The wind was howling,

the snow was blowing, it was 30 degrees below zero.  Still Brunie was glad to be home.

She was tanned, relaxed, and maybe a few pounds heavier.  She spent the day handing out presents she'd brought for everybody.  There were pineapples, macadamia nuts, flower leis, bright muu-muus, and shirts for all the elves and a special one for Santa that had bright red and yellow hibiscus blooms on it.

Santa gave her the day off to help get rid of 'jet lag', and told Brunie he would assign her to a new department in the morning. 

By morning the blizzard had passed. The North Pole was awash in bright sunshine and Brunie thought perhaps the better gift for the elves would have been designer sunglasses.  She dressed in a hurry eager to get to work.  She was glad she gave herself a little extra time, because she found her bright red elf dress was a smidgen too tight and had to make a hurried trip to the Elf Outlet store to buy a new one.

Santa met her as she headed back to the elf dormitory.  He informed her she had been assigned to the Candy Shop and would start by learning to make Candy Canes.  The head confectioner gave her a smock, and lead her to a room full of kettles, all steamy hot and explained her job would be to use the candy thermometer to make sure the sugary syrup always remained at a constant 280 degrees, no more, no less.

Eager, Brunie, set to work.  She soon discovered this was not going to be an easy job and after a while she paid a visit to the Toy Department where she bought herself a skateboard so she could move along the kettle assembly line more quickly.  Now, don't get me wrong, Brunie liked this job, what she didn't like was the blisters she got from time to time she when she inserted the thermometer into the bubbling sugar mixture. 

Several years passed.  One day Santa happened to be making an inspection, and found Brunie nursing a particularly bad burn, and decided it was time to move her up to a more prestigious job.

Salting Nuts.  This job was much better.  She no longer needed her skateboard, because she got to sit in a chair.  All she had to do was make sure each walnut, cashew, chestnut, hazelnut, almond, pecan and peanut got the "just right" amount of salt.  Oh my, Brunie really, really liked this job.  But, after several years her eye sight was not as good as it used to be, and a visit to vision expert Vince became necessary.  Glasses helped for several more years, but after a while, Santa discovered some of her batches were too salty, some not salty enough.  It was time for Brunie to get a new job.

Oh, she stayed in the Candy Shop, and her next job was, was, WAS her best job yet.
It was covering, smothering, cherries in the most delicious, 'imported from Switzerland' chocolate.  Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm!   The scent of sweet, dark chocolate wafted through the room, sticky, sugar covered maraschino cherries, slowly inched across the assembly line and her wonderful job was to give each, 'one squirt, two squirts' of chocolate, then send the tiny morsel out of site.

Brunie knew in her heart of hearts she could be happy here in the Candy Shop till it was time for her to retire.  So, and considering her age, she went to the Elf First North Pole Bank and opened a retirement account.  Yes, she could and would cover those cherries, for all her years to come.

Except, that one day she broke the rules.  Rule #1 "Elves will not partake of any sweet whether in perfect condition, or a slight irregular.

Uh oh!  (Did I forget to mention chocolate covered cherries are Brunie's favorite?)

Well, one day Brunie got distracted and accidentally gave a cherry not just one, not just two, but three squirts of that most delicious, "imported from Switzerland
chocolate".   Before she knew it, she had scooped it off the assembly line, and shoved the whole dang thing into her mouth. 

Oh, me, oh, my!!!!

Brunie was hooked.  As time went by it was obvious to all the other Candy Shop elves Brunie had put on a few pounds...er, actually.....several...many, many pounds.  Truth be told, Brunie had kind of blown up like a blimp.  The line to Santa's Licorice colored Telephone lines were a-buzz with gossip.  Brunie had run amok.  Before long Santa got wind of the rumors and decided he had to take a look around the Candy Shop.

There he found Brunie, her smock covered in "imported from Switzerland
chocolate", sitting cross-legged, in a corner, surrounded by rejected chocolate covered cherries. 

An intervention was held, and dear Brunie was shipped off on another vacation, to The Elf Health and Wellness Hospital for a nice long stay.

Chapter three to follow.

Well, this is just.....sad

I've discovered I'm a workaholic.  No kidding.  Is that sad or what?

I promised Frankie, Zorro and my kitty I would take the day off yesterday.

And, I did, sort of.

I did watch a movie, usually I watch several...and I meant to.  I did watch one that my daughter told me was very good and sent me the DVD.  It's called Idiocracy or, (Id-ee-awrk-ass-ee).  Though it describes the decline of humanity in a joking manner, it also shows in graphic detail it's very, very true...and very, very scary.

But, that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact I have a serious problem of my own.  That being, I can't not work. 

