Itsy, bitsy spider

I don't mean to alarm anybody, but spiders are back. 

I don't want to exaggerate this, but one the size of a hippopotamus has taken up residence just outside one of my bay windows.  I've no idea where it goes during the day, but come evening...there it is...slightly above my eye level hovering, hovering, hovering           

...hovering. 

When I close the window, the web shudders, but the spider remains stalwart, in stealth mode.  I don't think this thing has an ounce of fear. 

It hangs so I get to see the back side of it, which surprises me because usually I get a look at their bellies, not the ornate, delicate, intriguing patterns of their backs.  I would like to take a picture of it, but my camera is not all 'jazzy' (which is okay, I don't really need jazzy) and I think all I will get is the bright reflection of the flash going off in the window glass. 

What puzzles me is this, where does this African elephant go during the day?  Does it spend its time trying to figure out a way to get into my home?  Is it, some night, going to invade my bedroom and crawl into my ear and eat my brain?  Oh, the horror, oh, the humanity! 

I've yet to see some hapless insect become ensnared in its web, shouldn't I be seeing flies, moths and other creatures trapped there?  Then again, maybe that accounts for the size of this thing, it simply devours e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g, in one gulp, leaving no trace of a body at all.   

Oh, dear...I better start to pay better attention to where CC and Zorro are, they might be its next meal.  By the way, I've not seen Frankie yet this morning...I must go check on her as soon as I'm done writing. 

Funny!  I've no desire to cause harm to this creature, it really is quite beautiful.  So even though it has grown to the size of a blue whale, and as long as I can keep track of my loved ones it's all good; I'm sure we can live in harmony.

Did I mention?  Spiders are back.

Love letters and "D"

I finally finished reading a book yesterday that has been an on going project for a very long time.  My granddaughter lent me the book ages ago.  I think it's time I return it, don't you?

Anyway, toward the end of the book, the author talks about getting old, and the "D" word.  And how nobody really wants to talk about it, but we are all going to do it, even though we tell ourselves it is not going to happen to us.

Well, it is...I hope I go in my sleep, having a dream that does not wake me up screaming.  LOL.

I'm not afraid of death...but I am afraid of how I'm going to die.  Please, Lord, make it quick and not painful.  However, whatever my end might be, I hope I will be able to keep a smile on my face and remain firm in my faith that I will have eternal life.

But, back to the book.  In the chapter about "D", the author makes note about a friend who at the time he, well, "D-ed", returned all his love letters to the women who had sent them to him. 

My first thought was, how did he know where they all were, and if they were "A" or "D"?  My second thought was why would you do that?  It's not that I ever got any love letters to speak of, but I do have five letters from the only man who held my heart in the palm of his hand.  He was the only one who's heart I held in mine.  Those five letters mean more to me (love wise) than just about anything else in the world.  Would I ever have thought of returning them to him, or destroying them.  Never.  I just got done reading the last one, moments ago...it brought me to tears.  This was the man I thought I was going to be my partner forever.

Well, that didn't work out.  Our lives took greatly different paths.

He married someone else, I was devistated, and it became very difficult living in the same town, knowing we would never be.  We met once...in an elevator.  I have often wondered if he had planned that, as he worked in the steel mill just down the street from where I worked.

Seeing him, took my breath away, my knees became weak, I thought I just might
faint.  Have you ever loved somebody that much?  Anyway, we both had to remain composed and keep the conversation polite and proper because elevators in those days all had operators.  So for five, slow, agonizing floors I had to endure being close to him, all the while wanting to leap across the enclosure and smother him in kisses.  The doors opened on the fifth floor...the store's accounting department...we said goodbye.  He went one direction to pay his bill, I in another to the advertising department where I worked.

I never saw him again.

I moved 3,000 miles away.

It was not until my mother passed away we re-connected.  He sent be a beautiful card.  I still have it.  I wrote back thanking him.  From that time on until he passed away a few years later we were constantly in touch.   He would call from time to time, we would talk for a long time. We had a long distance, long overdue love affair.  I miss him terribly.

I think once we had reconnected, we realized we should have been together all our lives, we talked about the could-a, should-a, would-a's.  But, I believe our lives are written in a Big Book somewhere, and the plot plays out in its way, not ours and that our reconnection was part of the plot.  How odd, I'm thinking this morning that I never asked him if the meeting in the elevator was his plan, or simply one of the chapters in the Big Book of our lives.  Either way, it was meant to be.

So, good for the guy who returned his love letters.  I would never, ever do that.  Mine mean too much to me.  What my kids will do with them when I "D" and the time comes to box up my life, I've not a clue...I just know I won't need them any more, cause I'll be in Paradise with him.

Words

Yesterday I got to thinking about words.  In particular ammonia, since I was writing that particular one on my grocery list.  And I wondered when I first learned this word, how to spell it, and how I continue to remember how to spell it all these many years.

And what about all the other words I know?  Do I have an even bigger "Big
Book/Encyclopedia/Thesaurus" mushed together inside tiny little cranium than those books on my office shelves?  Wow there's a mind boggling pondering, to make my 'headie-ache'.

Uh-oh...here it comes...more junk for you to completely forget tomorrow...or, who knows, maybe some of it will get mushed together in your cranium like I'm sure it will mine.

I was going to delve into the study of words but found that boring, it's full of big, three and four syllable words, that got me so confused, I gave up on having that as today's blog; instead I've decided to tell you some wonderful 'brain facts' that help us to have our very own, individual "Big Book/Encyclopedia/Thesaurus" right inside our heads.

So, here for your entertainment and enjoyment are some facts I picked up from the HW Neurological Institute, LLC.

First our brains weigh about 3 pounds and make up about 2% of our total body weight.  (Which is a lot less than dragging around a back-pack full of Big Books/
Encyclopedias/ Thersaursus'.) 

It has about 100 billion neutrons, and each neutron has between 1,000 to 10,000 synapses.  (Which is maybe why I sometimes think I can hear buzzing, popping, sizzling sounds coming from inside my head when I think hard.)

There are 100,000 miles of blood vessels in your brain. Which supply the oxygen necessary to keep it alive and functioning properly.

75% of our brain is water.

60% of our brain is fat. 

These last two facts 'splane' a lot.  (Perhaps I should add sloshing to the sounds I hear inside my head and no wonder I can't lose weight, what with all that fat squeezed in there.)

Your brain recognizes your touch, so you cannot tickle yourself.
Stress alters brain cells and functions.
Dreaming requires more brain activity than any waking function.
Music increases brain organization.
You have an average of 70,000 thoughts per day.
Your brain creates 10-23 watts of electricity.  (Perhaps actually accounting for the buzzing, popping, sizzling sounds coming from inside my head when I think hard.)
You do use your entire brain, not just the 10% as often rumored.

Of all these facts I think the one I like the most is the fact I do use my entire brain.  Although not always to my best benefit, because I sometimes leave my coffee mugs in my microwave, and for the life of me I cannot even remember what I had for dinner yesterday.  What are my neurons doing when I really need them?

However, what I appreciate most of all about my brain is that I can remember words like ammonia are stored there, that I know how to spell it, what it means, and how to use the word in connection with other words to make a sentence. 

Ah, words.  Without them, we would not be able to communicate.  I would not be able to converse with you, this page would be blank.  Thank you little three pound brain for all the wonderful words. Thank you.

Once upon a time...

...an Old Woman, preparing to retire, took her dog out for one last turn around the kingdom.  She, curious, about what someone might be able to see in her garage at night, peered through the windows of her garage door.  She was pleased to see, she could see nothing at all; not so much as her own shadow. 

So it was, Old Woman was filled with a certain comfort that no rogue could see her treasures held within and try to pilfer them.  She called her pup from the hinterland of the kingdom and retreated to the castle.

She finished her regime of closing and locking, and retired to her bed chamber.  Old Woman was very, very tired and even contemplated foregoing her evening dental habits, but...as usual, she could not. 

As often mentioned in Ye Olde Blogge, Old Woman no longer looks directly at herself in the mirror anymore, but focuses in on one particular thing.  This evening it was her hair that she had quaffed earlier that day.  She noticed two tiny black things resting atop her hair. 

"Ahhh!"  She thought, "Walking under the vines that quaintly surround my garage door I must have brushed against them, and, something has become stuck in my hair-sprayed curls."

She took her hand and removed the first thing.

But, the second blob, was not a simple thing at all.  To Old Woman's horror, it moved.  She tried once more to remove it...but it fell, out of sight...deep, deep, down to her...gasp, scalp.

