unusual teas to drink, and unique tidbits to eat.  I always choose a different tea, that sometimes do unusual things to my taste buds, while the unique tidbits are always an interesting surprise.

There is a boat shaped building called Painted Boat in Misty Rain.  In it is a piece of furniture that reminds me of the old Dewey-Decimal chests you find in libraries.  Each drawer has a number.  There is a tube with rods in it with numbers that correspond to the numbers on the drawer. You shake the tube to shuffle the rods, then pull one out.  Whatever number is on the rod will match with a drawer with that number on it.  You retrieve a tiny slip of paper from that drawer, and receive a piece of advise to guide you through the day.

Please, don't rush through this magical place, in summer, dragon-flies are in great abundance, their iridescent bodies glimmer in the sun.  Walking slowly, you might be blessed to have one land on you, I think that alone makes a visit here special.

Of course, this garden has a gift shop and well, and if you are like me, that will be your final stop. This shop is as tiny as the one at the Japanese Garden and is filled with equally lovely trinkets.  Most are too expensive for me, but I always seem to find some kind of treasure to bring home for remembrance.

So, if you delight in paths like I do I will enchant you with a visit to these two gardens.  They are unique, and special, I guarantee I can transport you to China and Japan, without having to spend thousands on airfare and other traveling expenses to such far-flung places, and you won't have to worry about digestive problems from drastic changes in diet either.

Choose to walk a path today, go slowly, listen to the birds, and hear the whisper of winter creeping in on the breeze.

Life

I love my life.

Am I rich?  No, but I have enough to keep a roof over my head, food on my table, and heat for the cold months ahead.

Am I sick?  No, sure, I have aches and pains.  Especially when I first get out of bed in the morning but, I'm able to function pretty darn well, and I still have most of my mental marbles (thank you God.)

Am I able?  No, not so much in some departments.  I no longer climb ladders, Don't see well (always without my glasses) and after dark (even with my glasses) especially outside.  My depth perception is shot.

Am I sad?  No, I have moments of melancholy from time to time, getting through October and November are my most difficult months to muddle through.  But, I manage to do it every year.

Am I young?  No, and getting through the dust is a little harder to do.  Problem is the dust does not bother me anymore.  All those Fridays I was flinging a rag around the house when I could  have been reading a book is pretty much wasted time.

Am I pretty?  No, Thank goodness surface pretty doesn't count.  I think my pretty is somewhere inside, and I'm good with that.

Am I done with life?  No (PERIOD)

I am excited about the What's gonna?  Every morning I a turn a page.  Every month I start a new chapter.  Every year I start a new book.  Volume 75.

I love my life.

My mind's a clutter

The holidays are coming, and my mind is cluttered.  I've been sitting at my computer since before eight this morning designing cards for Halloween.  But my grey matter is way ahead thinking about Thanksgiving and Christmas cards.  Plus, I've told the neighborhood ladies I want to have a pot luck afternoon with them some time in December and my mind is racing on an invitation for that as well.

I especially want the invitation to the pot luck to be clever, cute, yet totally Christmas-y as well.  I know what I would like to do, but I'm not sure I can pull it off.  I would like to dress up 'Christmas wacky' and have my picture taken...but I would have to have someone take it, and at the moment the only ones I can think to do it is one of the lady friends I want to ask to this shindig and that would spoil the surprise.

There are times I wish Frankie were real.  For this she is no help at all.  Sorry, Frankie.

Last year for Christmas, my dear friend Simone bought me an outrageous red hat that would be perfect for the kind of picture I have in mind.  I could jazz it up with poinsettias, greens, and maybe even a big white bow.  Wouldn't that be grand?

Then I could don white gloves, throw on my fur coat, and hold a champagne glass in my hand with some kind of red or green liquid in it.  Oh, and I could add an excess of glitter to my cheeks so it looks like I've already had a bit too much of the 'merry' already.

See, I think that would be hugely funny, well...down right hysterical...and something that would be very, very unexpected.  However, I think last years Christmas card to these ladies went over their heads and although I tease everybody that I need to be committed, and have even asked for volunteers to be brave enough to do it.  I fear an invitation like that might cause my friends to bring someone in a white coat with a straight jacket  to the party to do exactly that...haul me away.

So there is my dilemma, do I act as Frankie would with her wild, free spirit, or should I act as the withering, inside the box, old lady that I am.

Yoooo, hoooo, Other Me, come out, come out, where ever you are.

Special hours

You never when something special is going to happen in your life.  I can always count on 'special' when I know my grandson, Marcus is coming to visit.  We have such a great time.  He is funny, charming, smart, full of life, a hard worker, and tops all of that off by being one good looking dude to boot.

