we are a month away from the halfway month of the year. Yep, 31 more days and it's going to be June. The month with the longest daylight day of the year...and...then...day by day we slowly slide down to the shortest daylight day of the year.
For as much as I don't like the longest daylight day, I do like and look forward to the shortest. There's just some kind of excitement with the shortest one, because first I've made it through another year, and second because I know each day after that, the daylight starts minute by minute to become longer. I suppose that sounds crazy, but to me that's an optimistic thing, where as losing daylight minute by minute is a rather depressing thing. What can I say?
I like Daylight Savings Time. I know, I know...it doesn't actually give me more DAYLIGHT TIME, but I sure like the illusion that it does. If it were not for the fact I have to change my clocks twice a year that makings me think I'm gaining or losing daylight it is still the equinoxes that establish how many minutes of daylight and darkness I have every day of my life.
I like that in June and July, it takes quite a long time for twilight to arrive each evening, and that when it does, it lasts for quite a while. Some nights I can still see silhouetted trees after ten o'clock. But, then, come August it is obvious it is getting dark sooner...ugh.
By Halloween I can feel the excitement inside me growing, we are back on Standard Time, twilight comes early, and due to frequent inclement weather, it does not last long. Hurry, hurry November...quickly, quickly speed on by.
Welcome December...dear friend, I look forward to your holidays, but mostly I look forward to your shortest daylight day of the year when we start the trek back to the longest daylight day of the year. That dreaded, awful, longest daylight day of the year. Ugh!
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Monday, April 29, 2013
I wish...
I had the stamina I had when I was in my 30's or even my 40's when I could work outside from the time I got everyone out the door to work and school, until it was time to come in around 3 PM to get myself cleaned up, prepare dinner...and then clean-up the kitchen after that.
Around that time of my life we purchased a chunk of property adjacent to ours that measured a hundred feet, by a hundred twenty-five feet. It was overgrown with blackberry brambles that went to the tops of trees that were easily fifty feet tall. We wanted to make this piece of land like a park, a place for our kids and the neighbor- hood kids could hang out and play.
It took me most of the summer, because aside from clearing the land, I also had a weekly schedule to keep, as a result, I had to plan full days to concentrate on pulling the brambles out of all those trees. To this day I have scars all over my hands, arms and legs from being stuck by the blackberry thorns.
Finally I had the lot cleared, there were neat piles of debris here and there that needed to be burned, and piles of branches and twigs that needed to be sawed and stacked for burning in the stove in our living room. It was during that summer that I knew I came from strong stock and that possibly in a former life I might have been a Pilgrim, or perhaps a Pioneer woman who trekked across the country, mostly on foot, occasionally riding in a covered wagon.
The last several weeks, I've sure begun to doubt that, because, what I used to get done in a few hours outdoor work, now takes weeks. For example, I've been working on re-doing my front yard. I've constructed a low, concrete block retaining wall, by reusing blocks from the backside of one garden, and by dismantling a smaller concrete block surrounded, round, mounded garden out by the curb.
Dang, those blocks were heavy, I could carry and set about a dozen, and had to quit because I was pooped. As a result, that part of the job took a week or more. Then, I had to move ALL THE MOUND DIRT, to the back side of the large garden to make it even larger. I did this a bucket load at a time, and after about a dozen trips back and forth from the mound to the garden, and back again I was exhausted and had to quit. This job took another two weeks.
Needless to say, I did a lot of mumbling and swearing under my breath, and longed for the days of my youth. Where the heck had my stamina gone? Of course, in addition, back in my younger years, I didn't have to worry if I was going to fall and break an ankle, leg or hip if I fell into a mole hole or gully which is always an old person's concern.
Anyway, Today, I'm pleased to report I'm finally done hauling dirt. I'm actually down to the 'short strokes'. I have to take a rake and smooth the remaining dirt around where the mound used to be, and then I have to buy some grass seed and hope I can get the bare spot to grow. I've been contemplating whether I want to plant a low growing shrub where the mound was, but maybe not...that sounds like too much labor.
I tell myself I'm not going to do such physical outdoor labor any more, and I mean it...honest. But, every so often I get an itch I can't scratch...and the Pilgrim or Pioneer woman starts to stir. Dang it, how come I can't control her.
Around that time of my life we purchased a chunk of property adjacent to ours that measured a hundred feet, by a hundred twenty-five feet. It was overgrown with blackberry brambles that went to the tops of trees that were easily fifty feet tall. We wanted to make this piece of land like a park, a place for our kids and the neighbor- hood kids could hang out and play.
It took me most of the summer, because aside from clearing the land, I also had a weekly schedule to keep, as a result, I had to plan full days to concentrate on pulling the brambles out of all those trees. To this day I have scars all over my hands, arms and legs from being stuck by the blackberry thorns.
Finally I had the lot cleared, there were neat piles of debris here and there that needed to be burned, and piles of branches and twigs that needed to be sawed and stacked for burning in the stove in our living room. It was during that summer that I knew I came from strong stock and that possibly in a former life I might have been a Pilgrim, or perhaps a Pioneer woman who trekked across the country, mostly on foot, occasionally riding in a covered wagon.
The last several weeks, I've sure begun to doubt that, because, what I used to get done in a few hours outdoor work, now takes weeks. For example, I've been working on re-doing my front yard. I've constructed a low, concrete block retaining wall, by reusing blocks from the backside of one garden, and by dismantling a smaller concrete block surrounded, round, mounded garden out by the curb.
Dang, those blocks were heavy, I could carry and set about a dozen, and had to quit because I was pooped. As a result, that part of the job took a week or more. Then, I had to move ALL THE MOUND DIRT, to the back side of the large garden to make it even larger. I did this a bucket load at a time, and after about a dozen trips back and forth from the mound to the garden, and back again I was exhausted and had to quit. This job took another two weeks.
Needless to say, I did a lot of mumbling and swearing under my breath, and longed for the days of my youth. Where the heck had my stamina gone? Of course, in addition, back in my younger years, I didn't have to worry if I was going to fall and break an ankle, leg or hip if I fell into a mole hole or gully which is always an old person's concern.
Anyway, Today, I'm pleased to report I'm finally done hauling dirt. I'm actually down to the 'short strokes'. I have to take a rake and smooth the remaining dirt around where the mound used to be, and then I have to buy some grass seed and hope I can get the bare spot to grow. I've been contemplating whether I want to plant a low growing shrub where the mound was, but maybe not...that sounds like too much labor.
I tell myself I'm not going to do such physical outdoor labor any more, and I mean it...honest. But, every so often I get an itch I can't scratch...and the Pilgrim or Pioneer woman starts to stir. Dang it, how come I can't control her.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
There is a chink...
in my armor this morning.
I've no idea why, but I feel very weepy today.
My grandson came to visit yesterday and we had a wonderful time, yet when I think about that visit this morning, I want to cry.
I think about my many blessings, I want to cry.
I think about my tomorrows, I want to cry.
I think about my friends who are struggling with cancer, have recently been involved in accidents, or have had to have surgery, I want to cry.
I think about my kids, how blessed they've been, how they have handled all their struggles, I want to cry.
I think about my grandchildren, and great-grandchildren growing up and how fortunate I am to be around to see that happen, I want to cry.
I think about my furry friends, how warm and comforting they are, I want to cry.
I think about Frankie and how much joy my imaginary friend has brought me, and how all of you have accepted her, I want to cry.
I'm a very, very happy camper. Excuse me, I've got to go, I'm going to go have a good cry.
I've no idea why, but I feel very weepy today.
My grandson came to visit yesterday and we had a wonderful time, yet when I think about that visit this morning, I want to cry.
I think about my many blessings, I want to cry.
I think about my tomorrows, I want to cry.
I think about my friends who are struggling with cancer, have recently been involved in accidents, or have had to have surgery, I want to cry.
I think about my kids, how blessed they've been, how they have handled all their struggles, I want to cry.
I think about my grandchildren, and great-grandchildren growing up and how fortunate I am to be around to see that happen, I want to cry.
I think about my furry friends, how warm and comforting they are, I want to cry.
I think about Frankie and how much joy my imaginary friend has brought me, and how all of you have accepted her, I want to cry.
I'm a very, very happy camper. Excuse me, I've got to go, I'm going to go have a good cry.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
I need...
coffee.
I feel a sharp prick just above my upper lip. I open my eyes to see daylight trying to press itself through the thermal drapes, as CC is trying to bring me to full attention.
Dang, I hate that just because it gets light early my furry friends think I must get up. I do, simply because they will not allow me to do otherwise.
The three of us venture to the kitchen and I feed the wild beasts that they are.
I take a mug from the cupboard, fill it with water and put it into the microwave. While the water is heating I give Zorro his PB toy and dash to make my bed.
When I return to the kitchen I take my jars of instant coffee and creamer from my cabinet eagerly anticipating my first sip of the nectar of the gods. My back is to the room. I open the jar of coffee and gasp...there is barely enough coffee in the bottom for one mug full, two is out of the question.
Oh, no. I quietly moan over and over while I try to scrape as much coffee off the bottom of the jar as I can. I'm quite engrossed in my labor.
"What's up?" The question came from a groggy, disheveled Frankie.
I almost jumped out of my skin. I'm telling you it was one of those 'fight or flight' moments.
Steaming mug in hand, I am racked with guilt. I sheepishly turn to face my friend, knowing I have to explain there is no coffee left for her morning pick-me-up.
I guess she could tell from the look on my face something was amiss. It must have been one of surprise and guilt, like a kid being caught with their hand in a cookie jar. I mumble a lame excuse about how I can't believe I allowed us to run out of such an important staple. But, selfishly do not offer to share my bounty.
Frankie has a strange look on her face...It's calm...peaceful...accepting...I didn't know what the heck was coming next. I expected an outburst of some sort. She shakes her head, and walks toward the cabinet.
Creak...squeak, the cabinet door opens. I must remember to put some 3 in 1 on those hinges.
She reaches in and extracts a full, unopened jar of coffee. (Where the heck did that come from?) There is a look of great satisfaction on her face.
She walks by me, "Idiot!"
I feel a sharp prick just above my upper lip. I open my eyes to see daylight trying to press itself through the thermal drapes, as CC is trying to bring me to full attention.
Dang, I hate that just because it gets light early my furry friends think I must get up. I do, simply because they will not allow me to do otherwise.
The three of us venture to the kitchen and I feed the wild beasts that they are.
I take a mug from the cupboard, fill it with water and put it into the microwave. While the water is heating I give Zorro his PB toy and dash to make my bed.
When I return to the kitchen I take my jars of instant coffee and creamer from my cabinet eagerly anticipating my first sip of the nectar of the gods. My back is to the room. I open the jar of coffee and gasp...there is barely enough coffee in the bottom for one mug full, two is out of the question.
Oh, no. I quietly moan over and over while I try to scrape as much coffee off the bottom of the jar as I can. I'm quite engrossed in my labor.
"What's up?" The question came from a groggy, disheveled Frankie.
I almost jumped out of my skin. I'm telling you it was one of those 'fight or flight' moments.
Steaming mug in hand, I am racked with guilt. I sheepishly turn to face my friend, knowing I have to explain there is no coffee left for her morning pick-me-up.
I guess she could tell from the look on my face something was amiss. It must have been one of surprise and guilt, like a kid being caught with their hand in a cookie jar. I mumble a lame excuse about how I can't believe I allowed us to run out of such an important staple. But, selfishly do not offer to share my bounty.
Frankie has a strange look on her face...It's calm...peaceful...accepting...I didn't know what the heck was coming next. I expected an outburst of some sort. She shakes her head, and walks toward the cabinet.
Creak...squeak, the cabinet door opens. I must remember to put some 3 in 1 on those hinges.
She reaches in and extracts a full, unopened jar of coffee. (Where the heck did that come from?) There is a look of great satisfaction on her face.