Now, Old Woman had a mouth full of toothpaste, and she does not know about you...but for her, toothpaste left in her mouth too long becomes spicy...kind of hot...as well as being very, very bubbly.  So, she had no choice but to concentrate on the bubbles and not the black blob.  Besides, she had to decide how to trap the thing before it could set up residence and reproduce...God knows what.

Lo, as she finished brushing, the tiny, teeny, creature emerged from the depth of her scalp and was inching (footfall,after footfall) toward her forehead.  One more time she valiantly, ever so carefully tried to capture this living being.  In her mind it had become a Dragon that must be slain.  Alas, it disappeared....again.

Old Woman was beside herself...Her mind flew back to every horror movie she had ever seen, where creatures of all sorts made their way into someones inner ear and ate its way into the brain.

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Old Woman's brain was sad enough as it was, she could not afford to have half of it eaten away.

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Then she had a thought:  "I will simply brush my hair until this Dragon falls onto my shoulder."

And brush she did...Oh yes, Old Woman brushed, and brushed, and brushed.

No dragon emerged.

Eventually, dejected and fearful, Old Woman retired to her trundle bed.  Weary and bleary eyed, she could only hope that while she slept the Dragon would crawl out, cross her pillow and disappear. 

Old Woman slept fitfully.

Dawn slowly inched its way through the bed chamber drapery, Old Woman stirred.  Making her way to the nearest mirror she was delightfully pleased to see her head had not become encased in a spider's web, that no 'droppings' fell onto her shoulders as she brushed her locks, and there were no tickling, crawling sensations in either of her ears. 

Apparently the Dragon had been slain or perhaps had fled (for its own safety) during the night.

So it was the kingdom could get back to normal.

The end.

Frankie can be very intuitive,

sometimes that drives me nuts.  She senses something is not quite right this morning
...and she's right.

Honest, there is absolutely nothing wrong here, things here are back to normal and going well.  But I do feel like somebody stabbed me in the chest.  It's hard for me to breathe.

When I was a senior in high school, my class took a trip for three days to Washington DC.  It was a most wonderful time.  We crammed so much into those three days we went home exhausted.  We visited monuments, went to the museum, toured the White House, went to Mount Vernon, went down the Potomac River on a steam boat.  (Okay, that was not so good, water terrifies me, I got nauseated, and now that I think about it, that might have been my first panic attack.) 

I got to eat Asian food for the first time.  I don't remember what was actually on my plate, or if I even ate all of it, but I do remember the restaurant decor, and I was fascinated by the ornateness of it and all the bright red, shiny lacquer black and gold accents.  It was amazing.

Two things from that trip will stay with me in vivid detail until the day I die.  Coming in at second place is the memorial to the men planting the flag on Iwo Jima.  The monument opened in November 1954, we were there in Spring '55, I felt especially honored to be there.  It was an amazing sight and it actually brought me to tears.  I have a picture of that somewhere.  I will never, never, ever forget standing so close to those men and the pride I felt looking at that statue.

However, the thing most etched in my memory is me standing at the feet of Abraham Lincoln.  He was huge.  I was awe struck. Yes, there he was, sitting in a chair, over the back of which hung a blanket. He was wearing a suit and long coat.  I noticed his arms were resting on the arms of the chair, the fingers of his right hand draping over the edge of one, while his left hand in a loose fist was draped over the other.  The toe of his right shoe slightly extended over the edge of the pedestal on which the chair sits.  His head slightly tilted downward, those, sad, sad eyes looking down at me while I was looking up at his.  His features showed the most about the man he was.  His hair was a bit tousled, his cheeks slightly sunken, his beard cropped short but neatly groomed.  But it was his eyes that told the most about the man.  They were filled with sorrow and grief, and bored into my soul, they told the story of the times he lived, and the anguish he felt for the decisions he had to make, and his disappointment he had to leave his job unfinished. 

Oh yes, it was those eyes...I could barely pull myself away from those eyes. 

And, that dear Frankie, is what is wrong this morning.  I'm thinking about those eyes, and how I am sure this morning, although a statue cannot weep, I know in my heart of heart they are because this is the news I got.

"From CBS news.

Lincoln Memorial vandalized

Green paint was splattered overnight on parts of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C.   U.S. Park police say a patrol officer found green paint splashed on the floor near the famous statue of President Lincoln, and some on the base of the statue, at around 1:20 a.m. local time. No messages were written, according to the National Park Service.

The memorial, on the National Mall, will be closed until the National Park Service can clean it up. The NPS said that they are using citrus-based cleaners and power washers to clean the paint.

NPS spokeswoman Carol Johnson said the paint used to vandalize the Lincoln Memorial "is not permanent...it can be cleaned," adding she's "hopeful" the whole monument can reopen to the public sometime on Friday.

An investigation is under way."

What has happened to the country I used to know and love?  When have we started to accept the unacceptable?  Why do we tolerate leaders who are corrupt, selfish, self-centered and egotists?  I do know the answer to that, it's because we have become corrupt, selfish, self- centered egotists ourselves.

Remember not too far back in history the tearing down of the statues of Stalin and Saddam Hussein?  Does America's future foretell that someday, someone, sometime is going to implode the Washington Monument, bulldoze the monument of Lincoln, and pull down the statue of the flag raising on Iwo Jima with a crane?  I think so.

Is it to late to change the course of America's future?  Please, someone, answer me that.

Speaking of 'running dry'.

Yesterday I turned a phrase and said that Zorro had run himself dry. Well, you know me, "run dry" ran like the rapids on the Deschutes in my head for hours.

Where did this idiom come from? What did it originally mean? Who first used it?

Hmmm.

First is it an idiom?

According to the Encarta World English Dictionary...here after know as our 'Big Book':  An idiom is a fixed expression with no literal meaning, distinct and often colorful whose meaning cannot be understood from the combined meaning of its individual words...Zorro, had run dry.  He ran...he was dry at the moment...but those are literal...in the way I used them he had peed so much he had no pee left to pee.  I guess you could say it is an idiom.

Second what did/does it mean?

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary states:
Run Dry

1: to use up an available supply

2: to become exhausted or spent <his inspiration had run dry>

While The Free Dictionary by Farlex states: 
Run Dry

To become empty of water; "The river runs dry in the summer" To be all used completely; "We have been told the Social Security trust fund will run dry in a few more years because so many people will be retiring."

Finally, and here's the hard part where did it come from, and who first used it and in what context?  Well, folks...I've 'met my match', 'been stimied', 'hit the brick wall'.  I've got, zilch, diddly-squat, nothing at all.

But, here are some things that I think can run dry:  A dog (referring to staking his claim), a man (although running without being hydrated does not set a good example), a river (of course, during a drought), a pot full of vegetables (we all know how that smells), and me (who hates when there is nothing left to research.)

In closing, here are a few things I think cannot run dry.  An automobile, airplane, a boat, jet skis, lawn mower, bus, turbine engine, old steam engine trains, and lastly, all living things (eventually we would die).

What do you think can run dry, and what cannot?

What's the difference between run dry and dry run?  Well...that's a whole other idiom.
 

Do you see what I see

Frankie, Zorro and I got to see the chickens for the first time yesterday afternoon.  Frankie and I were pulling weeds (well I was pulling, she was watching) along the edge of the pea gravel sidewalk at the back of my house.  I have discovered if I do this once every two weeks I can have that boring job done in about fifteen minutes.

Anyway, we suddenly hear a sound we've never heard before, like somebody running over chicken wire.  We look at each other, and quickly turn in the direction of the chicken coop.  Inside, the downstairs of the structure are chickens.  The area is small, and with them all crammed together I can't tell for sure how many there are.  Four I think. 

There are two big black ones I'll call Milly and Mabel, one that is the regular farm yard variety we probably all grew up with, I'll call Penny,  and a smaller white one I've named Florence.  Apparently they are all under house arrest.  The three larger ones seem to have accepted their fate, and are simply lounging about.

However, Florence is not taking well to her confinement.  In fact, I think I now fully understand the meaning of "stir-crazy".  Seriously, if this 'chick' could talk...

"Le' me outta here!"
"I can't stans' it in here!"
" Come on, le' me out, I gotta get outta here!"
"I'm goin', mad, I tell ya, mad!"

Florence is lickity-splittin back and forth, back and forth, then suddenly makes a mad dash around the interior perimeter of her chicken wired cell.  She does not even care if she runs into her cell mates, who are looking at her with the same bewildered look we have on our faces.  Every once in a while a strange sound come from deep within her.  It's not a contented cluck, no, Florence is emitting a sound I think I would make if somebody were trying to kill me. 