So, even though I watched a movie, fixed a feast, and spent some quality time with my circle of family...I could hear my computer whispering to me the whole dang time.

"Come to me.  I need you.  I'm sooo lonely.  Creativity awaits.  Come (cough, cough)
to me, (choke, choke).  I     need     (cough, choke, cough, cough)...."

And, as though it were the siren call of a mermaid, I could not resist. 

I went.  To work.

Oh, I'm not proud of that.  No sir-ee bub.  Not one bit.  But, no amount of left-over turkey, cranberry sauce or pickled beets could lure me away from my keyboard.  My creative juices were flowing like Mt. Olympus.  Stuff was happenin' man. 

It was only when Frankie came into the office did I notice what time it was.  She looked really, really sad.  "Well, I guess I'll go to bed now."

Me:  (barely looking up)  "Okey, dokey, see you in the morning."
Frankie:  "Really?  Really!  This is how we're going to end the day?"

I turn my swivel chair and look at her.  The disappointment on her face overwhelms me.  This is the moment I discovered I've a serious problem.  I AM A WORKAHOLIC.  Don't they say the first step to recovery is to admit the problem?
Okay, I admit it.

So!  I worked about three hours this morning and that's going to have to do.  Frankie and I are going to spend the rest of the day together.  We're going to start by putting the autumn and Thanksgiving decorations away, Then we're going to watch the movies we didn't watch yesterday.  Oh, and we'll make some turkey sandwiches, have some leftover mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes and other goodies today, too.  We'll simply fix ourselves a plate when we feel  like it.  Wow, that all sounds good, very good indeed.

"Frankie", I call out from my office, "bring out the toaster, and warm up the coffee.  I'm coming home, I'm coming home."

You know what?

I can almost taste the turkey that's going to go into my oven first thing tomorrow morning.  I started to thaw it yesterday afternoon, then put it back into the garage refrigerator for over night.  It's a bit larger than I expected, because it was free with my grocery purchases last week.  I figured free would be the low end of the weight scale.

So, I was pleasantly surprised when I read the label and found it weighed almost 14 pounds...it's one big bird.  I'm going to cut it in half after it has cooked and refreeze half, maybe for Christmas, maybe not.

But, I digress.

I really want to write about my sister.  Earlier this month her oven went whack-o, and she called for a repair man.  After he got over the shock at how old her oven/range/microwave was, he said he would have to check to see if they still had parts for it, and if they did he would have to have 'the old guy' come out to fix it, because the younger guys (like himself) didn't know how.  Geeze!

Of course, they no longer had parts, and she had to go shopping for a new oven/range/ microwave.

Here's the kicker.  My sister is a very, very busy person.  Much earlier (before the whack-o oven incident) she said she would have the Thanksgiving Feast at her house, everybody was thrilled...they didn't have to cook the bird.  Yea, sister, sister, wooo, hooo, you go girl!

Her new oven/range/microwave was installed last week.  Little did she know, what with her busy, busy, she was not going to have time to study the manuals that came with her new whiz bang, whoop-dee-doo, appliance(s) and she was going to have to roast her bird 'flying by the seat of her pants'.  I gotta' say, she is one brave lady!!!!!!

So, since we are both going to be busy with pre-holiday preparations today, I called her first thing this morning, to wish her and her family a happy Thanksgiving tomorrow, and to wish her luck with her new oven/range/microwave.  And, I told her how brave I thought she was.  She laughed.  Said she didn't know if she was smart, or stupid for trusting a range she had never used before, and without having had time to read the owners manual.

Trust me this woman is brave...very, very brave.  I also love how trusting she is, going on blind faith everything is going to work out well.  Yea, sister, sister, wooo, hooo, you go girl!  Tis', a gutsy thing she's doing.  I shudder to think how bad things could go. Turkey burnt to a crisp, turkey not cooked at all.  And, what about the potatoes, yams, green bean casserole, are those dang new burners going to do their job? 

She thinks so, I hope so. 

Let's hear it for my sister...give a rousing round applause... and a toast of sparkling cider.

Way to go sis, WAY TO GO.

I'm an observer.

Yes, I go into observing mode at the drop of a hat, and have files and files of useless information tucked away in the far, dark, spiderweb area of my brain simply because I can...and do.

This last week I've been observing subtle differences in old, classic television comedy shows compared to those of today.  In particular, how the story line dealt with eating meals.  Shows of the fifties, sixties, and early seventies had families sitting around a table, serving themselves food out of bowls.  True, they never actually ate the food, still, they were in the home, dad was there as well as mom (who cooked the meal), the kids were polite and joined the conversation, it was a relaxing way to wind down and talk about the day's activities and events.