She walks by me, "Idiot!"
Friday, April 26, 2013
I'm conflicted
Frankie reminded me this morning I didn't write a blog yesterday.
I know.
I'm conflicted.
On one hand, I love my job...I know, I know, it's not a job. I guess I should say I love being creative, and have no problem at all sitting at my computer, cutting, pasting, writing blogs, poetry, essays...whatever. I do it cheerfully, happily, enthusiastically.
Oh the other hand, it's spring, beautiful, wonderful, glorious spring. I want to be outside...I need to be outside...I long to just sit in the sun, or shade and do absolutely nothing. Well, maybe do a little yard maintenance if I so desire...or maybe read a book, of which my pile of those unread is mounting.
I have that sweet little Angel on one shoulder telling me relax, put my feet up, breathe deeply, enjoy the sun filled moments.
On the other shoulder I have that tricky, imp-y fella' in a red suit, telling me to work myself into a sweaty mass, work, work, work...indoor or out...until I have myself in such a frenzy I have a heart attack and...well...die.
Is there no middle road?
I want, I need a middle road.
It is going to be a glorious day today. I'm thinking I will work this morning, and take the afternoon off, go outside and sit in a chair while the hours tick by.
I can't...I know I can't. Sure, I can work in the morning...it's 7:30 and I've been sitting here at my computer since a little after six. The minutes flow by, each one filled with creative enjoyment.
And I do intend to be outside this afternoon...but will I simply sit? Hardly. There is still dirt to move, shrubs to trim, daffodils to cut back. Work, work, work.
Here is how my dream day would go. Dress, Coffee, throw up the garage door, sit in a chair and watch my neighborhood come alive. Sit, sit, sit. Listen to the birds, lawnmowers, the kids at recess over at the middle school, the freeway traffic sounding like ocean waves coming in.
Grab a bite of lunch. Maybe peanut butter crackers and another cup of coffee. Take my Bible study literature and get ready for next week's lesson. Finish reading the two books that have been half read on my night stand since Christmas.
Say hello to neighbors on their afternoon walks, maybe even converse for a while. Change my 'sweats' for a pair of shorts and a tee shirt. Contemplate dinner, quietly watch daylight wane, and twilight begin...
I'm conflicted...my Angel tells me it is okay to take a day off, I sooo much want to do that. But, that imp Devil, pokes at my conscience till I have to fill my day with labor. Who should I listen to?
Oh, I'm so conflicted.
I know.
I'm conflicted.
On one hand, I love my job...I know, I know, it's not a job. I guess I should say I love being creative, and have no problem at all sitting at my computer, cutting, pasting, writing blogs, poetry, essays...whatever. I do it cheerfully, happily, enthusiastically.
Oh the other hand, it's spring, beautiful, wonderful, glorious spring. I want to be outside...I need to be outside...I long to just sit in the sun, or shade and do absolutely nothing. Well, maybe do a little yard maintenance if I so desire...or maybe read a book, of which my pile of those unread is mounting.
I have that sweet little Angel on one shoulder telling me relax, put my feet up, breathe deeply, enjoy the sun filled moments.
On the other shoulder I have that tricky, imp-y fella' in a red suit, telling me to work myself into a sweaty mass, work, work, work...indoor or out...until I have myself in such a frenzy I have a heart attack and...well...die.
Is there no middle road?
I want, I need a middle road.
It is going to be a glorious day today. I'm thinking I will work this morning, and take the afternoon off, go outside and sit in a chair while the hours tick by.
I can't...I know I can't. Sure, I can work in the morning...it's 7:30 and I've been sitting here at my computer since a little after six. The minutes flow by, each one filled with creative enjoyment.
And I do intend to be outside this afternoon...but will I simply sit? Hardly. There is still dirt to move, shrubs to trim, daffodils to cut back. Work, work, work.
Here is how my dream day would go. Dress, Coffee, throw up the garage door, sit in a chair and watch my neighborhood come alive. Sit, sit, sit. Listen to the birds, lawnmowers, the kids at recess over at the middle school, the freeway traffic sounding like ocean waves coming in.
Grab a bite of lunch. Maybe peanut butter crackers and another cup of coffee. Take my Bible study literature and get ready for next week's lesson. Finish reading the two books that have been half read on my night stand since Christmas.
Say hello to neighbors on their afternoon walks, maybe even converse for a while. Change my 'sweats' for a pair of shorts and a tee shirt. Contemplate dinner, quietly watch daylight wane, and twilight begin...
I'm conflicted...my Angel tells me it is okay to take a day off, I sooo much want to do that. But, that imp Devil, pokes at my conscience till I have to fill my day with labor. Who should I listen to?
Oh, I'm so conflicted.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Dear folks.
I accidently deleted today's blog...it just poof...vanished. Sorry about that, I've just spent the last hour here trying to figure out how to get it back, but to no avail. Now I am so angry and upset with myself I just want to sit in a corner and pout. Grrrrrrrrrrr.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Dazzle, Razzle, Zazzle
As you may or may not know, last year I officially formed a company called Gues Who Original Publications although technically I've been puttzing around with publishing for a long, long, l-o-n-g time.
I wrote, designed the artwork, printed and published a children's book that I titled
"Bear's not so Grand Adventure." It didn't make me rich by any means, but I love
the fact this was my premier product.
Next, I got a request to write a play. Really? Really. With a very short time frame I actually did that. Not only did I write a three act play, it was actually produced. Oh, not on Broadway by any means. But for a theatre group my sister and brother-in-law belonged to in their senior complex. I called it "Class Reunion", it was about rekindling an old love...with a 'twist' at the end. It was preformed over a mother's day weekend, three times, if memory serves, to full audiences...around three hundred people. I was thrilled.
Then, I began to fool around with cards. Making them for my own personal pleasure, mostly to give for birthdays but there is a splash of those that said 'Thinking of You', or 'Sympathy', too. I have a box full of them.
Moving along, last year, encouraged by my daughter, I began to formulate a plan to become a full fledged company. I have a copyright, trademark and became registered with the state. With those things 'under my belt', my daughter and I decided it was time to jump to the Internet, I spent most of last year creating images, increasing card production and I even printed a catalog of cards available for purchase. LOL...let's just say the cards did not leap out of my inventory...thank goodness I'm not in this endeavor for the cash...
Finally, I felt 'ready to launch' and January of this year I opened my store front on Zazzle, an Internet based company that allows me to use my images to produce all kinds of merchandise a person can buy for themselves, or to give as gifts. So far I have 80+ items, ranging from cards, mugs, tee-shirts, clocks, jewelry, wall hangings, skateboards (for girls), totes, and on and on. LOL...let's just say the merchandise is not leaping off my Internet store shelves...thank goodness I'm not in this endeavor for the cash...
I did not write that last paragraph for all of you to dash to my store (although that would be nice) to buy all kinds of goodies. I wrote it because I want everyone to know you are never, never, ever too old to launch yourself into life. Do it today! Whatever your passion, do not let another day go by without pleasing yourself first. Jump in, feet first, eyes closed. The water will not be as deep as you think, nor as cold. Have some kind of fun, whether you are in the sunrise or sunset of your life. Make time for yourself to read all those books you meant to, learn to play the piano, or how to play Chess, something, anything that brings you joy. Life is short.
As Nike says: JUST DO IT
I did, trust me, take the leap, the water's fine, just fine.
I wrote, designed the artwork, printed and published a children's book that I titled
"Bear's not so Grand Adventure." It didn't make me rich by any means, but I love
the fact this was my premier product.
Next, I got a request to write a play. Really? Really. With a very short time frame I actually did that. Not only did I write a three act play, it was actually produced. Oh, not on Broadway by any means. But for a theatre group my sister and brother-in-law belonged to in their senior complex. I called it "Class Reunion", it was about rekindling an old love...with a 'twist' at the end. It was preformed over a mother's day weekend, three times, if memory serves, to full audiences...around three hundred people. I was thrilled.
Then, I began to fool around with cards. Making them for my own personal pleasure, mostly to give for birthdays but there is a splash of those that said 'Thinking of You', or 'Sympathy', too. I have a box full of them.
Moving along, last year, encouraged by my daughter, I began to formulate a plan to become a full fledged company. I have a copyright, trademark and became registered with the state. With those things 'under my belt', my daughter and I decided it was time to jump to the Internet, I spent most of last year creating images, increasing card production and I even printed a catalog of cards available for purchase. LOL...let's just say the cards did not leap out of my inventory...thank goodness I'm not in this endeavor for the cash...
Finally, I felt 'ready to launch' and January of this year I opened my store front on Zazzle, an Internet based company that allows me to use my images to produce all kinds of merchandise a person can buy for themselves, or to give as gifts. So far I have 80+ items, ranging from cards, mugs, tee-shirts, clocks, jewelry, wall hangings, skateboards (for girls), totes, and on and on. LOL...let's just say the merchandise is not leaping off my Internet store shelves...thank goodness I'm not in this endeavor for the cash...
I did not write that last paragraph for all of you to dash to my store (although that would be nice) to buy all kinds of goodies. I wrote it because I want everyone to know you are never, never, ever too old to launch yourself into life. Do it today! Whatever your passion, do not let another day go by without pleasing yourself first. Jump in, feet first, eyes closed. The water will not be as deep as you think, nor as cold. Have some kind of fun, whether you are in the sunrise or sunset of your life. Make time for yourself to read all those books you meant to, learn to play the piano, or how to play Chess, something, anything that brings you joy. Life is short.
As Nike says: JUST DO IT
I did, trust me, take the leap, the water's fine, just fine.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Pinky Marie
Yesterday you may recall I mentioned that I had told Frankie I was thinking about writing my blog about Pinky Marie Washington Jefferson Jackson.
I'm going to do that today. As kids we didn't have many books, they were a luxury we could not afford. (I seem to recall a bookcase sitting in the house somewhere. I think it had four shelves, they has glass doors that lifted up and slid back across the top of each shelf. All the books in there were very, very old. I've no idea what happened to the book case and those books. I wish I had them now.)
But, I digress.
I recall I had a few Nancy Drew Mysteries, that I must have gotten as gifts for birthdays or something, today I could not even tell you the plot of those books; but I do remember my book about Pinky Marie and her lovely ribbons, it was then, and is now one of my favorite tales.
Pinky Marie is a story/picture book, titled "Pinky Marie - The story of Her Adventure with the Seven Bluebirds". By Lynda Graham, Pictures by Ann Kirn. Saalfield Publishing Company 1939.
The gist of this sweet story is about a little Black girl named Pinky Marie Washington Jefferson Jackson. Although the story does not say, you can assume from the pictures her family does not have a lot of wealth, and that they probably live in the south. She lives with her parents who "were black as black as INK and black as black as black as NIGHT".
I'm going to do that today. As kids we didn't have many books, they were a luxury we could not afford. (I seem to recall a bookcase sitting in the house somewhere. I think it had four shelves, they has glass doors that lifted up and slid back across the top of each shelf. All the books in there were very, very old. I've no idea what happened to the book case and those books. I wish I had them now.)
But, I digress.
I recall I had a few Nancy Drew Mysteries, that I must have gotten as gifts for birthdays or something, today I could not even tell you the plot of those books; but I do remember my book about Pinky Marie and her lovely ribbons, it was then, and is now one of my favorite tales.
Pinky Marie is a story/picture book, titled "Pinky Marie - The story of Her Adventure with the Seven Bluebirds". By Lynda Graham, Pictures by Ann Kirn. Saalfield Publishing Company 1939.
(Picture obtained from the Internet, Item sold on E-Bay)
Every day Pinky Marie had white rag ribbons holding her pigtails together. However on special occasions, like church, or going to town shopping her mother would place lovely colored ribbons in her pigtails.
One day...a "going to town" day Mrs Washington Jefferson Jackson dressed Pinky Marie in her best dress, and placed the lovely ribbons in her hair.