As we all took in this bizarre scene, Frankie seems ready to scale the fence and rescue Florence.

Zorro, who at first showed surprise, stood tall and sniffed the air, proceeded to lift his leg at various intervals, the length of the fence, till he ran dry and was ready to go back in the house.

As for me, I was transfixed.  The last few weeks have been so weird, curious, peculiar, indeed...a real adventure.

I feel sorry for Milly, Mabel, Penny and Florence.  Poor, poor chickens...I hope in time they are allowed to roam free.  I think eventually Milly, Mabel and Penny will settle in and do just fine, till...well, I don't want to think about that.  However...the little white one, Florence...I sense she is sooo "gonna' be outta" here.  Look out freedom...here she comes.

Yoo, hoo, Muse.

This morning I've absolutely nothing specific on my mind.  Bits and pieces of things are being jostled about the remaining marbles rattling around in what's left of my sanity, nouns here, adverbs and adjectives there.  There goes an incomplete clause.

Sigh.

Minutes tick by while my fingers rest on A,S,D,F,--J,K,L,SEMI-COLON.

Out my office window I can see the four corners of property where every one's yards meet.  One of properties has been working on their deck for quite a while. Last year a large potted evergreen appeared and is sitting in one of the corners.  This year they added a big pink umbrella.  Although I can't see it, there has got to be a table and some chairs that go with it.  In my mind's eye I envision they are sturdy, shiny, black.  The chairs have plush, cushions with big pink hibiscus flowers on them.  During the last couple of summers they have often had folks over, but usually their events were over well before dark.

Then a couple of weeks ago, I came into the office to close the drapes and work for a while and there...strung around their deck was a rectangle of sparkling lights.  Not the Christmas kind, but bulbs that appear, (from my distance) about the size you find in your refrigerator.  The scene is so, so...quaint, lovely, and inviting. 

Did you ever see the Musical or Movie 'The Light in the Piazza'?  Their deck reminds me, not of the story line of the Piazza, but the Piazza itself.  The quaint public square in Florence Italy, where life plays out in a very intimate setting.  I love I can occasionally I hear the lilt of laughter, catch the sight of a woman's coiffured hair, or the fleeting sparkle from the glass of wine in someones hand.

I tell you, it is so enchanting.  I love that whether they are having a social gathering or not, every evening the lights come on, and remain so until I go about my house closing windows and drapes getting ready to retire.  Best of all, I love I'm far enough away to enjoy the glitz and glamor of their deck without feeling like I'm intruding on their privacy.  It's sort of like watching a movie or a play I can envision whatever plot I choose and add dialogue of mystery, love, suspense or scandal to match.

It's funny really, how a simple thing like a string of lights can make a person feel good and excite the imagination.  I'm hoping the lights remain up and active even in the winter.  Can you see...big snow flakes falling, adding inches of powdery white to the branches of the evergreen.  The strand of wire getting covered with flakes until the weight of them causes them to fall, while the glowing bulbs themselves are just the right warmth to keep the snow from covering them.  Do you see her...in long, red velvet dress, she's coming out onto the deck.  Her curly, raven locks are tucked under a white fur bonnet, and her delicate hands are warm inside a matching muff.  A handsome man joins her, his strong arms encircle her, protecting her, keeping her warm.  I see them, I see them.  Do you?

Sigh.

I guess my fingers must have started to move.  I would never have guessed this is where they would have brought me.  Thank you Lights in my Piazza.

Enter Stage Right

(Stage Whispers)

Frankie:  "You see 'em?"
Me:  "No."
Frankie:  "You hear' em?"
Me:  "No."
Frankie:  "Where you suppose they are?"
Me:  "I donno.  Maybe they're too little and are in their garage."

We are slowly, methodically walking across the back yard peeking through the uneven slivers of cracks along the newly installed bamboo fence. 

The coop is quiet, the ramp leading up to it is firmly in place and the chicken-wire area beneath is empty, it's obvious the chickens are not in there.

There must not be a scent of chicken in the air, because Zorro has absolutely no interest in our activity.  Our interest, however, has switch from chickens to the new fence.  I was intrigued as to how my neighbor had installed it and found (as far as I could see and tell) he had not used stakes of any kind.  Wow! 

I dissolve into a fit of giggles and no longer care if I'm heard or not.

Frankie:  (Still whispering)  "Shhhhh!  Somebodies gonna' hear you."
Me:  "Sorry, can't help myself."  I grab her for support.
Frankie:  "What's the matter with you."

I drag Frankie closer to the fence and point downward.  There, I show her 12 maybe 14 gauge wire pushed through openings in their fence, wrapped around my fence and pushed back through their fence and tied off.  There are two of these top and bottom attached to my pickets all along my fence about every five feet.  I simply cannot stop giggling.

Here I was, trying to accommodate them at every turn.  Trying to stay as invisible as possible, but as supportive as well.  Yes, yesterday I was quite disappointed when I saw what kind of fence had been installed, especially in such a short period of time.  But, their fence, their property.  As far as I know they have not broken any city ordinances.

At this point, I have to say, Frankie was really p----ed off.  She was ready to explode.  How dare they...not only was this fence an abomination, they had infringed on our personal property.  "Without asking."  She further stated.

Now, I might have been a bit p---ed myself, except the absurdity of the whole thing just tickled my funny bone.  What, this fence might last one winter?  I couldn't wait to call my sister and tell her all about it.

Then again...oh dear, here come giggles.  I'm reminded of my Terrace Board fiasco...of last week.  Was my job done any better.  Lordy, no.  As I mentioned in a blog, I was the most unqualified person in the world to do that job.  However, at least I didn't intrude on my neighbor's property, and with time, my job, so close to the ground will  become obscure.

However, the fence in the back.  Wait...I'm gonna send pictures...be back in a bit.
Picture on left shows the kind of wire used to anchor their fence to mine.  This shows the top wire, there is a second one at the bottom of this picket.   This system was used all the way along my fence.  The second picture shows how they ran out of fencing, and since they could not attach it to anything, it bends just a tiny bit.  Giggle, giggle.

Okay,  I know you get the gist of this blog.  And, I really do have to get back to work, and watering, and just stuff in general.  I hope you get as big a kick out of this as I am.  Life is just a hoot.                More to come I'm sure.  Oh, should a chicken happen to saunter into my back yard...well, I've never plucked one, but how hard can that be.

                            

 

So...

yesterday afternoon I let Zorro out to do his duty.  Once again I see a group of strangers in my neighbor's yard.  I hurriedly scurry back into the house.  Zorro quickly retreats as well. 

A short time later, I try again.  As I walk along my sidewalk, I'm pulling weeds from the garden below my bedroom window.  When I finally look up, my neighbor says hello.  I have to say he startled me because I was not aware anyone was about but me.

He's looking at me through a fence.  Oh my gosh, from the first time I let Zorro out to this exact moment a fence has gone up. 

"We got our chickens today."  He says.

I say something...I don't remember what...I keep looking at the fence.  I can't tell you the great disappointment I felt.  Color me slate grey.

I gain composure and inquire what breed the chickens are, he didn't seem to know.  I could not see any of them, but the people in the yard seemed to be admiring them.

I excused myself, dropped my weeds in my bin, and returned to the house.

Frankie and I mutter and sputter about the fence for quite a while.  I'm sure you know the type of fence it is by now.  It's cheap.  (probably all they could afford.)  And, appears to be made of bamboo shoots, I saw some exactly like them in the nursery where I bought my Terrace Board.  Anyway, not only can Frankie and I still see everything that's going on back there, they can still continue to see us.

Grrrrrrrrrr.  Color me Midnight Black.

Breathe Sandra, breathe.

Okay, I'm better now.  I had so been hoping for a better, more secure fence.  But life is what it is.  I can wallow, weep, and get wacky over this, but why bother.  I'm already contemplating my next move. 

Do you get catalogs?  Man, I do.  In several of them I've seen curtains that show scenes of mountain views, Italian gardens, etc. and I'm contemplating if I could buy several of them and somehow string them along my side of the fence to help gain more privacy.   Matter of fact I mentioned this to my Granddaughter when we went to lunch yesterday afternoon.  She had even a better idea...shower curtains.  There are some that are very pretty, and they would be more sturdy, and even better, waterproof. 