We chat for maybe ten minutes and he makes his first trip to my 'snack' cupboard, and comes back with food in his hand.  I always prepare lunch, and early into the visit we eat, chat, and yesterday we both had a beer.  Lovely-ness.

Next, we cleared the table and played games.  I chose Battleship, Marcus chose In A Pickle.  Neither of us had played Battleship in years...we're talking years...he won, of course.  I'm jinked when it comes to games.  It's a good thing I only play them for fun and not superiority.  I could not find his ships to save my soul.  It didn't help that he kind of indicated he has grouped his together...and I believed him.  I'm so dang gullible.

While we were playing Battleship a friend and neighbor stopped by bringing me tomatoes and figs.  And I was so proud I got to introduce her to him.  By the way, the figs were delicious.

Anyway, we moved on to In A Pickle.  It's a card game, and you build sentences, most of which turn out to be silly, especially when you get close to the end of the game, and everybody has really ridiculous cards left that will not fit in anywhere.  We had build quite a sentence, and I wanted those cards really badly because he was way ahead of me all through the game.  I finally had to admit I could not add a new word, and he took the sentence away.  Did he feel guilty he had deprived his grandmother of that pile of cards.  Yes, for about a mini-second.  He scooped up those cards with such speed he created a breeze.

We retreated to the living room, and chatted a while more.  I sensed the visit is about to end.  I try not to be sad.  It is always hard when you know something special is going to end.  I knew he needed a few minutes to 'set the clock' on my stove to go off (after) he left.  But, it was time for him to fill up a bag of goodies to take home, and we ended up back in the kitchen.  I had no reason to leave the room and as a result I had spoiled any attempt he might have had to set the timer.  He made a lame attempt, while I was watching, but since he was looking at the dials upside-down, he failed very badly.  The clock began to beep and would not stop.

Sadly, goody bag in tow he had to take his leave.  He said he was going to rent a movie and call it good for the day.

I still had the kitchen to clear, and the games to put away.  Then I settled down on the couch with my beloved creatures in a warm glow of the love that had filled my house all afternoon, it was a grand, my mind was  filled with delightful memories of laughs and love.

You never when something special is going to happen in your life. Thanks, Marcus.

Chapter Eight Selling the House

Yes, this posting is going to be full of sour grapes.  What is it with Realtor's?  And, why must I capitalize that word?  Are they royalty or something?

I digress.

I am eager (although not as much as when I first started the process) to sell my home, and have been most accommodating, clearing clutter, having my family spruce up the outside of my place.  Thanks again everybody.  And, adding curb appeal to the tune of almost three hundred dollars.  When I get a call from a Realtor I jump through hoops for about 20 minutes putting remaining trinkets in drawers, dusting, opening drapes, etc, etc.  Only to have the Realtor and their client hurry through the house, and be gone in less than ten minutes.  All the while I'm waiting, waiting, waiting, for their arrival.  I've put my life on hold...strictly to accommodate them all of them.

Not long ago a Realtor called and said she and her clients would be here on a Sunday afternoon at 5:30  they did not appear until after six o'clock.  I'm waiting, waiting, waiting.  When they arrive she was full of excuses, for their tardiness.  I sit outside reading a book to give them time, and space.  They were gone almost before they arrived.  I was a little put out, believe me.

Then...yesterday morning...I get a call from another Realtor.  She wanted to bring a client by at 6:30.

I almost said yes that would be fine.  Hold on a minute...that's the time I'm generally preparing myself something to eat.  I surprised myself when I told her no, that was not acceptable, tomorrow between five and five-thirty would be good, but I could not accommodate her today.  Man, she was put-OUT, telling me her clients were going out of town right after work tomorrow, and they r-e-a-l-l-y wanted to see the house.

I held my own, and suggested any evening next week would work for me between five and five thirty.  All of a sudden, according to her, that would not work out for her clients.  I told her to please call back if her clients were indeed interested.  However, I bet I don't hear from her again.

I've decided I'm not going to accommodate any Realtor for showings after five-thirty.  I realize people work, and evenings are better for some of them, but, I'm an old lady and frankly I don't like strangers wandering around my house after dark especially with winter just around the corner.  I'm uncomfortable enough having folks poking through my closets during the day.

Honest, so far I've been open, pleasant, cheerful, and friendly, and excuse myself and my dog giving full access of my place to everyone who has come to check it out.  My Realtor said from the start, I'm in charge of this endeavor, and by golly, I finally put my foot down.  The world does not revolve around your commission Mr/Ms Realtor.  I do have some say in this, and I think wanting to come during dinner hours is...frankly...rude.