Mr. and Mrs. Washington Jefferson Jackson and Pinky Marie loaded themselves into their wagon and went to town. As Mr. and Mrs. Jackson shopped Pinky Marie sat in the wagon.
The sun was very warm and Pink Marie got very drowsy and fell asleep. While she was sleeping seven bluebirds came along, saw the lovely colored ribbons, and plucked them from her 'kinky' hair to decorate their nests.
When her parents return to the wagon, she awakes and finds her lovely ribbons are gone, she is very, very sad. To make Pinky Marie happy, even though they could not afford it, Mr. Washington Jefferson Jackson goes back into the store and buys Pinky Marie lollipops the colors of her lovely ribbons.
Pinky Marie is a very happy little girl and I'm hoping she lived happily ever after.
I'm also hoping I have not offended anyone with some of the words in the piece above. Some are probably not politically correct. I simply wanted to tell you all this charming childhood story and how I loved this little tale.
I could not stop thinking about this book so I went on-line yesterday afternoon and found two copies for sale in an antique book-store selling for forty dollars each.
Dang, I wish I had the funds to buy one of those copies.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
So,
I'm standing at the bathroom sink brushing my golden locks. I always start at the hairline in front and brush straight back for many, many strokes. Great for getting rid a bed-head hair-do.
Frankie: "What ya gonna write about for your blog today?"
Me: "I think, Pinky Marie Washington, Jefferson, Jackson."
Frankie: "Who? HOLY CRAP! HOLY CRAP! HOLY CRAP!"
I whip around in terror, "What's the matter with you?", I demand. My heart is racing.
Frankie: "You're going bald."
Me: "I am not."
Frankie: "Oh, but you are."
Me: I'm not!"
Frankie "Oh, yeah," she firmly states, "Oh, yeah, you are."
Me: "I most definitely AM not!"
Frankie whips me around so I'm once more facing the mirror. Standing behind me, and using both hands, she firmly pulls back all the hair across my forehead. "Yes, said she, you are."
I'm forced to actually look at myself, not my hair and lo and behold, there...is my father...OMG, OMG, OMG.
My breath is faster, my heart is pounding, I feel a panic attack coming.
"No, no, noooooooooooo!"
I had already accepted my hair was thinning and could live with that. What can a Rambling Old Woman expect after decades of home permanents and hair colorings.
I feel faint.
I must have wobbled a bit, because Frankie was leading me to the edge of the bed. She's waving her hands up and down in front of my face.
Frankie: "Hey. Dude. I'm sorry, you gonna be okay."
I regained my composure. "Oh, Frankie...you're right...I just saw my dad in the mirror. As he aged his hair line receded also. Not at the temples, but straight across his forehead...I'm doing the same thing...I always thought we aged with our mother's traits, not our father's."
(Insert long, lingering moan here.)
Frankie: "Hey, you could always do the comb-over trick, and look like Donald Trump."
For some reason Frankie seemed to think this was funny and started laughing so hard she flopped onto the bed unable to control herself.
Me: "What the heck?" I stand, arms akimbo. "A friend's supposed to be supportive and sympathetic in times of trauma. I'm going bald, damn it. I'm, I'm..."
Frankie: "Don't you say it, don't you dare say it."
Me: "Old."
Except for us breathing there is no sound in the room.
Frankie: "Get a grip!" She is shaking me by the shoulders. (quite violently I might add). "It ain't like baldness is gonna kill ya."
Me: "Frankie, I swear if you're thinking about telling me some platitude filled tale about how things could be worse I'm going to kill you."
Except for us breathing there is no sound in the room.
>
>
>
Frankie: "Hey! I've got an idea, let's go check out wigs on the 'net'."
Well what do you know, Frankie finally had a good one.
Frankie: "What ya gonna write about for your blog today?"
Me: "I think, Pinky Marie Washington, Jefferson, Jackson."
Frankie: "Who? HOLY CRAP! HOLY CRAP! HOLY CRAP!"
I whip around in terror, "What's the matter with you?", I demand. My heart is racing.
Frankie: "You're going bald."
Me: "I am not."
Frankie: "Oh, but you are."
Me: I'm not!"
Frankie "Oh, yeah," she firmly states, "Oh, yeah, you are."
Me: "I most definitely AM not!"
Frankie whips me around so I'm once more facing the mirror. Standing behind me, and using both hands, she firmly pulls back all the hair across my forehead. "Yes, said she, you are."
I'm forced to actually look at myself, not my hair and lo and behold, there...is my father...OMG, OMG, OMG.
My breath is faster, my heart is pounding, I feel a panic attack coming.
"No, no, noooooooooooo!"
I had already accepted my hair was thinning and could live with that. What can a Rambling Old Woman expect after decades of home permanents and hair colorings.
I feel faint.
I must have wobbled a bit, because Frankie was leading me to the edge of the bed. She's waving her hands up and down in front of my face.
Frankie: "Hey. Dude. I'm sorry, you gonna be okay."
I regained my composure. "Oh, Frankie...you're right...I just saw my dad in the mirror. As he aged his hair line receded also. Not at the temples, but straight across his forehead...I'm doing the same thing...I always thought we aged with our mother's traits, not our father's."
(Insert long, lingering moan here.)
Frankie: "Hey, you could always do the comb-over trick, and look like Donald Trump."
For some reason Frankie seemed to think this was funny and started laughing so hard she flopped onto the bed unable to control herself.
Me: "What the heck?" I stand, arms akimbo. "A friend's supposed to be supportive and sympathetic in times of trauma. I'm going bald, damn it. I'm, I'm..."
Frankie: "Don't you say it, don't you dare say it."
Me: "Old."
Except for us breathing there is no sound in the room.
Frankie: "Get a grip!" She is shaking me by the shoulders. (quite violently I might add). "It ain't like baldness is gonna kill ya."
Me: "Frankie, I swear if you're thinking about telling me some platitude filled tale about how things could be worse I'm going to kill you."
Except for us breathing there is no sound in the room.
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Frankie: "Hey! I've got an idea, let's go check out wigs on the 'net'."
Well what do you know, Frankie finally had a good one.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Were you ever...
a Girl Scout?
I think perhaps a lot of us were. For a while, my sister, a friend and I joined at the same time. We probably attended meetings for a year...maybe a bit more. Now that I think about it, it might have been a lot less, because I don't remember ever walking to a meeting in pouring rain, or ankle deep snow.
Anyway, we belonged to the Scouts long enough to learn the creed, and we would recite it as we walked to the meeting. The only thing I remember of the creed is this phrase...'a Girl Scout is a friend to all and a sister to every other Girl Scout.' I will remember this till my dying day (provided I still have my mental faculties) because as the three of us would jockey not to be the 'other' Girl Scout, or the girl in the middle as we walked along. As I look back I can see what a silly thing that was...still it always made the walk go faster.
Girl Scouts learn a lot. Practical things, like learning to build a fire. I think everyone should learn how to do that. Kids today would not survive well in an emergency...do they even know what a match is?
We learned you could carve sculptures out of a bar of Ivory Soap. I believe I wrote about this skill before, and mentioned it is not something you should endeavor to do on a hot day. The soap gets very 'sweat' sticky and very, very dirty.
My poor mother had to buy two big cans of tomato juice so my sister and I could make a tin can stove. Man, we drank a lot of tomato juice that week. You should try this some time, it was actually fun...and it worked. First, take a large tomato juice can, with a can opener, cut one end off. Then, with tin-snips, cut a little doorway, into the open end of the can. Punch holes at the back of the closed end (so smoke can escape). Build a fire inside the can. Before you know it...well...a bit longer than that, the can will heat up. Of course, you could not prepare a meal by any means, but I do think you could at least heat a cup of tea, or soup. Now that I think about I don't think we tried to cook anything on them. I probably proudly took mine home...hmmm...I don't recall ever seeing it again.
We also learned how to make S'mores. I personally don't like them. They are messy to make...either the marshmallow gets burned, or the chocolate does not melt. Or the chocolate melts, but the marshmallow does not. Either way, as soon as you take your first bite, the graham cracker disintegrates to bits and hot marshmallow, chocolate or both drool all over your hands. Gross.
There you have it, the extent of my Girl Scout memories. I honestly don't know
why we stopped attending meetings, maybe we disbanded because of lack of members, or maybe the leader lost interest, doesn't matter really. What does matter is the Girl Scouts are still around today. And, when shiny faced angels come to my door with their wonderful boxes of cookies you can bet your sweet bippy I'm going to buy a box, or two...or three..........
I think perhaps a lot of us were. For a while, my sister, a friend and I joined at the same time. We probably attended meetings for a year...maybe a bit more. Now that I think about it, it might have been a lot less, because I don't remember ever walking to a meeting in pouring rain, or ankle deep snow.
Anyway, we belonged to the Scouts long enough to learn the creed, and we would recite it as we walked to the meeting. The only thing I remember of the creed is this phrase...'a Girl Scout is a friend to all and a sister to every other Girl Scout.' I will remember this till my dying day (provided I still have my mental faculties) because as the three of us would jockey not to be the 'other' Girl Scout, or the girl in the middle as we walked along. As I look back I can see what a silly thing that was...still it always made the walk go faster.
Girl Scouts learn a lot. Practical things, like learning to build a fire. I think everyone should learn how to do that. Kids today would not survive well in an emergency...do they even know what a match is?
We learned you could carve sculptures out of a bar of Ivory Soap. I believe I wrote about this skill before, and mentioned it is not something you should endeavor to do on a hot day. The soap gets very 'sweat' sticky and very, very dirty.
My poor mother had to buy two big cans of tomato juice so my sister and I could make a tin can stove. Man, we drank a lot of tomato juice that week. You should try this some time, it was actually fun...and it worked. First, take a large tomato juice can, with a can opener, cut one end off. Then, with tin-snips, cut a little doorway, into the open end of the can. Punch holes at the back of the closed end (so smoke can escape). Build a fire inside the can. Before you know it...well...a bit longer than that, the can will heat up. Of course, you could not prepare a meal by any means, but I do think you could at least heat a cup of tea, or soup. Now that I think about I don't think we tried to cook anything on them. I probably proudly took mine home...hmmm...I don't recall ever seeing it again.
We also learned how to make S'mores. I personally don't like them. They are messy to make...either the marshmallow gets burned, or the chocolate does not melt. Or the chocolate melts, but the marshmallow does not. Either way, as soon as you take your first bite, the graham cracker disintegrates to bits and hot marshmallow, chocolate or both drool all over your hands. Gross.
There you have it, the extent of my Girl Scout memories. I honestly don't know
why we stopped attending meetings, maybe we disbanded because of lack of members, or maybe the leader lost interest, doesn't matter really. What does matter is the Girl Scouts are still around today. And, when shiny faced angels come to my door with their wonderful boxes of cookies you can bet your sweet bippy I'm going to buy a box, or two...or three..........
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Learning
I hated school, grade school, junior high school (yes I'm that old), high school. I didn't really learn much of anything...in one ear...out the other. The only class I truly liked was Home Economics, and I took it for three years. I learned sewing, cooking, housekeeping, entertaining, and even helped with the washing of the football team's uniforms as part of learning laundry. The class was small, and we formed a pretty tight knit group. Fun times, fun times.
It was not until I reached my sixties I discovered the joy of learning starting with a two year course in writing for children through the Institute of Children's Literature, which was followed by some day long Saturday writing seminars at the local community college. After that I discovered on-line learning and through PCC and Auburn University I have so far taken 13 classes related to writing, law, and of all things, beginning French.
I have nowhere learned enough and will take any opportunity for research. Any kind of research. If I don't know 'something' I will spend hours investigating until all my questions are answered. Subject matter does not...well...matter.