So, here's what I'm thinking.  I could buy some posts (of some sort) and pound them into the ground, Then, some plastic covered clothes line, stretched taut between numerous posts, and several matching shower curtains.  Now that I think about it, it would be better to buy solid color curtains rather than ones with fishies, circles, posies or stripes so they would blend in with the environment.  Said curtains would snuggle behind all the shrubs planted along my property line so that come the winds from winter storms they would not be torn asunder.

Then again, eventually, my shrubs are going to fill in, and block the neighbor's yard completely making the sturdy, private barrier I so desire, although...by then I'm going to be long time dead and gone I suppose.

Oh, what the heck.  I still have my park benches, and cute little patio out front as well as a cubbyhole just outside my sliding door, who the heck needs a back yard any how?

Color me rosy pink.

Terrace Board.

Oh, yeah!!!

Project done!!!

How come nothing is ever easy?  Maybe I'm just old and don't think things though.  I guess if I were a landscaper or professional gardener this project would have been easy and gone well.

First and foremost, I was in the garage when I snapped the binding off the damn coil, released from its constraints it sprang out at me like a Cobra ready to attack.  Ack!  Ack, Ack!  Had I known, I'd have take the scissors with me and cut the binding at the construction site.  Oh, well.

Then, I didn't know from which end to begin work, but thanks to Lumosity,
and a bit of pondering, I was able to figure THAT out without the aide of an encyclopedia.  I started at the street end. 

Damn...I'm just like a man...do I read the instructions?  Heck, no.  As a result I pounded the first stake in backwards.  Pounding something into the ground that's hard as concrete is hard, pulling something out is even harder.  Much sweating occurred.

Next I tried to unroll the coil and spread it out, thinking the sun would soften it a bit and make it more pliable.  Yeah, right.  I discovered forty feet is long, very, very long.  That board went on forever.  It was sprawled out like undulating waves approaching a beach.  I laid my stakes out at what appeared to me equal intervals so that I will I have a stake at either end.  Progress, whoo, hooo.  Of course I noticed right off I need way more than ten stakes...I could have used thirty more.  But thanks to a bundle of wooden stakes in my garage, I knew I could use them when the plastic one were gone.

Now, honest to goodness, it never occurred to me I should have leveled the ground, underneath where I want my Terrace Board to be.  So.........there are certain spots where I can see daylight under the board.  Do you think the grass will see that, too?

What the heck.  It's hot, and I'm the most under qualified person alive for this job, but I persevere.  Stretch board.  Pound in stake.  Crawl on hands and knees.   Stretch board...I'm sure you get the picture.

After much ado, I stand, wipe the grass and dirt from my knees and admire  my handiwork.  The board bends slightly in and out, because the fencing does, too. 
And, it kind of ripples in spots because as I mentioned before the ground is not even.  Still, I do think this is going to work...mostly...except where the grass is going to see that delicious daylight under the board and come calling on my daisies, evening primroses, klamathweed and yarrow.

Maybe I simply need to go out with a shovel and push some dirt around and cover up  those sneaky, airy,openings.  What?

Isn't that another project?  Picture me slapping myself silly.

What the heck is the matter with me?

I can't figure out (for the life of me) why I keep coming up with projects. 


Moved planter bricks.  Check.
Built low retaining wall.  Check.
Extended front garden.  Check
Got rid of front yard mound.  Check
Planted new shrubs.  Check
Got my park benches back.  Check.
Drug them to front yard.  Check.
Painted said benches.  Check.
Painted plastic lawn chairs.  Check.

End of chores for the summer, right?

Oh, no!  My neighbor, the one that got the new BBQer, (so far it's been used once) is not one to do much outdoor labor.  I can count on one hand the number of times he has mowed their lawn.  What ever! His lawn, his labor.  (Here comes the) BUT he does not edge, I don't think he even owns an edger.

So, I've been going up over my retaining wall and yard fencing from time to time to pull the grass away from my garden.  I purposely covered my new garden with newspaper before moving the dirt, because I knew the grass underneath would not grow.  I did not take into consideration my neighbor's grass would inch between the slats of my fencing and overtake my garden.  Well, dang it to heck and back, it does.

By now I'm sick and tired of having to hop over my retaining wall and yard fencing to do this job.  Plus Frankie is on my case every time I do because she's afraid I will be 'clutzy', stub my toe on the edge of the fencing and land hard on the other side.  She makes a good point I am clumsy.  Plus my frustration with this particular chore is building, building, building.

A friend and neighbor of mine earlier in the week had decided to go shopping yesterday, and while I was compiling my list, it occurred to me my favorite store has a nursery department and I decided to see if I couldn't find something to help hold the grass at bay.  And, lo, there on a shelf, neatly bundled, was roll of 3"x40', brown, flexible, Terrace Board.  (Needs 10 stakes, sold separately.)  By golly, I know this will work.  The grass will still continue to grow, but it will have to grow straight up, and the solid border will make the grass much more easy to pull...If indeed I care to do that.  Of course, since I'm a glass half full, rose colored glasses kind of gal, I'm hoping my neighbor will go on the net and pick himself up a cheap edger, now that my Terrace Board will make his edging job very, very easy.  Time will tell.

Anyway, I was sure my summer projects had been completed, and I could put my feet up (under my shady umbrella, lounging on my newly painted bench), read a book and have a tall bottle of icy water at least til the end of September.  But, this brings me back to my original question.  What the heck is the matter with me?  Must I always have something need be done?  Why am I so sure some other project will rear it's ugly head befor the season's over? 

Shoot, I'm almost wishing for the calm and tranquility of winter. Oh, never mind...then there will be indoor projects. 

Should I start a list now?

Itch and scratch

Don't get me wrong.  I enjoy having my vines of hops growing along the front of my garage.  They have become an interesting topic of neighborhood conversation.  One year I wanted to make an autumn wreath out of 'hops', but found they disintegrated while I worked.  Well, so much for that experiment.

Over the years I have used string to train them along the top of the garage door.  It made for a big mess when it came time to remove them in the fall.  Ugh.  So earlier this year I bought drawer pulls and screwed them in along the length of the top of the door, that way about once every two weeks I would get up on my stool and guide the vines through the loops of the pulls.  Worked great.  After a while I could see the vines were naturally attaching themselves to the longer vines I no longer felt the need to train them.  And, up to last week the vines looked fantastic.

I didn't realize how long it had been since I had put up my garage door, and when I did last week in order to paint my plastic chairs, catastrophe struck.  The hops began to sag, very, very badly.  Dang!

At the time it was more important I paint than try to tie up the hops and decided if I had energy left after I was done with my paint job, I would string the hops back into place.  Turned out it didn't matter if I had the energy or not, the sagging had increased while I worked so I had no choice to cut lengths of string and push, pull and cajole the hops back into place.

I stood back and admired my handiwork.  The vines were kind of bunched together, but figured eventually they would fill out a bit.

Suddenly, I felt very itchy.  I looked at my arms they were fiery red, with scratch marks.  The skin was not broken but long, ugly welts ran from my wrists to my elbows.  I had forgotten hops vine leaves were covered with microscopic needle like projectiles, boy, they had done serious damage.  I wanted NOT to scratch, but could not help myself, so of course I did...that didn't help and by the time I got into the house whatever was in those needles was now spread about the whole infected area.  I was a mess.

I applied some hydrogen peroxide and some antibacterial salve.  That helped, but only in the short term.  So I began the regiment of peroxide and salve, peroxide and salve.  Finally yesterday the itching almost came to an end.  This morning my right arm is still slightly red, but the welting is almost gone.  However, my left arm still shows the welts and is pretty red...thank goodness it does not itch anymore.  I'm starting to wonder if I'm scarred for life.

Perhaps I should get rid of the hops.  Na, I don't really want to; I just have
remember, at least I hope I remember to wear protective clothing next time I need to tend to the vines.

Times are changing.

I used to enjoy my back yard.  The neighbor's behind me never used the pie-wedge of land between me and the creek.  I think I've mentioned before it was overgrown with blackberry vines and English ivy.  I held them both at bay by chopping them off as they inched through the slats of my picket fence.

Earlier this year the city demanded my neighbor's clear this section of land since both the blackberries and the ivy are invasive plants.  I don't know who in the neighborhood turned them in, could have been Birdlady, but I don't think so, the area is very secluded and not easily seen by the public.  However, bowing to the city's ordinances, the land has been cleared.

I've also mentioned here that over the last couple of weeks I was informed by the folks owning the property they are going to get their kids some chickens to care for and I was told if they started laying they would share eggs with me.  No problem I like eggs.  Besides, it is their property, they can do whatever they like.