Wow, now that I think about it, maybe she was sooo sure, I would accommodate her, it was her feelings got hurt and not her clients at all.

Yesterday

I got a separate debit card for my company checking account.  It arrived late last week.  I finally got around to activating it yesterday.  Of course, when I called the bank's number, the automated voice on the other end advised me I might need my checking account number.  I hung up...didn't have that handy.  The checks are safely tucked away and I had to unlock the safe to retrieve them.  I called the bank back, the nice lady repeated her yadda, yadda, yadda, and I followed her instructions to the letter.  I fully expected to be on the phone at least five minutes.  Surely she would want my mother's maiden name, my date of birth, where I was born and from what high school  did I graduate.

Surprise, surprise, surprise.  I was instructed to press in the numbers as they appeared on my new card, which I carefully did.  Very, carefully did, as I could not imagine what kind of noise the phone would make should I make a mistake.

The numbers went through.  The nice lady came on the line again..."Your new card has been activated, thank you for calling, Goodbye."   Are you kidding me?  Thank you...goodbye.  No wonder it is so easy to steal somebodies identity.

Not only had I NOT spoken to a real person, I was not even sure the voice at the beginning of the call was the same one that thanked me.  I miss the good, old, days when you actually spoke to someone, I had not said a word, just simply pounded in the required numbers, and hung up after she said goodbye.  Sigh, how sad.

I used to enjoy talking to a representative, at first they were local, and I felt like I knew them and often thought they might even be at my local branch.  Then, years later, I would get a girl with a delightful, Y'all  lass who would thrill me with her soft, sweet, southern accent.  I would ask where she was, and what her weather was like.  And she would say something about never having been to the Pacific northwest, and did we really get all that rain she heard about.

Eventually, men became representative.  I didn't like that as much, men in business, chatty, not so much.  But, it was still a live person, and I felt like he really cared about me and my problem.

Then, came the automated menus, press one for this, two for that...if you want to talk to a representative, press "O".  Okay, I could handle that, and always, always pressed "O".  I know, that was sooo old fashioned.  Still, I got to talk to a human.

Then, one day, I got an automated menu, but there was no press "O" for a representative.  Instead, at the end a recorded voice came on the line and said..."To repeat this menu press pound".  What, no delightful lass with southern drawl, no young man trying to work his way up the corporate ladder?  I was thunder struck.

Having a very short memory, I always have to press pound, because the menu is so quick I don't catch the options.  Then, I begin to hold up my fingers, and when the menu says something close to what I want, I count my fingers, and press that number on the dial.  Generally I get it right, although there have been times I had to go through the menu a third time.

Don't get me wrong, generally I'm very compatible with this electronic age, and I'm certainly glad and appreciate it.

But...sometimes....I'd just like to hear....

Y'all have a good day now, Y'all hear.

...starting a business.

Yes, after years and years of putt-zing around I've been working this year.  Literally, every morning I work from eight til noon at my itsy-bitty publishing company.

I've had the name copyrighted for years, and this year I registered the company with the state, and even went so far as to have the logo trademarked with the state as well.  (Eventually, I will trademark nationally...as soon as my company starts making money.)

Here's the funny part.

Apparently, the 'freedom of information act' is alive and well because for the last month I have been inundated with requests from banks wanting me to join them with offers of great deals on company checking accounts, low rated, small business, credit cards, blah, blah, blah.  Like I would change banks after being with the one I have since 1974.  Really...I don't think so.  My paper shredder has been busy, I'm surprised it does not blow up in fire and smoke.  I suspect these requests will eventually stop coming, but here's the thing.  These banks have excellent advertising companies representing them.  The mail I get is colorful, clean, and full of adjectives that their bank is more than happy, happy, happy to have me...THEN, I get to the fine print.  Such mumbo jumbo...it's like a foreign language, all the party of the first party, here by known as....blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.  Give up people, I'm not the least bit interested.

Then...as you all know, I have my house on the market.  I'm hopeful someone will love my little place as much as I do, and will take over with loving care my little plot of land.  But, here again thanks to 'freedom of information act', my mailbox is starting to get crammed full of brochures from moving companies wanting to pack up my belongs and move me where ever it is I want to go.  They all tell me they will move me with loving care, as though my stuff was their own, and I have absolutely nothing to worry about.  A-N-D, they offer a deep discount to do the job.  Coupons tell me I will get $150 to $300 dollars off the bill.  Really?  I have to ask myself, what their estimate is going to be to be able to offer such a coupon.  Seriously, just last week I got an ad from Pods.  It was so glowing the paper felt warm.  Don't you think they are kind of jumping the gun a little?  Besides, I've seen the shows on the networks showing how people lose all their belongings when a moving company packs folks up and their belongings are never seen again.  I didn't just fall of the back of a turnip truck you know.