So it was yesterday The subject of 'The Pledge of Allegiance' came up. The words, "under God" in particular. The friend with whom I was having this discussion said those words were in The Pledge from the beginning, while I seemed to recall they were added later, I thought while I was still in school. For a few minutes we thought we were both right...but since my friend knows I will not let a question 'hang in the air' I said I would do some research on the matter.
So, folks, here is your history lesson for today.
The Pledge of Allegiance was written in August 1892, authored by minister Francis Bellamy (1855-1931) and was originally published in 1892 in something called The Youth's Companion.
In it's original form it read as follows:
I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
Then in 1923, it was revised to include additional words to read:
I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, on nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
This rendition is how I said it every morning in school, before classes began. We all stood at attention, facing the flag...every room had one...reciting the words, hands over our hearts. I never tired of doing that.
Finally, in 1954, the words 'under God' were added, I was a junior in high school.
Apparently President Eisenhower encouraged Congress to add these two words, according to my research, the daughter of the author of the original version
objected to the inclusion of these words. However, today The Pledge reads as follows:
I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
So, there you have it, the history of The Pledge of Allegiance.
Oh, if you will allow me a few more words. Francis Bellamy also described how The Pledge was to be presented. According to my research, it began by standing at attention, with a military salute, and after the words 'to the flag' were said, the arm was extended forward, toward the flag, palm up, until The Pledge was completed. However, shortly after, the presentation was changed to holding the hand over the heart, and extending the arm, palm down toward the flag, as those words were spoken and held here until the end of The Pledge.
With the coming of World War II, it was felt the presentation too much resembled the Nazi salute, and was changed to how we present it today...standing at attention, right hand held over the heart until The Pledge is completed.
You are now excused. Thank you for your time and patience.
I love research.
It was not until I reached my sixties I discovered the joy of learning starting with a two year course in writing for children through the Institute of Children's Literature, which was followed by some day long Saturday writing seminars at the local community college. After that I discovered on-line learning and through PCC and Auburn University I have so far taken 13 classes related to writing, law, and of all things, beginning French.
I have nowhere learned enough and will take any opportunity for research. Any kind of research. If I don't know 'something' I will spend hours investigating until all my questions are answered. Subject matter does not...well...matter.
So it was yesterday The subject of 'The Pledge of Allegiance' came up. The words, "under God" in particular. The friend with whom I was having this discussion said those words were in The Pledge from the beginning, while I seemed to recall they were added later, I thought while I was still in school. For a few minutes we thought we were both right...but since my friend knows I will not let a question 'hang in the air' I said I would do some research on the matter.
So, folks, here is your history lesson for today.
The Pledge of Allegiance was written in August 1892, authored by minister Francis Bellamy (1855-1931) and was originally published in 1892 in something called The Youth's Companion.
In it's original form it read as follows:
I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
Then in 1923, it was revised to include additional words to read:
I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, on nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
This rendition is how I said it every morning in school, before classes began. We all stood at attention, facing the flag...every room had one...reciting the words, hands over our hearts. I never tired of doing that.
Finally, in 1954, the words 'under God' were added, I was a junior in high school.
Apparently President Eisenhower encouraged Congress to add these two words, according to my research, the daughter of the author of the original version
objected to the inclusion of these words. However, today The Pledge reads as follows:
I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
So, there you have it, the history of The Pledge of Allegiance.
Oh, if you will allow me a few more words. Francis Bellamy also described how The Pledge was to be presented. According to my research, it began by standing at attention, with a military salute, and after the words 'to the flag' were said, the arm was extended forward, toward the flag, palm up, until The Pledge was completed. However, shortly after, the presentation was changed to holding the hand over the heart, and extending the arm, palm down toward the flag, as those words were spoken and held here until the end of The Pledge.
With the coming of World War II, it was felt the presentation too much resembled the Nazi salute, and was changed to how we present it today...standing at attention, right hand held over the heart until The Pledge is completed.
You are now excused. Thank you for your time and patience.
I love research.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
It doesn't take much...
...to make an old woman happy.
Many years ago I used to do daycare in my home; before and after school only. It was a business that didn't last long. Not because I didn't enjoy it, but because one of the children who came pulled a foolish and very hurtful prank on his parent. He had a disagreement with his mother, and to get back at her he said she had been molesting him. The authorities took him away, and thought he confessed he got the story from a TV show he had watched, it took a while for them to become a family again.
That incident scared me, what if he had said it was me that had done the molesting? I would have had a terrible time explaining that, and trying to prove indeed I had not. As a result, I gave notice to all my families and was out of the daycare business within a month.
However, there were two girls, sisters, whom I kept as clients. They came for many years. Of course, they grew older and didn't need me as a provider anymore, they stopped coming...sort of.
To my delight and surprise, they did continue to come to visit. Middle School, High School, College years passed. Still they continued to call, and wanted to come to play cards. Mostly Canasta. Oh, the wonderful times we've had.
Last August, the youngest girl, now in college, left to spend time in Germany. Thanks to Facebook, she was able to share some of her year's experiences with her friends, (including me). Technology is wonderful.
A few years back her older sister got to have the same experience, and as the younger one was winding down her experience, the older went to Europe to vacation with her for a few weeks. They got home a week ago.
Today they came to visit me. I was so excited to see them. And, when they didn't arrive when they said they were supposed to, I worried they had perhaps forgotten. I need not have worried, when they showed up, they came with presents. I was thrilled beyond words. Each brought chocolate...not American chocolate...I'm talking chocolate...melt in your mouth, delicious, European chocolate. And...the younger one brought me a game of Memory/Gaudi Art...while the older brought a refrigerator magnet with the Latin words Verba volant, scripta manent inscribed on it, which translates to "spoken words fly away, written words remain". How lovely...and special, both gifts came from their hearts, and were chosen with special meanings...the memory game because the youngest always beat the pants off of me playing Memory...and the magnet because the older one knows how important writing is to me. Thanks girls, from the bottom of my heart.
We spent this afternoon chatting, I got to hear about their travels and what their immediate plans are for the future. We played Canasta, they teased me bout being old, and what we did while I was their daycare provider. There was always a snack, and a movie, then play time. Sometimes "restaurant", sometimes a game, like Memory.
There were times they didn't get along very well, and I would have be mean and set 'time outs'. One girl in one room, the other another. Once I must have said unless they got along, I would not play with them for a whole year...and, I very well might have said that. It was more like a month that I did not participation in play, however to this day they insist it was indeed a whole year.
This afternoon, the time flew by...before I knew it the clock said it was after six. We said our goodbyes. I thanked them again for my gifts and told them they would always be welcome to come...any time. Then I was again reminded of one of my idiosyncrasies...they are not welcome on 'laundry day', never understanding why laundry day was out of bounds.
Today I actually explained. Laundry day is a work day, and also time consuming. You don't 'work' when you have company. I said it was not polite to say to guests...excuse me, I hear the washer stopped, or, excuse me, I have to go put clothes in the dryer...I guess I can't change the rules with which I grew up, it's a '50's kind of thing. I think they finally understood.
However, I did leave them with a puzzlement today. Looking at my hand of cards, I discovered a move that eluded me at first, and I happened to say..."Oh, I see said the blind man as he picked up his hammer and saw." It made no sense to them what-so-ever, and try as I might, I could not adequately explain. I'm betting they will never let me forget that one.
Stick around girls...there's plenty more where that came from...but I think you already know that.
Thanks for a great afternoon and for making an old woman happy. Love you.
Many years ago I used to do daycare in my home; before and after school only. It was a business that didn't last long. Not because I didn't enjoy it, but because one of the children who came pulled a foolish and very hurtful prank on his parent. He had a disagreement with his mother, and to get back at her he said she had been molesting him. The authorities took him away, and thought he confessed he got the story from a TV show he had watched, it took a while for them to become a family again.
That incident scared me, what if he had said it was me that had done the molesting? I would have had a terrible time explaining that, and trying to prove indeed I had not. As a result, I gave notice to all my families and was out of the daycare business within a month.
However, there were two girls, sisters, whom I kept as clients. They came for many years. Of course, they grew older and didn't need me as a provider anymore, they stopped coming...sort of.
To my delight and surprise, they did continue to come to visit. Middle School, High School, College years passed. Still they continued to call, and wanted to come to play cards. Mostly Canasta. Oh, the wonderful times we've had.
Last August, the youngest girl, now in college, left to spend time in Germany. Thanks to Facebook, she was able to share some of her year's experiences with her friends, (including me). Technology is wonderful.
A few years back her older sister got to have the same experience, and as the younger one was winding down her experience, the older went to Europe to vacation with her for a few weeks. They got home a week ago.
Today they came to visit me. I was so excited to see them. And, when they didn't arrive when they said they were supposed to, I worried they had perhaps forgotten. I need not have worried, when they showed up, they came with presents. I was thrilled beyond words. Each brought chocolate...not American chocolate...I'm talking chocolate...melt in your mouth, delicious, European chocolate. And...the younger one brought me a game of Memory/Gaudi Art...while the older brought a refrigerator magnet with the Latin words Verba volant, scripta manent inscribed on it, which translates to "spoken words fly away, written words remain". How lovely...and special, both gifts came from their hearts, and were chosen with special meanings...the memory game because the youngest always beat the pants off of me playing Memory...and the magnet because the older one knows how important writing is to me. Thanks girls, from the bottom of my heart.
We spent this afternoon chatting, I got to hear about their travels and what their immediate plans are for the future. We played Canasta, they teased me bout being old, and what we did while I was their daycare provider. There was always a snack, and a movie, then play time. Sometimes "restaurant", sometimes a game, like Memory.
There were times they didn't get along very well, and I would have be mean and set 'time outs'. One girl in one room, the other another. Once I must have said unless they got along, I would not play with them for a whole year...and, I very well might have said that. It was more like a month that I did not participation in play, however to this day they insist it was indeed a whole year.
This afternoon, the time flew by...before I knew it the clock said it was after six. We said our goodbyes. I thanked them again for my gifts and told them they would always be welcome to come...any time. Then I was again reminded of one of my idiosyncrasies...they are not welcome on 'laundry day', never understanding why laundry day was out of bounds.
Today I actually explained. Laundry day is a work day, and also time consuming. You don't 'work' when you have company. I said it was not polite to say to guests...excuse me, I hear the washer stopped, or, excuse me, I have to go put clothes in the dryer...I guess I can't change the rules with which I grew up, it's a '50's kind of thing. I think they finally understood.
However, I did leave them with a puzzlement today. Looking at my hand of cards, I discovered a move that eluded me at first, and I happened to say..."Oh, I see said the blind man as he picked up his hammer and saw." It made no sense to them what-so-ever, and try as I might, I could not adequately explain. I'm betting they will never let me forget that one.
Stick around girls...there's plenty more where that came from...but I think you already know that.
Thanks for a great afternoon and for making an old woman happy. Love you.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Another day...
...is about to bite the dust.
I had such great plans for today. Somehow the things I had planned to do simply didn't get done. Mostly I had hoped to work outside, but the weather man said it was going to start to rain around 'midday'. I believed him, so I changed my plans.
Oh yeah, with great confidence my local guy stated the clouds would roll in midday, there would be afternoon showers and light hail. I've got to tell you...there were no showers, absolutely no hail...and although there were clouds, they were most certainly non-threatening, as they floated along on a robin's egg blue canvas. They were white, and puffy like cotton candy. And sun, you bet, lots of sun.
I don't know about you, but I love when the weathermen are wrong. They tend to think all their radars, satellite images, and jet streams are the know all and end all of meteorological forecasting.
I should have worked outside. Dang, weather guy.
I checked the sky at noon, it didn't look much like rain. Still, the weatherman thinks he knows all. So, I hastily went out and added a few additional stakes to the back side of my newly constructed decorative wall, and beat a retreat to the house to wait for the showers and hail to start.
I vacuumed, straightened the place up a bit, and cleaned the bathrooms...company coming tomorrow to play Canasta. Still waiting for the rain.