A week ago a new structure started going up.  I'm not sure what it is going to be.  At first I thought a playhouse for the kids, so far it is a flat roof wedged between four trees over the concrete slab where the park benches used to be.  I've been informed a high fence will be going up as well to keep the chickens where they belong.  That too, is okay by me.

However, there is one grey cloud in all of this at the moment.  My backyard privacy is gone.  Quite often when I go out someone is in the pie wedge doing something (pounding nails, sawing lumber, climbing a ladder).  I never know if I should speak, or pretend I don't see what's going on.  Take for instance last night.  I was in the process of closing up windows in the sun room, Zorro was out back.  He started to bark, I went to the door to call him in and was greeted by a half a dozen faces I did not recognize.  The kids were trying to get Zorro to come to the fence.  I was trying to call him into the house.  There was a stalemate. 

Talk about awkward.  I finally, embarrassingly, said hello, and as I, without my dog, was retreating into the house, the strangers were clumsily trying to retreat across  their bridge as well.  I went through the house to my sliding door to let my nervously pacing pup in.

I have to say I'm going to be thrilled to have a new fence go up...hurry, hurry, please hurry.  My back yard garden is wilting because I'm uncomfortable setting up a sprinkler, I don't want the water to go over and through my picket fence and wet all the tools, etc, left unattended and uncared for on the ground.  Plus, I never know if someone is going to be back there, and don't want them to think I'm being nosey, checking up on their progress.  In such close proximity, I can't help but see.

You've no idea how wonderful it is going to be to have my privacy back.  At the moment, I find myself slowly inching into my yard, hoping if I see someone back there, I can quietly slink back into my house without being seen.  Come on fence!  Oh...shoot...I just had a thought...what if they choose a chain-link fence?
 
Oh dear. 

I'm crossing my fingers and my toes, and will keep hoping it's going to be a wooden one and at least six feet tall.  What was it that Robert Frost said?  "Good fences make good neighbors."  One six feet tall, made of sturdy wood, that kind of fence will most definitely make me a good neighbor.

Bzzzz, bzzzz, bzzzz

It's been a busy couple of days.

Friday I got a bee in my bonnet and decided to paint the three plastic chairs I have in my Harem Room in the garage.  I discovered they still had the blue 'moving tags on the back of them from when we moved up here from California.   No wonder they need a paint job.

I had discussed the fact I had wanted to paint them with my sister and she mentioned she had tried to paint something plastic once and the paint would not adhere to it.  Bummer.  However, and since I was disgusted with Zazzle and Gues Who in general I decided to take the day off and (at least try to) paint the chairs.

When I started the first one I realized, putting it on thinly was certainly not going to work.  Thank goodness I had a plentiful supply of paint left over from the benches.  So, I really slathered on the paint...I mean slathered.  It went on smooth as silk, but had a tendency to slide over certain sections of the chair, almost as though it was very oily and the paint would simply not adhere.  Well....was I going to stand for that?????  I don't think so.  As a result I spent quite a bit of time on the first chair trying to make the paint stick. 

Eventually it occurred to me perhaps I should let the paint kind of 'cure' and dry instead of increasing the amount of paint I was trying to apply.  Good thinking Sandra, very, very good thinking.

It was about this time my little neighbor friend Patrick showed up.  He had a small white butterfly net in his hand, and wanted to know if he could come in my yard to look for the "white ones with black dots".  I told him he could as long as he asked him mom (who was pulling weeds in her yard) if that would be okay with her.

Zoom, zoom, he was back.

Of course, as soon as he was inside the fence, he had more interest in my painting than butterflies of any sort.  He asked if he could help. 

I said "Oh, I don't think so, your mom would not be to thrilled if you came home covered in brown paint."

He contemplated that for a minute or so, but let it go, and proceeded to tell me all about the Ninja's show he watches.  My, my, my I discovered Ninja's can do all things, and in spectacular fashion. 

I asked what I thought were appropriate questions, and say wow, quite a bit.  At
one point I asked a question, to which he asked, "You want me to start at the beginning?"  I said, "Only if you want to."  I was told that would take a very long
time, so he just kept talking from where he was.   Butterflies long forgotten.

Some time later mom appeared, it was time for lunch.  He almost left his net behind.

I continued to paint...two chairs down, one to go.  By now the first chair was pretty much set and I could see quite easily the white spots showing through and did some touch-up painting.  I was such a happy camper to see the white areas disappear. 

I was just starting the third chair when Patrick, mom and baby sister returned from their lunch outing.  What the heck time was it?  I was wondering if he would return.  I suspect mom must have told him to leave me alone, because he did not come back to visit.

The third chair went rather quickly.  I had a system going.  When I was done, I did clean-up and waited for the last chair to cure.  By now the first chair was dry, and quite quickly I was able to do final touch-up to it.  The second chair was 'close enough' to being dry and I did that chair, too. 

Late afternoon, I completed the third chair, and left them to cure over night.

Yesterday morning, I called my neighbor and asked if she would like to come over for morning coffee...I wanted to show off my accomplishment.  She declined stating she had to go shopping.  But...how about the afternoon?  ...okey, dokey.  So, I call around the neighborhood and invite the happy hour ladies to come around three-ish. 

This meant I was going to have to 'spiffy up' the Harem Room.  Now I'm not just doing laundry, (which I was now going to hustle through) I was also multi-tasking, something I no longer do well. 

Tick tick...time is moving, w-a-y quicker than I want. 

Clean room, finish laundry, clean myself up for company, prepare finger food as snacks.

Will I make it?  By golly I did...just under the wire.  No kidding, I didn't even have the garage door up and some of the neighbors were coming up my drive. 

It was a delightful time.  We got to catch up on stuff, eat a few snacks, and simply enjoy each other's company.  Perhaps we can do this again before summer is over.

Anyway, this morning I guess I'm over my 'snit' with Zazzle, and I'm ready to get back to work at Gues Who.  I have a cousin who is going to turn 94 later this week, I want to make her a very special card today.

The last two day were pretty spectacular, I think I like spontaneity,  maybe I should get in a 'snit' more often, it adds spice to my life.

Shuck-e-darn

As you may or may not know, I've been working all year preparing items for my Zazzle store front.  I've been excited about this project and have indeed been working for months on merchandise.  So far I have eight departments.  Art, Home, Cards, Clothing, Jewelry, etc with close to two hundred items in my store.

Oh, I've had so much fun, some days flew by, I worked well into the night, actually the wee small hours of the morning.

I've slacked off some working at my store the last few weeks because there have been other summer projects going on in my life.  So, when I did finally check on my store I discovered that Zazzle had been busily at work as well. They completely changed my store front. I was shocked beyond belief.  I was in a tizzy.  My daughter and I had worked sooo hard, and just like that (imagine me snapping my fingers) poof, my store front was gone, Zazzle had replaced it with a bland, boring, black and white substitute. My logo was gone, my department tabs were gone. My color scheme was gone.

Boy, did I ever need my anxiety medication...where the heck did I put it?

This week my daughter and I have been working to get back my familiar Zazzle look.  We've discovered that's not going to happen.  As near as we can figure out Zazzle is adapting their site to accommodate the small electronic, hand held devices rather that laptops and home computers, and (I'm not an Einstein here) apparently the buzz words are, simplify, simplify, simplify.  The web site needs to be crisp, clean, easy to maneuver, and above all quick, to accommodate the short attention span everyone seems to have these days, and the fact they must do things as they are dashing between appointments, driving down the freeway, going through fast-food driveways or sitting at their son's/daughter's soccer game. 

Isn't it nice to know so much thought is being put into your wedding, birthday and Christmas present?  Yes, I know, I know this sounds like sour grapes.  You're right it is.

However, I also know, we can't stop progress.  I'm going to have to get my store on board, or get out of Dodge.  Will Zazzle care if it loses one store front?  Heck no.  Do I want to leave Zazzle?  Heck no.  But I do regret that my store front is now going to look like everybody else's.   Heck yeah.  Every one's store will have the same fonts, the same backgrounds, the same layout...the uniqueness of each store front already gone. 

It's sad, I'm disappointed.  I've been trying to come up with new tabs for my store departments to give my store front a little pzazz...so far I've made six styles...I don't like any of them...I'm disillusioned.  This morning I went to my store, looked around, and left...the spark is gone. 

My daughter and I have decided that perhaps Zazzle has not completed their changes and with time will bring some of the old features back, or at least make the new features more friendly to small shop keepers like myself and allow for more individualization.  We're going to give them six months.  In the mean time I'm going to concentrate on making new merchandise, and hope that my bland store front will not put customers into a stupor. 