They don't seem to realize I've got oodles of grandson's who will be held hostage until they have me packed up and moved where ever it is I want to go.  A-N-D they will do it a heck of a lot cheaper than these wonderful moving companies.

I love going to my  mail box, sometimes it really makes my day, but I could sure do without all these ridiculous brochures and ads.  I'd much rather get my catalogs, they are way more fun.  It has been a most interesting year for my mail box and me, full of the unexpected and unusual.  Hmmm, I wonder what  kind of mail I would get if I said I wanted to build a bomb shelter in my back yard.

It's getting cold

Yes, folks, it is getting colder and colder every morning.  I'm reluctant to turn on the heat in my house because once I do, I know I will be tempted to do it every day.  I'm on the equal pay plan with my electricity and gas companies and have built up sizable credits on both.  I'm going to hate seeing them slip away back to zero...I'm not cold, I'm not cold, I'm not cold.

                                                                   IT'S GETTING COLD

Once upon a time, in a tiny, yet quaint cottage, there lived a woman, dog, cat, and a friend named Frankie.  They were a happy little group co-existing with absolute love, contentment, and laughter.

One morning the woman felt the dog stir from under the heaping pile of blankets on the bed.  She turned over on her back and began to feel for the warm, wiry fur.

All of a sudden she felt something strange...something like...like...(feel, feel, feel)...flannel.  What the heck?

The woman opened her eyes, turned her head and there, with a sheepish grin on her face was a still half asleep Frankie.

Talk about being startled.  The woman, (mouth agape) was about to speak.

"Morning" was the first dreamy word out of Frankie's mouth.

The woman wanted to reply but was interrupted...

"I got cold" muttered Frankie.

Now, don't think badly of the woman, she had given Frankie a mound of blankets of her own, so her friend was not exactly sleeping on the living room floor with a single sheet, and a cover-less pillow.

Frankie began to grin...that kind of  'I've got some of your skin between my thumb and forefinger and I'm going to squeeze...really hard...so, you had better listen closely to my next words' kind of grin.

The woman listened.

Frankie was quite specific.  "Turn on the HEAT!"

The woman was about to speak.  Frankie cocked her head, and raised her left eyebrow...the way she does when she means business.  It was not necessary for Frankie to utter words when she made that gesture.

The woman sighed.  She knew Frankie was right...the quaint cottage was quite chilly and the thermometer on the living room wall registered only 63 degrees.  She seriously considered pressing the button that would bring the fireplace to life...but...

The woman walked away.

Frankie let out a "grrrrrr".

"Tomorrow," said the woman, "tomorrow...I promise if it is this cold tomorrow I will turn on the heat."

Then the woman had a vision...she was being pushed out of her own bed...there was always a dog, occasionally a cat...and now Frankie...it could be a very long winter.

The woman returned to the thermometer on the wall and pushed the button on the remote control...goodbye lovely credit.

Frankie won...sometimes the woman just had to do what a woman has to do.  Peace and tranquility...that's the ticket.  Even better, there was heat.

And, they all continue to live happily ever after.

The end.

Normal

Normal, what bland, uninteresting word.  A person's normal temperature is 98.4.  As an adult it is normal  to get up early in the morning in order to get to work on time.  A teenager's immediate normal after school job is to complete homework for the next day's classes.

It is normal to sleep at night, and it is normal to be active during the day.  See what I mean...normal is boring, boring, boring.

Abnormal, is a whole different story.  And usually as negative connotations.  Abnormal people frequently do terrible things, especially to other people.  Trust me, I'm addicted to the Investigation Discovery channel, so I know many things about abnormal.

Then I got to thinking about me, is the normal me as boring as I think?  And, are my abnormalities simply weird and hopefully not negative, and/or destructive.

Oh dear, I feel giggles coming.

Boy, am I abnormal.  I have an imaginary friend, who not only lives with me, but talks to me, too. But, she is also the Yin to my Yang.  Thank goodness.

I like sardine sandwiches with onions, Spam, fried, baked, fresh out of the can, and don't particularly like fresh fruits and vegetable...but will eat them mostly because I know I should and that they are good for me.  I think in the scheme of things I am slightly abnormal in my eating choices.  When is the last time you had a sardine sandwich...with onions.