The afternoon crept by. I got to wondering about weathermen. Do they feel ridiculous when their predictions do not materialize? It's bad enough I suppose, when they get one day wrong, but what about a whole week? My guy said this morning that over the coming days the temperatures will warm, and I swear I saw a 68 degrees posted toward the end of the week. Wouldn't that be lovely?
I have to tell you though, I'm not going to hold my breath. Frankly, it gives me a great deal of comfort that Somebody is still in charge of what the weather is actually going to be. Sometimes I envision Him chuckling, as He throws the weather guys a curve ball.
I guess I should have worked outside today...because maybe tomorrow the weather guy will get lucky and it will rain then. Oh well, I don't feel much like working outside anymore, anyway, so I don't care whether it rains or not. Besides, it's only April I've got lots of time for yard work...and you know what they say, April showers bring May flowers.
By the way, what do May flowers bring?
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Why, they bring Pilgrims, of course.
I had such great plans for today. Somehow the things I had planned to do simply didn't get done. Mostly I had hoped to work outside, but the weather man said it was going to start to rain around 'midday'. I believed him, so I changed my plans.
Oh yeah, with great confidence my local guy stated the clouds would roll in midday, there would be afternoon showers and light hail. I've got to tell you...there were no showers, absolutely no hail...and although there were clouds, they were most certainly non-threatening, as they floated along on a robin's egg blue canvas. They were white, and puffy like cotton candy. And sun, you bet, lots of sun.
I don't know about you, but I love when the weathermen are wrong. They tend to think all their radars, satellite images, and jet streams are the know all and end all of meteorological forecasting.
I should have worked outside. Dang, weather guy.
I checked the sky at noon, it didn't look much like rain. Still, the weatherman thinks he knows all. So, I hastily went out and added a few additional stakes to the back side of my newly constructed decorative wall, and beat a retreat to the house to wait for the showers and hail to start.
I vacuumed, straightened the place up a bit, and cleaned the bathrooms...company coming tomorrow to play Canasta. Still waiting for the rain.
The afternoon crept by. I got to wondering about weathermen. Do they feel ridiculous when their predictions do not materialize? It's bad enough I suppose, when they get one day wrong, but what about a whole week? My guy said this morning that over the coming days the temperatures will warm, and I swear I saw a 68 degrees posted toward the end of the week. Wouldn't that be lovely?
I have to tell you though, I'm not going to hold my breath. Frankly, it gives me a great deal of comfort that Somebody is still in charge of what the weather is actually going to be. Sometimes I envision Him chuckling, as He throws the weather guys a curve ball.
I guess I should have worked outside today...because maybe tomorrow the weather guy will get lucky and it will rain then. Oh well, I don't feel much like working outside anymore, anyway, so I don't care whether it rains or not. Besides, it's only April I've got lots of time for yard work...and you know what they say, April showers bring May flowers.
By the way, what do May flowers bring?
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Why, they bring Pilgrims, of course.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Here Comes the Bride, Chapter one.
Once upon a time....
....there was a Grandma who was invited to her Grandson's wedding.
In Grandma years, it had been an eternity since she attended a wedding. There were many things that caused her consternation.
What to wear, for instance. There was very little in her closet, except casual attire. Certainly, nothing appropriate for a formal occasion. And although she had, years before, purchased several pairs of 'sensable' dress shoes, she could probably count on one hand the number of times they had been worn.
Internet savvy Grandma that she is, she went on-line browsing every women's clothing catalog imaginable, and eventually settled on a beige suit. Nice, neutral, beige...she knew she could accessorize it 'to the hilt'.
Then, of course, what is Grandma protocol regarding weddings? She gave great ponderance to this as well. What is modern day etiquette? Grandma, of course, being not so much of sound mind...laid low, figuring she would simply show up, blend in with the background...and be a happy little camper.
Poor Grandma. She sure got that wrong. Grandma's daughter...mother of the groom, called a week before the wedding to say, pictures would be taken, and to be at the church at six.
Oh, my, thought Grandma...although she had altered her 'uncooked turkey colored' suit, she had really not given any thought to the 'accessorizing to the hilt' part of this saga. Grandma began throwing open drawers, blouses, sweaters, scarves, necklaces, littered the bedroom. Pinks, she had been advised were going to be the wedding colors.
Grandma was desperate. Nothing seemed to work...The suit had no collar, and unfortunately, neither did her blouses and sweaters. What was she to do about her sagging, wrinkling neck? Time ticked by...it was the eve before the wedding for God's sake. What was she to do? Grandma was very unhappy, and had worked herself into quite a state.
"Where's my pills?" She asked.
Then, just as desperation sat upon her...(quite literally)...heavy weighted on her chest, Grandma spied a sweater, a lovely, peachy/pink...why had she not seen it before?
Oooooooh! Salvation! She added a white Dicky (yes, I know you have not idea what a Dicky is) that nicely covered her waddle of a neck...she went to her jewelry box, and found some lovely brown beads, added some pink earrings, a splash of bracelets, and switched her beige shoes for brown.
Finally, grandma was very, very happy, she took a pill and went to bed.
Let the wedding day arrive.
Chapter Two
Grandma awoke Friday morning, all a twitter.
She decided she was going to devote the whole day to making herself as 'Prett-i-fied' as possible. Being not so much of sound mind, she began to catalog in her foggy brain all the things she must do.
She decided to start with her hair. She gave herself a 'bit of a trim', and a color.
While waiting for that process to complete, she tended to additional items on her mental to do list.
Extra piddle pads for puppy, Check.
Printed Google directions to church, Check.
Peanut butter toy, filled and at the ready, Check.
Okey, dokey...Grandma is ready for a long, hot, shower.
Grandma emerges from the steam, pink, wrinkled, and...unshaven. Uh-oh. She grabs her razor, and quickly shaves before her skin has a chance to dry. Lotion was applied. Whew...
Now, anyone who knows Grandma knows she is most particular about her make-up. And, today being such a special occasion, she was even more particular than usual, so that process took until almost noon. Once she was happy with the end result of all the creams, lotions, and powders, she decided it was too early to dress and went back to her mental to do list.
Turn on lights, (it will be dark when she gets home). Check.
Turn on TV (so burglars will not know she is not at home). Check.
Make sure windows and doors are locked. Check.
Set out camera. Check.
(Grandma hopes you get the drift.)
Tick, tick, tick.
Daughter is coming to pick Grandma up at two. It is finally time for her to dress.
Oh my, the moment has arrived. In Grandma's mind...it's all going to be good.
It has been eons since she had worn stockings, she sat on the edge of the bed and gingerly, carefully pulled them into place. All she needed was to put a snag in them, or worse, cause a run. Next came bra and slip.
Grandma, began to feel claustrophobic. There were still layers to go..."Oh my," she thought..."Where's my pills."
Next came Dicky, followed by peachy/pink sweater. Then came 'uncooked turkey colored' suit. Grandma thought about looking in the mirror, but fear overtook her, perhaps she should save that until after she had accessorized.
Last, but by all means not least came the shoes. Ouch, they pinched, just a tiny bit.
Grandma knew her pain level very well, she could handle this. However, she did worry about slippery floors and carpets, and didn't want to slip, fall or otherwise make a fool of herself so she went to the kitchen, took a steak knife from a drawer and carved nicks into the soles of her almost new brown shoes.
There was only one more thing to do...look in the mirror...oh me, oh my, Grandma was
...was
...was ready...'come on wedding'...'let the show begin'.
Chapter Three
Grandma and Daughter arrived in the picturesque village where the wedding is going to be held. Not only had they arrived on time, they arrived at the correct location, unlike some folks who Grandma prefers to allow to remain nameless.
It was a charming little church. Grandma was impressed with the simplistic decorations, this was the way, in Grandma's mind, a wedding should be. There was not a lot of glitz, and glamor. This was God's home, and I know He was proud this was not just about Grandma's family, but that He was at the center of this occasion.
Grandma was happy, so, so, happy and bursting with pride. Here was her family. Spruced up, shiny, like brand new pennies. Grandsons' and Dad in tan tuxedos, Granddaughters' and mom in lovely spring pinks.
Grandma was delighted to see the other grandmas', bedecked jewels as well. As the time for the ceremony approached, the grandmas' were told the groom...her handsome grandson, would personally be walking them to their assigned seats.
Oh dear...Grandma was going to cry.
The music began, Grandma was seated. Right next to the mother of the Groom.
The wedding party entered. Bride's maids, maid of honor, ring bearers, flower girls.
And finally the bride. Her hair, black as raven's feathers, gown as white as snow. A bouquet of pink roses in her hand. Soft music played in the background as she approached the alter.
The room was hushed. Grandma was bursting with pride. Love oozed from every pore.
It was grand.
It was glorious.
It was exactly the kind of wedding every Grandma wants for her grandchildren.
Photo, courtesy of: tiny wishes photography, by BETHANY BUTLER.
The end.
....there was a Grandma who was invited to her Grandson's wedding.
In Grandma years, it had been an eternity since she attended a wedding. There were many things that caused her consternation.
What to wear, for instance. There was very little in her closet, except casual attire. Certainly, nothing appropriate for a formal occasion. And although she had, years before, purchased several pairs of 'sensable' dress shoes, she could probably count on one hand the number of times they had been worn.
Internet savvy Grandma that she is, she went on-line browsing every women's clothing catalog imaginable, and eventually settled on a beige suit. Nice, neutral, beige...she knew she could accessorize it 'to the hilt'.
Then, of course, what is Grandma protocol regarding weddings? She gave great ponderance to this as well. What is modern day etiquette? Grandma, of course, being not so much of sound mind...laid low, figuring she would simply show up, blend in with the background...and be a happy little camper.
Poor Grandma. She sure got that wrong. Grandma's daughter...mother of the groom, called a week before the wedding to say, pictures would be taken, and to be at the church at six.
Oh, my, thought Grandma...although she had altered her 'uncooked turkey colored' suit, she had really not given any thought to the 'accessorizing to the hilt' part of this saga. Grandma began throwing open drawers, blouses, sweaters, scarves, necklaces, littered the bedroom. Pinks, she had been advised were going to be the wedding colors.
Grandma was desperate. Nothing seemed to work...The suit had no collar, and unfortunately, neither did her blouses and sweaters. What was she to do about her sagging, wrinkling neck? Time ticked by...it was the eve before the wedding for God's sake. What was she to do? Grandma was very unhappy, and had worked herself into quite a state.
"Where's my pills?" She asked.
Then, just as desperation sat upon her...(quite literally)...heavy weighted on her chest, Grandma spied a sweater, a lovely, peachy/pink...why had she not seen it before?
Oooooooh! Salvation! She added a white Dicky (yes, I know you have not idea what a Dicky is) that nicely covered her waddle of a neck...she went to her jewelry box, and found some lovely brown beads, added some pink earrings, a splash of bracelets, and switched her beige shoes for brown.
Finally, grandma was very, very happy, she took a pill and went to bed.
Let the wedding day arrive.
Chapter Two
Grandma awoke Friday morning, all a twitter.
She decided she was going to devote the whole day to making herself as 'Prett-i-fied' as possible. Being not so much of sound mind, she began to catalog in her foggy brain all the things she must do.
She decided to start with her hair. She gave herself a 'bit of a trim', and a color.
While waiting for that process to complete, she tended to additional items on her mental to do list.
Extra piddle pads for puppy, Check.
Printed Google directions to church, Check.
Peanut butter toy, filled and at the ready, Check.
Okey, dokey...Grandma is ready for a long, hot, shower.
Grandma emerges from the steam, pink, wrinkled, and...unshaven. Uh-oh. She grabs her razor, and quickly shaves before her skin has a chance to dry. Lotion was applied. Whew...