You got yourself one chance, Zazzle...do me proud.

My winter house guest.

Yesterday my blog was about Ladybugs.

One of my readers posted a question on facebook, under my blog, "Today's blog brings up a question, what happened to your "friend" that you had wintering in your home? Inquiring minds want to know.

Back on January 9th, my blog was about that house guest.  It was a Shield Bug.

How it came to be in my house to begin with is a mystery, why it stuck around for so many months, I've no idea.  I would not see it for long periods of time only to find it in some peculiar place.  As I reported in my January blog, I didn't have the heart to throw it out into the winter cold and we lived in harmony.  I was always curious how it was surviving, and as I reported in that blog, I learned it liked to munch on fresh green beans...but who has fresh green beans on hand in the middle of winter. 

So, I had to keep hoping it would continue to survive on its own until it got warm enough I could tenderly, carefully transport it out of doors. 

 

After my January encounter with my shield bug...by the way the picture shown is my actual bug, I didn't see it again for quite a while.

 

I don't exactly remember when I saw my house guest again, although I suppose it was in March sometime.  I don't remember where I saw it, either.  However, I do remember being happy about the encounter because I knew in my heart of hearts this was the time to set it free.

 

But, I was sad, too.  I don't know the life expectancy of Shield Bugs, but I was pretty darn sure once I had re-introduced it to the wild I would never see my armored friend again.  So, with a tinge of regret, I opened the sliding door screen, walked over to a potted evergreen and gently placed it on a branch.

 

I thought it would immediately fly away.  It didn't.  It sat, and sat, and sat.  Finally I could longer stand there watching and I returned to the house.  Later in the day I remembered I had set the Shield Bug free and went to check on it.  It was gone.  I've not seen it since.

 

Okay, realistically I know I will never see that Shield Bug again.  I hope it found a mate and did 'what comes naturally', I hope some of its descendants are still around.  I really, really hope, the tale of the 'Wintering Over in Rambling Old Woman's House' has been told over and over again and come September I find a Shield Bug meandering through my Morning Room.  It will be welcomed and I hope it spends the winter.  I might even buy some green beans.

 

 

So, here we are,

tiny blobs of matter on a big blue marble.  Add to that the marble is in constant motion, spinning, spinning, spinning, and that it is part of a gigantic universe, we become even smaller.

The doctor tells me I'm now barely five feet tall, and getting smaller.  Can the universe even see me any more?  What about even smaller things, does the universe even care?

As you know by now, I contemplate these things.  I'm an ace at contemplation. I will contemplate things until every cell in my grey matter hurts.  Take for instance, creeping things.  The other day I saw a tiny creeping thing on one of the leaves of my hops vine.  I knew I'd seen this kind of creature before because some of my 'cells' started to scream.

Cells:  "Oooooo, uuummm, I know what that is, I know what that is...it's a...it's a....".

And....those cells suddenly drew a blank.  Other cells began to slap the forgetful cells around.

I had to intervene.

Me:  "No worries cells, I'll simply look this up in my insect books, if we learned this once, we can learn this again.  We will get to the bottom of this."

Since I've begun to realize just how insignificant I am (in the big picture of things), I can't begin to imagine just how insignificant this little insect must feel.  How vulnerable.  One misplaced swipe of my garden hose and it is drown.  One bird on the wing, and it's brunch.  Before this tiny thing was gone forever, the least I could do was remember what it was and where I'd seen it before.

Here comes the good part.

This is a picture of the creature I saw the other day, much enlarged so you can see it well.  Bear in mind, this is only part of this insect's life cycle which is why when I first saw it a few years back on my Sweet Annie (Wormwood) shrub I didn't know what it was.  Trust me, it took quite some time for me to figure this out, because, I thought this was 'the' creature.

Boy, I can be such a dummy sometimes.  However, never being one to 'letitgo', I began pouring over all my books relating to nature, bound and  determined I would eventually come across some information regarding this six legged phenomenon.

I held no ill will against this creature. It never seemed to cause my Wormwood any harm, like chewing the leaves to bits. It simply crawled about, but mostly seemed to like resting in the sun...we lived in  harmony.  Then, one day, on the same plant I saw several of these.

"Hmmmm," says I.  "Could there possibly be a
connection?"
 
I become pretty darn excited, and can't wait to get back to my books.  Could it be I was missing a evolutionary step?  Were these creatures somehow related?

DUH!

Turns out, the first picture, is actually the larvae stage of the second.  Well, I'll be a son of a gun, a monkey's uncle, the crispy bacon on a BLT.

So, the other day, when my brain cells went comatose, I knew I was going to have to get recall or die trying.  I remember walking to the house mumbling "What is that?  I know I know what that is."

Days pass, every once in a while I thought about that tiny creature on my hop's
leaf, I keep drawing a blank.  Surely it is not important that I remember.  Does anybody really care?  Well, yes, somebody does.  I do.  That tiny creature does. 
I think the universe does, too.

This morning, those errant grey matter cells clicked in.  "I remember, I remember", they yelled in unison. "It's a Ladybug!"

And so it was, I had that ah-ha moment.  It matters not the size of things...me, you, elephants, slugs....Ladybugs who lay the eggs that turn into larvae, that turn into Ladybugs.  What does matter is that year after year miracles repeat as the big blue marble spins, part of a universe that thankfully accepts us all.

Thus ends your Earth Science Class for the day.

You're excused.

Weeds

 

I am leaning over our big book, reading aloud. 

 

Frankie is making strange hissing sounds.

 

For months now I have been trying to convince Frankie she needs to help out a bit with flower garden maintenance.  I've spent countless hours pointing out to her which plants need to be removed and which are to remain.  Not only has she shown no interest, her blatant attitude about helping out with weed pulling is shocking.  She will kneel close to me while I point out dandelions, buttercups, crabgrass, cat's-ear, wild lettuce, and various other pests that have been invading my lovely gardens for years, only to have her roll her eyes, remove the Dum-dum lollipop from her mouth long enough to mutter "Can I go now?"  And, stroll away.

 

Me, still on my knees, shake my head, and wonder 'Where have I gone wrong?'

 

Lord knows, I've never made her spend hours on her knees actually weeding, but simply asked that while going for the mail, or sauntering about the yard, if she happens to see a weed or two, just, please, bend over and pull them out.  How hard can that be?

 

Of course her foremost excuse has always been "I don't know what's a weed and what isn't.  If I pull out something you want to keep you will be mad at me."

 

(Actually this is a valid point).

 

So, in desperation this morning I decided to look up what a weed is in our big book, thinking (I thought logically) this would settle the matter.  Boy was I wrong.

 

Weed:

a (1): a plant that is not valued where it is growing and is usually of vigorous growth; especially: one that tends to overgrow or choke out more desirable plants.

 

As you can see, what I learned only bolstered Frankie's concern about what exactly is a weed and what is not.   Apparently, a weed is in the eye of the beholder, one person's weed is another person's wild flower.

 

Truth be told, I've have always had my own concerns about what is a weed...and, what is a wild flower.  For instance, I happen to like Queen Anne's Lace and have grown it in my gardens for years.  I happen to like Chicory, with it's dainty blue August flowers and have had it growing in the yard as well.  Then, there's yarrow, scarlet pimpernel, so tiny and delicate it is often overlooked.  There's milkweed, daisies, brown-eyed Susan's, sweet smelling evening primroses, and tall, showy goldenrod all of which  according to my book of weeds, are indeed weeds.  However, all the above have graced my gardens from time to time, because I consider them wild flowers and I would be a bit miffed should Frankie yank them out.

 

On the other side of the weed coin, are plants that I've purchased over the years thinking they would be a good addition to the gardens.  A particular bluebell comes to mind.  It has overtaken the front yard garden and threatening to wander out of bounds and into the yard itself.  I bought the original at a nursery, paid good money for it...how could it be a weed.  Yet, according to the dictionary it is, because, it is no longer valued where it is growing, has the vigorous growth of a man steroids; and has overgrown and is choking out more desirable plants. 

 

I suppose I could add the bluebell to the list of things Frankie can pull, or I could 'letitgo" and cut Frankie some slack when it comes to weed pulling.  I guess I can continue to do that myself.  However, today's lesson on weeds has taught me something.  It has made me aware of why I hated pulling weeds for my mother.  Ooooh, she'd have been so mad had I pulled out her snap-dragons, zinnias or marigolds.