I'm blond, and we are supposed to be on the slightly stupid side, I'm not a genius of course, but I happen to like doing research, I like science, especially how things work, and nature, tiny, tiny objects of nature.  I'm not good at typing, generally an easy thing for most people, but can create a work of art out of cardboard, construction paper, some glue and a few 'sparklies'.  You have to admit for an old lady, these are generally things old ladies would choose not to do.  I know of none that look under a leaf to see what might be growing, or crawling there.  But many who will spend hours crocheting, knitting, watching TV, or reading a book.

I will pick up an earthworm squirming on a side walk and gently place it in the garden.  I've brought injured creatures into the house, including a seagull I found over at the school in the middle of the football field.  I placed it in one of my laundry baskets, and put the other on top of it so the gull could not escape.  It was a bitter cold day, and I didn't know if it had flown into a window and knocked itself silly, or if it was simply cold.

I put the baskets by the wood burning stove, and checked on it frequently.  Eventually it opened its eyes, and by three o'clock, it was becoming pretty active.  I put some heavy books on top of the overturned basket.  An hour later I could see it was starting to panic, so I wrapped a towel around it and returned to the school.

Its first attempt at flying didn't go well, so I re-captured it, and quietly talked to it for a while, and then released it again...off it went, high and wide.  Now, isn't that just a tad abnormal...bringing a sea gull into your home.

Then , there was the time I tried to incubate an abandoned kill deer egg between my boobs for a whole afternoon...only to discover late in the day there was a hole in the shell, which is why it had been abandoned in the first place.  I could have tried to incubate that thing for weeks had I not decided to give it a thorough inspection.  Admit it...that was abnormal...well, down right strange really.

I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture.  I don't think I want to be normal.   There are many more adventures to be explored in what is left of my life, I like I have just a tad of abnormality flowing through my veins.

I'm back

My, oh my, it has been so busy this week.  I've new project is in the mill at work, but I can't talk about what it is at the moment cause it's a Christmas gift idea.  However, I've been holed up hours on end trying to work out the mathematics of this project, and since math is not my strong suit, there have been a lot of...'damns'... ...'craps'...and an occasional 'sh--' emanating from the office.

You might ask, "Doesn't your computer have a template for that?  Yes, yes it does and that should have made the job easier, but when the actual paper product arrived I discovered the template didn't match up with the cut lines of the paper so I had to make my own...damn...crap...sh--.  Such aggravation.  Really!  I did persevere though...damn...crap...sh--, so that  finally, yesterday, I actually began production of this product.

In the meantime, I also established a checking account for my company.  The initial paperwork stated I would get a debit card with the account, and 50 checks.  When they did not promptly arrive, I called the bank prepared to give them 'what for', because you would think after being a customer since 1974 they would consider me a good customer and whiz these items to me quicker than the speed of light.

Apparently, the people in charge of the web-site don't actually converse with all the people who make company policies and the changes to them...so that the information I got from the site was waaay behind actual policy.  There never were any checks, I had to order them myself and separately.  There never was a debit card either.  I was told I could use the one for my personal checking account.  That did not seem like a good idea to me, since the purpose of the company account is meant to keep things separate, so I asked for a separate card. It arrived yesterday.  But I was told I need a code to activate it (coming under separate cover) than the card.  We'll see.  Geeze.  Good thing I delved into this, I could have been waiting forever.

Then, having requested the state to register my company, and to trademark my company logo (two different things, two different departments, and two different charges) I expected to receive official papers for these  things when they had actually been accomplished.  Ahhh, not so...I got nothing.

Back to the Official Oregon State web-site I go.  I find my company is registered...(extra charge to get official document) (I just printed it out), and then I sent an e-mail to the trademark division stating I could
see I was registered, but how come I was not informed?  Ooops, a few days later a copy of the paperwork arrived in the mail...I've only been waiting since July 9th.

How come nothing is simple?

In the meantime, I had started to become a maniacal idiot about the house...dashing around every day, picking up poop, debris, falling leaves (in huge amounts) in a desperate attempt to keep the yard presentable.  While, inside the place looks pretty dang good (if I do have to say so myself) with Frankie finally on board about keeping the kitchen sink free of dirty dishes.

However, she does have a bag packed, that sits right next to the front door, so knowing I'm on pr-ettt-y thin ice I have decidedly lightened up a lot...well, at least a little. Cause I sure don't want to lose her.  And, I've decided, starting today, I'm done, done, done with all this house business, can't do no mores.  My little family unit is far more important, than my crazed activities regarding the house.

There you have it folks, the reasons why my blog has been silent for such a long time.  Fear not, here and now, I decree Frankie, Zorro, CC and I are going back to enjoying life as we once knew it, a happy, content, slightly neurotic little group. Life is what it is, yesterday is history, today is still a mystery, and we are looking for a lovely day tomorrow.

I'm back.