Now, anyone who knows Grandma knows she is most particular about her make-up. And, today being such a special occasion, she was even more particular than usual, so that process took until almost noon. Once she was happy with the end result of all the creams, lotions, and powders, she decided it was too early to dress and went back to her mental to do list.
Turn on lights, (it will be dark when she gets home). Check.
Turn on TV (so burglars will not know she is not at home). Check.
Make sure windows and doors are locked. Check.
Set out camera. Check.
(Grandma hopes you get the drift.)
Tick, tick, tick.
Daughter is coming to pick Grandma up at two. It is finally time for her to dress.
Oh my, the moment has arrived. In Grandma's mind...it's all going to be good.
It has been eons since she had worn stockings, she sat on the edge of the bed and gingerly, carefully pulled them into place. All she needed was to put a snag in them, or worse, cause a run. Next came bra and slip.
Grandma, began to feel claustrophobic. There were still layers to go..."Oh my," she thought..."Where's my pills."
Next came Dicky, followed by peachy/pink sweater. Then came 'uncooked turkey colored' suit. Grandma thought about looking in the mirror, but fear overtook her, perhaps she should save that until after she had accessorized.
Last, but by all means not least came the shoes. Ouch, they pinched, just a tiny bit.
Grandma knew her pain level very well, she could handle this. However, she did worry about slippery floors and carpets, and didn't want to slip, fall or otherwise make a fool of herself so she went to the kitchen, took a steak knife from a drawer and carved nicks into the soles of her almost new brown shoes.
There was only one more thing to do...look in the mirror...oh me, oh my, Grandma was
...was
...was ready...'come on wedding'...'let the show begin'.
Chapter Three
Grandma and Daughter arrived in the picturesque village where the wedding is going to be held. Not only had they arrived on time, they arrived at the correct location, unlike some folks who Grandma prefers to allow to remain nameless.
It was a charming little church. Grandma was impressed with the simplistic decorations, this was the way, in Grandma's mind, a wedding should be. There was not a lot of glitz, and glamor. This was God's home, and I know He was proud this was not just about Grandma's family, but that He was at the center of this occasion.
Grandma was happy, so, so, happy and bursting with pride. Here was her family. Spruced up, shiny, like brand new pennies. Grandsons' and Dad in tan tuxedos, Granddaughters' and mom in lovely spring pinks.
Grandma was delighted to see the other grandmas', bedecked jewels as well. As the time for the ceremony approached, the grandmas' were told the groom...her handsome grandson, would personally be walking them to their assigned seats.
Oh dear...Grandma was going to cry.
The music began, Grandma was seated. Right next to the mother of the Groom.
The wedding party entered. Bride's maids, maid of honor, ring bearers, flower girls.
And finally the bride. Her hair, black as raven's feathers, gown as white as snow. A bouquet of pink roses in her hand. Soft music played in the background as she approached the alter.
The room was hushed. Grandma was bursting with pride. Love oozed from every pore.
It was grand.
It was glorious.
It was exactly the kind of wedding every Grandma wants for her grandchildren.
The end.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Dab-nag elektronical devices!!!!!
This morning I get a call from my sister. She says she does not think she has my cell phone number, could I give it to her. I'm guessing it's been at least a year and a half I actually used my phone, dang if I remember the number. I have to look it up myself. I only bought the phone for 'emergency purposes' so it mostly sits on my bedside table. It's a 'back-up' so to speak, in case of downed power lines, etc.
My routine with the phone goes something like this:
1. Flip it open.
2. Turn it on.
3. Check battery status, recharge if necessary.
4. Turn phone off.
5. Flip it closed.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is about the extent of my cell phone knowledge.
So, when my sister asked for my number, I had to get the phone, and turn it on to find out what the number was. I confess I no longer have phone numbers committed to memory any more (well, except for 911). I simply let my teknulogicial gadgetry remember them for me.
After we established my sister had my cell phone number, she says she's going to call me to make sure she had put it into her phone properly. Okey, dokey, says I.
My cell phone rings.
1. Flip open phone.
I stare at it...my mind a total blank...this is waaaay beyond my expertise. I've not a clue what to do. Is it the green phone icon I push, or the red one????? Ponder, ponder. The phone stops ringing.
My cell phone rings again.
I'm pushing buttons...I got nuttin'.
The phone stops ringing.
The phone rings again.
Okay, okay, it's got to be either the green or red icon...I push red...I guess not hard enough, cause nothing happens. By now the phone is no longer ringing.
At last my grey matter starts to move...I call my sister from my land line...she picks up.
"I'm getting your calls." I tell her..."I don't remember how to answer my damn phone."
"It's the green phone icon." Says she.
I says, "Call me back, I want to make sure it works"
The phone rings....whadda ya know, it worked. We both have a really good laugh.
I tell her I just might leave the phone on all the time, til she reminds me that is going to drain the battery. Ohhhhh, yeah, riiiiiight.
We say our goodbyes.
I decide since I'm now involved, I might as well click, clickety, click through the names in the phone book to see if numbers look familiar. UH HO, I discover I don't have my sister's cell phone number on my phone. Remember, my mind this morning is mush. I have totally forgotten she called me from her cell, and that I could have saved the number from her call. But, noooo, I call her from my land line and get the number. Apparently it did not occur to her either, that I could have easily added her number to my phone as I diligently I wrote down the numbers as she gave them to me.
Again we say our goodbyes.
Now, all I have to do is get those numbers into my phone. YOU HAVE NOOOO idea how mentally challenging that was. No good, blankity, blank elektronical doo-dads.
Do I get my instruction booklet for help. Are you kidding me? This is a stupid phone...
...it's a stupid phone
...it's a stupid phone.
Some time later, I figured it out. Whew. I'm exhausted, where's Jim Beam when you really need him?
Damn, dab-nag, doo-dad, blankity-blank, elektronical teknulogicial gadgetry!
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
It's in the genes, baby, it's in the genes
The joys of growing old far outweigh the sorrows. If you are a faithful follower of my blog you know I frequently poke fun at myself about growing old. It's a hoot. Every day is a new adventure.
Remember a couple of days ago, I started the microwave and forgot to put my coffee mug in to warm up. Well, today I put a coffee mug into the microwave, it warmed the coffee, but I obviously got distracted because I never returned to the oven to retrieve it. It was late afternoon when I discovered the mug full of cold coffee, sullenly sitting where I had left it in the morning. (Believe it or not, I re-heated it, and gulped it down to the last sip.)
My growing old comrades, mostly my sisters, and I often commiserate over all our antics. And have a good laugh of two.
However, over the last couple of days, I've had two good 'growing old' laughs from unexpected sources...my daughters. One posted on Facebook that she sent some blueberry pancake mix and bottle of syrup home with one of her son's that recently moved out and added in capital letters (I might add) that perhaps she was turning into her mother. Of course she is!
Then, earlier in the week I was having a conversation with another daughter, and as our conversation was winding down, she interjected that she had had the 'hand experience'.
Not sure what she was getting at, I inquired what 'hand experience'? She related to me the story I had told years ago about how I had put my hand into a sleeve, but that my mother's hand came out. Even today I remember what a mind blowing, utterly shocking day that was. Apparently, my daughter had just had that experience. I posted under Blueberry Pancake Mix daughter her sister's experience.
So, later today I was not really surprised when Blueberry Pancake Mix daughter posted on Facebook that my hand has been coming out of her sleeves for quite a while.
Now, I'm not exactly why these two stories brought me such joy, but they did. I guess it's because I have come to realize I've passed the torch. They (my daughters) are going carry their torches into their growing old stages, with all kinds of shadows from their past. Like, sharing food with their 'starting out on their own', 'money strapped' children, and, accepting wrinkled hands and crows feet. They come from good stock, so I know they will walk the miles ahead with grace, style, wonderment, down right amazement and good humor. Lots and lots of good humor.
Growing old is only a chore or burden if you choose it to be. Growing old is all about attitude.
"Laugh and the world laughs with you,
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing and the hills will answer;
Sigh it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care."
Snippet from Solitude by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
"And though you be done to the death, what then?
If you battled the best you could,
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only how did you die?"
Snippet from How Did You Die? by Edmund Vance Cooke
How we grow old is all in the genes, baby, it's all in the genes.
Remember a couple of days ago, I started the microwave and forgot to put my coffee mug in to warm up. Well, today I put a coffee mug into the microwave, it warmed the coffee, but I obviously got distracted because I never returned to the oven to retrieve it. It was late afternoon when I discovered the mug full of cold coffee, sullenly sitting where I had left it in the morning. (Believe it or not, I re-heated it, and gulped it down to the last sip.)
My growing old comrades, mostly my sisters, and I often commiserate over all our antics. And have a good laugh of two.
However, over the last couple of days, I've had two good 'growing old' laughs from unexpected sources...my daughters. One posted on Facebook that she sent some blueberry pancake mix and bottle of syrup home with one of her son's that recently moved out and added in capital letters (I might add) that perhaps she was turning into her mother. Of course she is!
Then, earlier in the week I was having a conversation with another daughter, and as our conversation was winding down, she interjected that she had had the 'hand experience'.
Not sure what she was getting at, I inquired what 'hand experience'? She related to me the story I had told years ago about how I had put my hand into a sleeve, but that my mother's hand came out. Even today I remember what a mind blowing, utterly shocking day that was. Apparently, my daughter had just had that experience. I posted under Blueberry Pancake Mix daughter her sister's experience.
So, later today I was not really surprised when Blueberry Pancake Mix daughter posted on Facebook that my hand has been coming out of her sleeves for quite a while.
Now, I'm not exactly why these two stories brought me such joy, but they did. I guess it's because I have come to realize I've passed the torch. They (my daughters) are going carry their torches into their growing old stages, with all kinds of shadows from their past. Like, sharing food with their 'starting out on their own', 'money strapped' children, and, accepting wrinkled hands and crows feet. They come from good stock, so I know they will walk the miles ahead with grace, style, wonderment, down right amazement and good humor. Lots and lots of good humor.
Growing old is only a chore or burden if you choose it to be. Growing old is all about attitude.
"Laugh and the world laughs with you,
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing and the hills will answer;
Sigh it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care."
Snippet from Solitude by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
"And though you be done to the death, what then?
If you battled the best you could,
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only how did you die?"
Snippet from How Did You Die? by Edmund Vance Cooke
How we grow old is all in the genes, baby, it's all in the genes.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Hot Cross Buns
Last week when I went shopping my first stop was the day old bread rack. Sometimes there are some pretty terrific bargains there. Lots of breakfast goodies, and some very expensive bread at half price. Boy, do I stock up.
Stopping by there, I discovered a rare treasure...a container of Hot Cross Buns. Yummm. Hot Cross Buns are to Easter, what Fruit Cake is to Christmas. Both, however, seem to be an 'acquired' taste.
I'll eat any kind of Fruit Cake, it's kind of hard to screw up that recipe. Although I do prefer mine to have a good helping of rum in it...not the rum flavoring, but rum...a good, healthy cup of rum. Ohhhhh buddy!
However, Hot Cross Buns are more tricky. Therefore I must confess, I've only had one that was 'melt in your mouth delicious', and that was when I was a young teen and was invited to a friends home for brunch after the Easter Sunday church service. Up to that time I had never even seen a Hot Cross Bun, and only knew about them via the little rhyme
Hot Cross Buns,
Hot Cross Buns,
One a penny, Two a penny,
Hot Cross Buns.
Oh, those buns looked so inviting, all nestled together, just out of the oven. And, they smelled heavenly. Each one had a white icing cross etched across the top. The hostess broke them apart and passed the plate around the table. I debated about taking one, trying one, (should I not like it), would be difficult to dispose of, and further, having it left on my plate could be embarrassing and offending to my friend's mother.