 

Do you have weeds, or wild flowers?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dining

Saturday evening my (neighbor/friend) and I went out to dinner.  We are both fond of Mexican Cuisine, so of course that's where we went, a Mexican Restaurant.  We got there during happy hour, and got our drinks on the cheap.  She ordered a Strawberry Margarita, mine was Peach.  Our waitress/bartender wanted to know if we wanted the grande' size or regular.  I seriously contemplated the larger size, but in a moment of clarity went for the regular size.  I am sooo glad I did, that was the most huge Margarita I have ever seen.  Holy Mackerel!

We were going to order food from the happy hour menu, but I was starved, so ordered a huge tostada salad from the regular side of the menu.  It was nummy.

As we were leaving the restaurant, there was a charming young woman standing by the entrance handing out roses.  On the table next to her was a lovely basket filled with all sorts of girlie items being given away as a prize.  Did we want to enter the drawing?

My neighbor and I started laughing, because while we were eating we were discussing how we never won anything, because we never enter any contests.  We filled out the blank entries, and left.  On our way to the car my neighbor said "Now, we've going to get calls to host a home party for this particular 'girlie items' company."

I agreed, but added this particular young lady was going to be out of luck, because, I'm done throwing plastic kitchenware, jewelry, girlie lingerie, girlie pretty smelly stuff parties. 

Since it is still early my friend suggests we go for a walk to get rid of some of the mountain of calories we had just ingested.  We go to the Rose Gardens.  We had a hard time finding a parking place.  The more we had to wait for traffic to move, the more silly the whole thing became.  I started to laugh...the people leaving took their old sweet time.  There were strollers to store, old people to jostle into back seats and children to seat belt.

We were the third car stuck in line.  First car had its blinker on badly wanting the spot being vacated.  I'm sure my friend could not for the life of her figure out why I thought the whole thing was funny.

Remember my blog from yesterday.  I people watch...so this was a great experience to do that. 

There was the lady that kept getting in and out of a car's back seat, door open wide...was she coming or going?   There was the group of young black men, standing in a group.  They were wearing tuxedos, white shirts, bow ties, black pants, each with a pair of white suspenders.  I don't know where the jackets were.  However, standing with them was a nicely dressed woman holding a clip-board...she was obviously the wedding planner.  Soon, two more guys showed up and joined the group.

Back to the parking.  Eventually, the lady got into her back seat and closed the door.  Cars one and two in front of us got the two spaces available.  My neighbor and I inched along.  There were no more open spaces.  Except...across the street...where three spaces were available.  We were thrilled, and zipped into that parking lot.  UH-OH.  There was a sign saying this lot was for the Japanese Gardens patrons only.   Shoot.  We parked anyway.

The rose gardens were beautiful, shaded and cool, and very, very crowded.  Everyone walked at a leisurely pace, these gardens are a place where speed is never expected.  There are too many blooms to smell, and colors for the eye to digest. 

These gardens are a favorite for visitors to the city, especially folks from out of the country.  My neighbor said they should all wear signs around their necks so we would know what language they were speaking.  What a great idea. 

Folks were taking pictures, folks were walking their dogs, folks were pushing strollers.   There was a wedding taking place in the Shakespeare section of the gardens.  We tried to lean over a hedge to get a peek at the bride, but were afraid we might go head over tea-cup onto her and thought better of that. 

I spied a woman about my age strolling along by herself.  She was dressed in beige pedal pushers, and wore a bright orange, light-weight jacket and a jaunty matching bright orange hat, with a beige bow across the back.  She was a spectacular rose among the rest of us thorns.

It suddenly occurred to me I had not seen one single teenager.  There were plenty of older people, lots of couples...aaaah, young love, families with young children in strollers and wagons, but not one single teenager.  Strangely, that did not seem odd.

As we were leaving, we had to walk up a couple flights of stairs...I was not thrilled...I was full, I was old, I was not prepared for climbing.  Oh well, what the heck...heart attack here I come. 

At the top of the stairs sits some tennis courts, we took the walkway between them and come across two girls in dark green satin gowns, they were lovely.  As we walked by, they were taking pictures of each other smelling the beautiful flowers that grew along the path.  We both commented on how pretty they were.

Approaching our parking lot, my friend comments on whether our vehicle would still be there, perhaps it had been towed since we were illegally parked.  It was still there. I quickly snuck across  the aisle and gently touched a license plate on a car from Pennsylvania.  My neighbor, ever diligent, informed me I was lucky the car alarm didn't go off.  I had already thought of that...after the fact.  I was glad I had barely touched the plate.

We head for home...our conversation has turned to bathrooms, and how those margaritas had "gone right through us".  My neighbor says, "I thought about using the Women's Room at the gardens."  "Yeah, says I, but this time of day"...I visibly shudder.

Hurry, hurry, hurry.

Thank you

I had been journalizing for years, and have dozens of them tucked in boxes here and there around the house.  I discovered one journal not long ago and found out it was very, very boring.  What kind of weather we had on a particular day.  If it was laundry day, clean house day, who called me on the phone day.  It was awful.  I gave up journalizing.  Nobody was ever going to give a 'crap' about such mundane things.  What was the point.

Then, I don't remember how I learned or who told me, but by a miracle, I heard about blogging. I was intrigued and when I found I could start a blog through facebook I thought 'how hard can that be'; and Ramblings of an Old Woman was spawned from my published booklet of the same name, that features a collection childhood memories and favorite things.   Starting in March 2012, with a handful of readers (seriously, I could count them on one hand) I have been blogging ever since. 

It didn't really matter that I didn't have many readers, what did was the fact I was no longer a 'closeted writer'.  The Internet was limitless, and I had no idea if someone by accident would discover my simple writings or not.  Just the possibility someone could filled me with such glee, it was a joy to sit before my blank blog page, and let the letters and words tumble onto it.

Over time my readership grew, there were a dozen or more folks who seemed to be checking up on me on a daily basis.  By December 1012 I discovered I had occasional readers from around the world.  Germany, Ukraine, Japan, China, Canada, Australia, South Africa, England, Russia and more.  I was ecstatic.  Thrilled.  Delighted beyond words.

Seriously, for a writer to be beyond words is so far 'over the top'....I...I...I...
just want to thank you.

Thank you everybody for hanging out with me, for coming to know me and my little family, for appreciating my efforts and allowing me to share my thoughts, memories, idiosyncrasies, silliness and sometimes even craziness.

Thank you for being loyal and faithful.

But most of all thank you for your kind words, you will never, ever know how much they are appreciates, and how much they encourage me to continue the Ramblings of this Old Woman.

My love goes out to all of you, wherever in the world you might be.

People watching is like

a box of chocolates, you never know what you're going to get.

I like to watch people.  I've been a people watcher I guess all my life.  When I am out in public I like being quiet, I try to become a chameleon and blend in with my surroundings.  I especially liked to do this when I rode on public transportation or if I was on an airliner, because we are all crowded together like sardines, and it is easy to do.

Being a people watcher does not mean you have to be constantly looking at people, you can catch whole glimpses of them by eavesdropping on their conversations as well.  Put both together and you learn a lot.

I was on a bus once, sitting behind a man and woman.  It was obvious they were acquaintances, but at the same time, by eavesdropping, I also knew they knew very little about each other.  As their conversation continued it became quite clear she was a...well...I'm just going to have to say it (and I don't want this to sound awful)...a prostitute. 

I was facinated, he tried to make her comfortable, and told her where they were going was his apartment, it was actually a room at a motel, but he was a resident (lived) there.  Apparently he had not lived there long, he hoped she would like it.

They were both clean, though poorly dressed, not especially attractive, and nervous, very nervous.  She fidgeted quite a bit and I couldn't help but wonder if she had taken some kind of drugs.

She also appeared to be out of her element and told him she was unfamiliar with 'this part of town', which lead me to believe this added to her uncomfortable demeanor.  I imagined the thoughts running through her head.  "How do I get out of here if I need to?"  "What bus do I take to get back down town?"  "Which direction will I need to go?"  I know those thoughts would have been going through my head.

Anyway, I watched and listened until they arrived at their stop, in front of a grocery store.  Since I was familiar with the area, I had a pretty good idea exactly which 'apartment' they were headed for.  I watched their unstable steps as they moved to the front of the moving bus.  I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. I felt sad for them.  They seemed like very nice people who had for reasons of their own, and the choices they had made, appeared to become, lonely, lost, weary souls. 

Then, just like that, in seconds, they were gone from my life.