Curiosity, over rode fear and I took my first bite. It was not cake-like, nor was it bread like, it was sort of in between. And it was delicious. Rather than having colored Citron Fruit in it, these had candied cherries and pineapple. Is your mouth watering? Mine is. I could have devoured every single one of those buns all by myself.
Since that first encounter, I have spent most of my adult life trying to find those wonderful Hot Cross Buns. I've found NONE! So far, not ONE to come even close. But, I keep trying.
Don't get my wrong, I 'like' the ones I find in various stores, and will heartily down them to the last smidgen, however, the real Hot Cross Buns continue to elude me. Somewhere...out there...is that perfect Hot Cross Bun...someday I will find you, won't I?
Stopping by there, I discovered a rare treasure...a container of Hot Cross Buns. Yummm. Hot Cross Buns are to Easter, what Fruit Cake is to Christmas. Both, however, seem to be an 'acquired' taste.
I'll eat any kind of Fruit Cake, it's kind of hard to screw up that recipe. Although I do prefer mine to have a good helping of rum in it...not the rum flavoring, but rum...a good, healthy cup of rum. Ohhhhh buddy!
However, Hot Cross Buns are more tricky. Therefore I must confess, I've only had one that was 'melt in your mouth delicious', and that was when I was a young teen and was invited to a friends home for brunch after the Easter Sunday church service. Up to that time I had never even seen a Hot Cross Bun, and only knew about them via the little rhyme
Hot Cross Buns,
Hot Cross Buns,
One a penny, Two a penny,
Hot Cross Buns.
Oh, those buns looked so inviting, all nestled together, just out of the oven. And, they smelled heavenly. Each one had a white icing cross etched across the top. The hostess broke them apart and passed the plate around the table. I debated about taking one, trying one, (should I not like it), would be difficult to dispose of, and further, having it left on my plate could be embarrassing and offending to my friend's mother.
Curiosity, over rode fear and I took my first bite. It was not cake-like, nor was it bread like, it was sort of in between. And it was delicious. Rather than having colored Citron Fruit in it, these had candied cherries and pineapple. Is your mouth watering? Mine is. I could have devoured every single one of those buns all by myself.
Since that first encounter, I have spent most of my adult life trying to find those wonderful Hot Cross Buns. I've found NONE! So far, not ONE to come even close. But, I keep trying.
Don't get my wrong, I 'like' the ones I find in various stores, and will heartily down them to the last smidgen, however, the real Hot Cross Buns continue to elude me. Somewhere...out there...is that perfect Hot Cross Bun...someday I will find you, won't I?
Who and what does the job?
The picture below appeared on my Facebook home page this morning. I have to say it delighted me.
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I think just about any old woman would agree she can't live without the above mentioned items. However, I would add two more items I think are nice to have on hand for emergencies. The first is '3 in 1 Oil', and the second is 'Vasoline Petroleum Jelly'. They are reasonably cheap...well, at least they used to be, and are great for handling just about anything that squeaks.
On the down side, 3 in 1 Oil, tends to be messy, but with it's new container, and long nozzle I find it easily works the jobs in those difficult to reach places. And while the petroleum jelly can eventually leave behind a greasy grey residue, it does stop those hinges from squeaking. On the up side, they are both perfect for 'small' jobs.
WD-40 on the other hand is great for big, big, jobs. For instance, my garage door developed a squeak that could waken the dead. No kidding, you could hear it going up half a block away. The first time I heard it, I confess it terrified me...I almost jumped out of my skin. At first I ran '3 in 1' along the track, it worked for a day or two, but soon the squeak was back, and seemed louder than ever. Can you imagine, I even contemplated calling a repairman to come help?
This was before Frankie moved in. I'm sure she would have had boundless comments, but useless advise. But, at the moment, I was on my own; so I yanked out my ladder, and set it in place halfway along the door's track, then I grabbed the WD-40, ascended the ladder and gave that track a good soaking end to end...not just once...but after waiting a while, I preformed the procedure again.
Then, I raised and lowered the door until the squeaking stopped. Over the years my repair job has works pretty well...most of the time, except during the winter months when the temperature gets below freezing...then the squeak returns. I've solved this problem simply by not opening the garage door during these months.
Now, on to duck tape....OMG...there has never been a better invention. I use it for ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING. Anchoring throw rugs to the floor. Attaching a loose downspout to the gutter. Holding stacked cardboard boxes together to make a cheap bookcase. Seaming the cardboard panels together of my make-shift laundry room. (I didn't know how easy is would be to paint over duck tape.) It even seals off cracks in flower pots...making a waterproof seal. I tell ya, it is truly amazing stuff. Oh, and, I love now you can buy it in colors, and 12x12 inch decorative squares. I've seen ads of women making artificial flowers from the stuff, and decorating old purses with a little pizazz. It would not surprise me to one day find kiosks in malls selling nothing but decorative duck tape and booklets with decorating ideas. I'd buy stuff, I swear I would.
Anyway, when the above picture appeared on Facebook this morning, I realized even with all the technological gadgetry, and engineering wonders some very smart, well educated men...and...women, have come up with. It's us old women with a little tape, and a bit of lubrication that keep the world sticking together, and that keep it from squeaking, too.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Stitch and sew
Well, it's down to the wire...the wedding is next Friday evening.
For weeks I've been staring at the 'Turkey Suit' hanging in my closet. Sometimes I got it out and tried different colored blouses with it, and different accessories as well. In the end, it simply went back into the closet.
Yesterday I drug the suit out and tried to decide exactly how I might be able to salvage it to be presentable. I took the shoulder pads out almost as soon as it arrived. I hated the tacky jacket button, and removed that, too. Since the button was only decorative to begin with, I discovered I didn't need to replace it, the inside snap works great.
When I went shopping on Tuesday I purchased a spool of beige thread just to make sure I had enough to do all the necessary alterations...Today, man, I was a buzz, and ready for action. I began with the sleeves, and turned them under a good three inches, and carefully, very c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y measured each sleeve. (Heaven forbid I should make one shorter than the other). The scary part was cutting off the excess material...what if I need it back??????
Once I was happy with the snip-snipping, and the pin-pinning, I began the hand-hand sewing. It has been a long, long time since I did any hand stitching, and I was not happy with the crude results, so three times, I un-stitched the first sleeve (thank goodness I had the foresight to buy a new spool of thread). I guess sewing is sort of like learning to ride a bike, you don't forget, you just have to practice to get the skill back. It took most of the afternoon, but, the sleeves were finally done.
Boy, was I a pooped puppy? You better believe.
Should I tackle shortening the skirt?
I had nothing better to do. Why not?
I throw on the skirt and give an eyeball as to how much I think I'm going to have to turn up the skirt. Ignoring the fact I looked like a turkey, I gave definite, sincere, serious concern to where the new hemline should be. I then, put in some pins, and returned to the mirror. The new line hit exactly at the middle of my knee, right at the bend. Good choice.
Again, I was troubled, I had to whack off several inches of fabric...once gone, I cannot 'undo' the cut. Bravely, and very, very carefully, I measured, folded fabric and pinned. Over and over until I had circled the skirt. I went back to the mirror. Hey...not bad...my legs no longer looked like drum-sticks but actual human legs. Whooo, hooo.
By now it was dark out, I'd not eaten, and I was exhausted. Eating was a far more important project than sewing...so I carefully folded the skirt, gathered my sewing supplies, and put them all on the footstool next to the sofa. I can't tell you what I ate, but after, I can tell you I contemplated finishing the skirt.
Frankie, who had been a silent observer all afternoon gave me a raised eyebrow, and stern expression. "Don't even think about it. You are waaay to tired to sew that skirt tonight.?"
For a few minutes I contemplated her input. I knew she was right. I'm already cranky. On the other hand, I can hear my mother..."You should never sew on Sunday, because when you get to heaven you will have to take out all those stitches with your nose."
Well, I do have several days left to finish this job, oh what the heck, I know I'm going to sew on Sunday...taking stitches out with my nose...how hard can that be?
For weeks I've been staring at the 'Turkey Suit' hanging in my closet. Sometimes I got it out and tried different colored blouses with it, and different accessories as well. In the end, it simply went back into the closet.
Yesterday I drug the suit out and tried to decide exactly how I might be able to salvage it to be presentable. I took the shoulder pads out almost as soon as it arrived. I hated the tacky jacket button, and removed that, too. Since the button was only decorative to begin with, I discovered I didn't need to replace it, the inside snap works great.
When I went shopping on Tuesday I purchased a spool of beige thread just to make sure I had enough to do all the necessary alterations...Today, man, I was a buzz, and ready for action. I began with the sleeves, and turned them under a good three inches, and carefully, very c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y measured each sleeve. (Heaven forbid I should make one shorter than the other). The scary part was cutting off the excess material...what if I need it back??????
Once I was happy with the snip-snipping, and the pin-pinning, I began the hand-hand sewing. It has been a long, long time since I did any hand stitching, and I was not happy with the crude results, so three times, I un-stitched the first sleeve (thank goodness I had the foresight to buy a new spool of thread). I guess sewing is sort of like learning to ride a bike, you don't forget, you just have to practice to get the skill back. It took most of the afternoon, but, the sleeves were finally done.
Boy, was I a pooped puppy? You better believe.
Should I tackle shortening the skirt?
I had nothing better to do. Why not?
I throw on the skirt and give an eyeball as to how much I think I'm going to have to turn up the skirt. Ignoring the fact I looked like a turkey, I gave definite, sincere, serious concern to where the new hemline should be. I then, put in some pins, and returned to the mirror. The new line hit exactly at the middle of my knee, right at the bend. Good choice.
Again, I was troubled, I had to whack off several inches of fabric...once gone, I cannot 'undo' the cut. Bravely, and very, very carefully, I measured, folded fabric and pinned. Over and over until I had circled the skirt. I went back to the mirror. Hey...not bad...my legs no longer looked like drum-sticks but actual human legs. Whooo, hooo.
By now it was dark out, I'd not eaten, and I was exhausted. Eating was a far more important project than sewing...so I carefully folded the skirt, gathered my sewing supplies, and put them all on the footstool next to the sofa. I can't tell you what I ate, but after, I can tell you I contemplated finishing the skirt.
Frankie, who had been a silent observer all afternoon gave me a raised eyebrow, and stern expression. "Don't even think about it. You are waaay to tired to sew that skirt tonight.?"
For a few minutes I contemplated her input. I knew she was right. I'm already cranky. On the other hand, I can hear my mother..."You should never sew on Sunday, because when you get to heaven you will have to take out all those stitches with your nose."
Well, I do have several days left to finish this job, oh what the heck, I know I'm going to sew on Sunday...taking stitches out with my nose...how hard can that be?
Friday, April 5, 2013
Are you the party to whom I wish to be connected?
Okay....I'm a bad, bad person. I think I blogged not long ago how frustrated I was getting with the National No Call List folks, because I was being inundated with all sorts of calls, from early in the morning going well into the early evening.
Starting Monday of this week. Rather than letting these nuisance calls go to my message center, I've actually been answering the calls...and I've been mean, angry, rude, and insistent that I be removed from their calling list immediately. Otherwise, I will report them to the National No Call List Folks, and there will be Hell to pay. I think a couple of times the person on the receiving end of my 'pick-up' had to make a quick run to the bathroom when I was done with my rant, because I sensed I scared the 'you know what out of them'.
Honestly, for years I have tried to be nice to the folks making these calls, and I've spent quite a bit of time taking surveys, listening to spiels, saying no to carpet cleaners, and politely insisting I don't need auto insurance. I realize they are just trying to make a living.
However, over the last several years, I've come to believe, these folks hate their job, you can tell by the lack of enthusiasm in their voice...because they know 99.99% of the people they call are going to say no to whatever it is they are selling. As a result it was harder and harder for me to be nice in return and I simply stopped picking up the phone.
For a while the National No Call List actually seemed to work.