Over the years I have often thought of them, and have wondered what they did with the rest of their lives.  I hope the years have been kind. 

Yes, people watching is like a box of chocolates; my box has creams, nougats, jells and nuts each a tasty snippet into strangers lives.  I never know the beginning of their story, and I never learn the end.  But for a brief time I'm a part of them, they are part of me.  Now, these two people are part of you, too.

I'm coming Oscar, I'm coming

So, a local car dealership is having a contest, they are touting that the prize is the best prize ever...given out by a car dealership.

It's a simple contest.  All you have to do is find a golden statue that looks a lot like the Oscar given out at the awards ceremony.  Actually the statue looks exactly like the Oscar.  (But a much cheaper version, I'm sure.)

Anyway, how hard can this be.  I decide I'm going to win this contest.

I begin my search at the dealership.  I've invited friends to help me look, but everybody I know has declined.  (I feel like the Little Red Hen who wanted help to bake some bread).  Hey, it's all okay, I won't have to share the prize.

While I'm looking, I'm joined by other people who similarly think the statue has to be at the dealership, and a crowd forms.  Before long some guy says he has found the statue, but the owner of the dealership, announces, there are actually three statues, and this one is a decoy.

Well, crap!

I continue my search.  Over the course of the afternoon, a lot of folks lose interest, buy vehicles and leave.  Not me...I want that prize. 

It is getting along toward dinnertime, and some woman announces she has found the statue, sadly it is again a decoy.  She is very distraught.  I don't blame her, she has been here almost as long as I have.  They offer her a consolation prize, but who the heck wants to come in second.

At least I now know the only statue left is the real one so when I do find it the prize will be mine, all mine, mine, mine.

It is getting late, it's dark out, there are a few employees left, and a few of us 'die-hards' who are bound and determined to fetch the prize. 

Off in the distance...I see it...it's shiny...sparkly...all I have to do is 'run across the beach in 'slow-mo' like the girl in the commercial and I win...I win.  Oh, I'm such a happy, happy camper.

Wait......NO.......no........no.....no.....o.....o.....o.....

Slobber,  kisses.....

I open my eyes, it's morning, Zorro is standing on my chest...

I close my eyes.

To late.

The prize is gone.

There's a smell in the air.

Day before yesterday I was working in my front yard when the little guy, Patrick discovered me.  He and his dad were working in their back yard.

I could tell from the smattering of conversation I could hear, dad didn't really want Patrick to interrupt me.  However, within a few minutes Patrick (I think he snuck away) and I were chatting at my fence in the front yard.

As we conversed he told me his grandparents were coming to visit, that they had a dog, a Dachshund.  I already knew that, but we talked about the dog as though I didn't.

It was not long before I could hear Patrick's mother talking, and Patrick 'split' for home.

Later in the afternoon, I was in my office working and I heard voices in the yard next door.  I didn't even get up to look up, but I could tell something was 'afoot'.  I heard scuffles, as though a large box was being pushed about.  I heard tools dropping on the deck.  The bits of conversation I could hear, told me something was going to be constructed.

I knew grandma and grandpa had arrived because while I was still working out front I saw a truck I didn't recognize park in front of their house.  So, I figured what ever was being put together must have been a gift from them.  I was curious, but didn't want them to think I was 'spying', so I simply continued to work. 

Once the noise next door stopped, I immediately stood up (I am nosey, not dead) to see what 'new thing' had been added to the toys on their deck.

Oh my, mmmm, mmmm, mmmmm.

It was mag-nif-i-cent.  It was gor-geous.  It was a bar-be-cue.

Now, I'm not really sure what I expected to see, but it was certainly not a barbecue.  In all the time they have lived next to me, I think maybe once, possibly twice, I have seen a barbecue going on.  And, if memory serves, the barbecue itself was simply one of those tiny, black, pot-bellied ones, the kind everybody has, mine has been sitting on an overhead shelf in the garage for over eleven years now.

But, I digress.

Oh, I imagined big things were going to happen yesterday in that yard next door.  Laughter.  Games.  While that big, bright, barbecue wafted the smell of specially seasoned steak through the summer air. 

I wanted to see that bad boy BBQ at work.  I mean, that baby has shiny, chrome knobs, work shelves on either side of the grill area to hold mysterious sauces, aluminum covered veges, and an open can of beer.  Oh, and it has a propane tank bigger than a basketball.  The only thing that's missing is a bell to call everybody together to eat.  It is a thing of beauty, a sight to behold.

So, it was with great anticipation I waited for the 4th of July activities to begin...

and I waited....

and I waited....

I got 'nuttin'.

Imagine my disappointment?  Imagine that barbeque's disappointment? 
There it sat.  All alone!  Forlorn!  Untouched, colder than an ice cube in a glass of lemonade.  Oh, woe, woe, woe.

Okay, here's the thing.  Men...how often do you really barbecue?  Once, maybe twice a year?  Why do you barbecue?  Because you like it?  Because it makes you 'manly'?  Because you get to drink beer in the back yard?   Because your wife makes you?

Oh, trust me, it's not because your wife makes you.  Cause, when you use it, it is extra work for her.  She has to make salads, shuck corn, set up the picnic table, haul stuff from the kitchen out of doors, and then haul all the stuff back in doors after the barbecue event is over. 

Sure, twice a year the men get to do their 'manly-men' thing, ARRR, ARRR, ARRR,
as Tim the Tool Man used to say.  But, except for Tim, do ordinary men, really,
really, REALLY, REALLY like barbecuing that much they need a barbecue the size of a football field just to slap a few hunks of meat on it and shout ARRR, ARRR, ARRR?

I don't think so.  All right...so I've rained on your parade.  Honest, if BBQing is your thing...go for it, what ever size your BBQ is...and, do it as often as you desire.  It's all good. 

But, before you go spending a lot of money, A LOT OF MONEY on a new barbecue, check in with your wife.  I'm betting a hundred bucks, she'd much rather have a weekend at the Ritz for the same amount of money. 

Think about it. 

Birdlady

                 

I don't know what the heck is the matter with me. I've absolutely no ambition. None! Zilch! Nada!

Oh, I've been keeping busy, although most of the things I've done the last couple of days have not been setting my tail on fire by any means.

I tried to paint...it was too hot.

I tried working on the garden fencing around the front yard that keeps sweet, busy-body Zorro under control, but the first day I started working too late in the morning and I about cooked my brains out. So, yesterday morning around seven I went out and finished up that little chore.

I also managed to set up my two yard umbrellas, and placed them next to my park benches, they are supplying pleasant shade for my afternoon coffee breaks. I don't think my gardener is going to be pleased with them though, because they are just two more things for him to have to trim around. Well...bummer. Sucks for him.

However, yesterday morning something interesting did happen while I was working on the fencing. Birdlady, husband and some guy I didn't recognize came walking down the street. Of course, they didn't even look my direction. Oooh, I saw her, but I just kept working. I was hoping I would be done with my chore by the time they came walking back. I feel very uncomfortable around her.

Bummer, that didn't work...sucked for me.

I was just finishing my chore as they return, from the corner of my eye I see Birdlady is looking directly at me...(should I avoid her gaze, should I glare at her, should I hope the world opens up and swallows me?). It was one of those life changing seconds, what I do next is going to alter me forever.

I have to confess for the last while; I have wanted to say something to her. I've wanted to tell her how much she had hurt me, and how bad I felt that she had 'sicked the health department on me', but I knew that would fall on deaf ears. 

I don't know, maybe the heat had cooked my brain, or maybe I simply decided it was time to bury the hatchet.  Maybe it was fate, I just knew I had to do something.  So as that altering second approached, I didn't avoid her, I didn't glare at her, I simply said "hello". To my surprise and delight the world did not open up and swallow me, so I knew I had done the right thing. Whew!  Yep, all I said was "hello", but I felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I felt I had done something that made me a better person. 

After all, Birdlady is who she is, and she does what she does. I can never change her, but I can change me and carrying a grudge is hard work for me, it's a heavy wight and hurts my soul.  So yesterday I did something I think every person should do, and that's walk into the stream of self-forgiveness and baptize ourselves.  I know as I washed away my grudge, its heavy weight, and the hurt to my soul began to recede, I started to feel clean and light as a breeze.

Now it's true, I don't ever want to be best buddies withBirdlady, or even have a chatty conversation; but we are after all neighbors, so an occasional "Hello.", or "Nice Day, isn't it?" certainly won't kill me, will it?

Have a nice day, Birdlady, have a nice day.