However, over the last couple of weeks I have been inundated with nuisance phone calls. I have been letting them go to voice mail. In the evenings I check to see from whom the calls were coming. Most of them start with the letter V, with a bunch of numbers after them. There is never a message so immediately I've been deleted the call. Yesterday as I was flipping through the numbers I discovered an actual phone number appears seconds after the V number so, when I got another V call today I let it go to my messages and then called the number back. Imagine my surprise when I got a message in return. It said and I quote "this number does not accept incoming calls". Seriously...no joke...I could not leave a message.
What????
This number V does not leave me a message...the telephone number associated with the V number does not accept calls...is this the ultimate oxymoron or what??????? Seriously, think about it. The world's gone mad.
But, here's the thing. Apparently, miraculously, my being a bad, bad person is starting to pay off. Today I have had only one phone call and this has caused me to ponder. Do all telemarketers work from a single list, and is it generated on some kind of inter-related/ telemarketers Internet connection? So that as I started to speak to all these people they did indeed remove me from their Internet connected list, and by so doing, am I eventually going to disappear from the list all together?
I can only hope, I can only hope.
Starting Monday of this week. Rather than letting these nuisance calls go to my message center, I've actually been answering the calls...and I've been mean, angry, rude, and insistent that I be removed from their calling list immediately. Otherwise, I will report them to the National No Call List Folks, and there will be Hell to pay. I think a couple of times the person on the receiving end of my 'pick-up' had to make a quick run to the bathroom when I was done with my rant, because I sensed I scared the 'you know what out of them'.
Honestly, for years I have tried to be nice to the folks making these calls, and I've spent quite a bit of time taking surveys, listening to spiels, saying no to carpet cleaners, and politely insisting I don't need auto insurance. I realize they are just trying to make a living.
However, over the last several years, I've come to believe, these folks hate their job, you can tell by the lack of enthusiasm in their voice...because they know 99.99% of the people they call are going to say no to whatever it is they are selling. As a result it was harder and harder for me to be nice in return and I simply stopped picking up the phone.
For a while the National No Call List actually seemed to work.
However, over the last couple of weeks I have been inundated with nuisance phone calls. I have been letting them go to voice mail. In the evenings I check to see from whom the calls were coming. Most of them start with the letter V, with a bunch of numbers after them. There is never a message so immediately I've been deleted the call. Yesterday as I was flipping through the numbers I discovered an actual phone number appears seconds after the V number so, when I got another V call today I let it go to my messages and then called the number back. Imagine my surprise when I got a message in return. It said and I quote "this number does not accept incoming calls". Seriously...no joke...I could not leave a message.
What????
This number V does not leave me a message...the telephone number associated with the V number does not accept calls...is this the ultimate oxymoron or what??????? Seriously, think about it. The world's gone mad.
But, here's the thing. Apparently, miraculously, my being a bad, bad person is starting to pay off. Today I have had only one phone call and this has caused me to ponder. Do all telemarketers work from a single list, and is it generated on some kind of inter-related/ telemarketers Internet connection? So that as I started to speak to all these people they did indeed remove me from their Internet connected list, and by so doing, am I eventually going to disappear from the list all together?
I can only hope, I can only hope.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Where did the time go?
It seems I lost two blog days. How in the world did that happen? I guess I've been 'puttzing' through life with my head up my (you know where). I'm trying to recall how I spent the last two days.
Let's see. Oh, yeah, Tuesday I went shopping with my neighbor. First time in a long time she was able to have the car on a first Tuesday of the month which just happens to be Senior Discount Day at our favorite store. So, guess where we went? It was a lovely time.
After the debilitating time I had with my outing last week, I definitely took one of my anxiety pills before leaving the house Tuesday. Since I don't take them often, by the time I had the groceries put away, I was sleepier, than Sleepy, in that old Fair Tale. Zorro does not do well when I leave, (maybe I should give him a pill, too)I decided to snuggle with him for a while. I puuuffed up my pillows, got comfy, and immediately fell asleep. I never nap...never. Hours passed. What the heck. Well, so much for Tuesday.
Wednesday...hmmm? Right! I made a quick check of Facebook, and e-mail. Then since it was Bible Study day I spent the morning dusting, vacuuming, and cleaning the bathrooms (gotta keep up the facade I actually give a crap how my house looks). After study, I fixed myself a game hen for dinner, and contemplated whether I should go out and spread newspapers down in my extended garden to kill the grassy areas, and prevent the growth of plants where I don't want them. Contemplating took a couple of hours, just long enough for my game hen to roast. I think you call that procrastination.
I ate.
More contemplating.
I heard it is supposed to rain over the next several days. I KNOW I NEED TO GO SPREAD THOSE PAPERS. Some time ago I bought several bags of the pine pellet cat litter specifically for this job. It expands in size when it gets wet, and I knew if I put the papers down, and scattered the cat litter on top of it, I would not only be killing the grass; the litter, once expanded would prevent the papers from blowing around.
Hmmm. Rain...paper...litter. Rain...paper...litter. Dang it seemed like a tedious
job. Besides that, it was now pushing 7 P of M. Dangity, dang, dang. I know this is the perfect time to do this...shoot.
So, I do.
This morning, with great excitement I throw open the drapes. I'm thinking it will be wet, the robins will be singing their rain song, and all will be right with my world.
Guess what? No rain yet. Now I hear there could be twenty mile an hour wind gusts related to the coming rain. Oh dear, what if the wind arrives first. The litter will not have expanded and become heavy, so the slightest breeze will blow it off the papers. And those papers will blow...well, God knows where.
I'm in a pickle!
Come on rain!!!! You can start any time now.
Speaking of pickles. I wish I had bought some Tuesday. A dill pickle sandwich on rye toast sure sounds good. Sigh.
Let's see. Oh, yeah, Tuesday I went shopping with my neighbor. First time in a long time she was able to have the car on a first Tuesday of the month which just happens to be Senior Discount Day at our favorite store. So, guess where we went? It was a lovely time.
After the debilitating time I had with my outing last week, I definitely took one of my anxiety pills before leaving the house Tuesday. Since I don't take them often, by the time I had the groceries put away, I was sleepier, than Sleepy, in that old Fair Tale. Zorro does not do well when I leave, (maybe I should give him a pill, too)I decided to snuggle with him for a while. I puuuffed up my pillows, got comfy, and immediately fell asleep. I never nap...never. Hours passed. What the heck. Well, so much for Tuesday.
Wednesday...hmmm? Right! I made a quick check of Facebook, and e-mail. Then since it was Bible Study day I spent the morning dusting, vacuuming, and cleaning the bathrooms (gotta keep up the facade I actually give a crap how my house looks). After study, I fixed myself a game hen for dinner, and contemplated whether I should go out and spread newspapers down in my extended garden to kill the grassy areas, and prevent the growth of plants where I don't want them. Contemplating took a couple of hours, just long enough for my game hen to roast. I think you call that procrastination.
I ate.
More contemplating.
I heard it is supposed to rain over the next several days. I KNOW I NEED TO GO SPREAD THOSE PAPERS. Some time ago I bought several bags of the pine pellet cat litter specifically for this job. It expands in size when it gets wet, and I knew if I put the papers down, and scattered the cat litter on top of it, I would not only be killing the grass; the litter, once expanded would prevent the papers from blowing around.
Hmmm. Rain...paper...litter. Rain...paper...litter. Dang it seemed like a tedious
job. Besides that, it was now pushing 7 P of M. Dangity, dang, dang. I know this is the perfect time to do this...shoot.
So, I do.
This morning, with great excitement I throw open the drapes. I'm thinking it will be wet, the robins will be singing their rain song, and all will be right with my world.
Guess what? No rain yet. Now I hear there could be twenty mile an hour wind gusts related to the coming rain. Oh dear, what if the wind arrives first. The litter will not have expanded and become heavy, so the slightest breeze will blow it off the papers. And those papers will blow...well, God knows where.
I'm in a pickle!
Come on rain!!!! You can start any time now.
Speaking of pickles. I wish I had bought some Tuesday. A dill pickle sandwich on rye toast sure sounds good. Sigh.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Mmmm, mmm, mmm
My, oh my. I'm having a gigantic battle with myself this morning. It is so grand and glorious outside this first day of April. My mind, soul and younger self wants to be outside working.
Now that my decorative wall is complete, I want to get out there and move the plants from the planter I want to dismantle. But, my hip still hurts some, and common sense tells me it is a bad idea to be out shoveling. What to do? What to do?
Today I would sell my a-fore mentioned soul to the devil to be in my thirties again.
I never ever worried about breaking a bone, and sore muscles never bothered me, so working out doors has never seemed like work. Physical labor, especially outdoor labor was always fun. Ahhhh, communing with nature. Creepy crawlies, dirt under my fingernails, wet, stained sweat-pants, or even wet stained knees...I devoured all of it. Oh, and the fresh air and sunshine...couldn't ever get enough.
Now though, I do worry. Especially the part about breaking a bone. What if my foot slips off the edge of the shovel and I lose my balance? What if I break my hip? An ankle? A leg? Should I finally make a decision to purchase one of those necklaces to wear around my neck? Really, has it come to that?
Bummer.
I suppose, I could simply go out and sit...but then my conscience would bother me because I know I want to work...Oh...I ever so badly...want to work. I was talking with my cousin on the phone last week, and we both decided it would be much better if we were all born old and grew young, and then contemplated how that would work. I suggested we would all spring to life, from inside humongous pea-pods. Dah, dah!
Maybe we would all start out at some preplanned age...let's say 100, yeah, we'd be achy, and pain-y, and maybe even feeble, or sick. But every day, week, month and year, we would get younger, stronger and healthier. Now, let's pretend we have all
the memories, we ever had, as we had learned them the way we did growing up
from a baby...but we could have 'do overs'....wow....
And...
I think I will leave this particular blog on that note. I'm going to ponder that today. Would I actually do "do overs"? I don't know...my life's been pretty darn good.
Question is, will I do my pondering while I'm shoveling dirt and moving plants, or let common sense take over and go sit in the sun whilst pondering...Oh the puzzlement.
Now that my decorative wall is complete, I want to get out there and move the plants from the planter I want to dismantle. But, my hip still hurts some, and common sense tells me it is a bad idea to be out shoveling. What to do? What to do?
Today I would sell my a-fore mentioned soul to the devil to be in my thirties again.
I never ever worried about breaking a bone, and sore muscles never bothered me, so working out doors has never seemed like work. Physical labor, especially outdoor labor was always fun. Ahhhh, communing with nature. Creepy crawlies, dirt under my fingernails, wet, stained sweat-pants, or even wet stained knees...I devoured all of it. Oh, and the fresh air and sunshine...couldn't ever get enough.
Now though, I do worry. Especially the part about breaking a bone. What if my foot slips off the edge of the shovel and I lose my balance? What if I break my hip? An ankle? A leg? Should I finally make a decision to purchase one of those necklaces to wear around my neck? Really, has it come to that?
Bummer.
I suppose, I could simply go out and sit...but then my conscience would bother me because I know I want to work...Oh...I ever so badly...want to work. I was talking with my cousin on the phone last week, and we both decided it would be much better if we were all born old and grew young, and then contemplated how that would work. I suggested we would all spring to life, from inside humongous pea-pods. Dah, dah!
Maybe we would all start out at some preplanned age...let's say 100, yeah, we'd be achy, and pain-y, and maybe even feeble, or sick. But every day, week, month and year, we would get younger, stronger and healthier. Now, let's pretend we have all
the memories, we ever had, as we had learned them the way we did growing up
from a baby...but we could have 'do overs'....wow....
And...
I think I will leave this particular blog on that note. I'm going to ponder that today. Would I actually do "do overs"? I don't know...my life's been pretty darn good.
Question is, will I do my pondering while I'm shoveling dirt and moving plants, or let common sense take over and go sit in the sun whilst pondering...Oh the puzzlement.
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