Today, except for one show I can actually mention (The Middle, they eat around their table, but its always food in bags from a 'fast food place'), all the shows have people eating in restaurants, diners, bars and grills.  I think Friends was paramount in not having people eating at tables (except for Thanksgiving, when Monica cooked), as they were frequently found lounging in their favorite coffee shop. 

Then of course, another biggie, was the sleeping arrangements.  In olden days of television, married couples slept in twin beds, and very few scenes actually showed the couples at night actually sleeping.  Generally they would be dressing to go to work, or getting ready for bed.  Eventually, double beds became the norm, although, usually one of the children would enter, and conversation occurred, not sex or sleeping.  The big criteria being the couple had to be married.

However, today, well, I guess I don't really need to go there.

Finally, and to me this observation is the biggest and most obvious.  In olden days the shows had actual, conversations.  Nice, quiet, polite conversation.  There were no swear words, no lewd remarks.  Just, moving the plot along, solving the problem, respectful conversation. 

NOW SHOWS ARE FILLED WITH LOUD, SHOUTING, AND UGLY WORDS.  CHILDREN DISRESPECTING PARENTS, PARENTS ARGUING WITH EACH OTHER, AND MOST OFTEN EACH AND EVERYBODY PUTTING THE OTHER EVERYBODY DOWN.

I guess it's just the signs of the times.  We can't go back, except to visit old time television, and I find I tend to do that more and more.  Just like old music, the words to every song told a story, in a charming, delightful way, old television shows were the same.  I can't believe I'm going to say this, and I'm sure the young folk would like to slap me silly, nonetheless,  "I miss the good old days."

Yes, I've done gone and said it.  "I miss the good old days."

Before I forget

Imagine a little girl 5 years, 4 months old.  It's autumn, about two weeks after Halloween.  She's outside playing.  From behind, a tall, lanky neighborhood boy named Lenny, was sneaking up behind her.  He was wearing his Halloween costume, it's some kind of a cat...a tiger she thinks.

Oh yes, he scared her, quite badly.  He disappears and she runs into the house, eager for comfort from her mother.  Once inside she is aware something is terribly wrong.  The grown-ups were sitting around the dining room table.  They were all crying. 

The year was 1942.  America was at war.

Young men and woman across the nation had signed up serve in the Armed Forces.  Of course, the little girl, really knew nothing about what had happened just a little under a year before at Pearl Harbor.  But she did know that at school, every child had a little pillow, and if the sirens wailed, they had to take them and sit in a row along the hallway wall, until the siren wailed again.

On this particular day, her family was personally touched by this mysterious thing that was happening in her country.  She would not fully understand this event until many, many years later when as an adult she was able to piece together for herself that the day she was frightened by the neighborhood bully, and the day her family learned her uncle died in the crash of his Curtiss P-40F Warhawk were one in the same.

So, before I forget, I want to share this incident with you.

The Warhawk flew for the first time in mid-1941, it had been test-piloted, and proved worthy of flight, and the United States Army Air Corp began to train young men how to fly this model.  Some Warhawks never made it to battle, and some young men lost their lives as a result. 

My father's younger brother, Levi A Shaffer, Jr.  was one of those young men.

I've learned through research, and having a copy of his accident reports, that the Warhawks, and the men learning how to fly them, were in the air almost around the clock.  There would be a training flight, a report filed, time out for maintenance work, a report filed, and then another training flight some days three or more of these cycles occurred.   Each flight would be over an hour long.  It was obvious, the nation was eager to get the planes and pilots into active duty.  It needed these planes and pilots in active duty. 

Unfortunately accidents happened, some were pilot error, some were a result of the plane.  I speculate, that although the planes were test-piloted before being put into service.  It was the young men learning to fly them that really tested them, found their short comings, and learned first hand what could and did go wrong with them.

Don't get me wrong, the Warhawk turned out to be a fine fighter plane and served our country and other countries well...as did their pilots.  And, it was the test pilots, and the first groups of young men in training that made the Warhawk what it eventually became.   They were the ones that "got the bugs out", so to speak.  We owe them our thanks and gratitude. 

I've learned some about the series of numbers of the P-40's my uncle was learning to fly, I've a list of what happened to them. I've learned the P-40 was upgraded over the years and became even better. Some of its off springs, are still around in museums, Seattle's Museum Of Flight has a Curtiss P-40N on display, and I'm guessing occasionally one might even show up at annual air shows around the country. You should try to see if you can find one some where.  If you are interested, Wikipedia has an excellent article about this model. 

In the meantime, and thankfully before I forgot, I'm glad I could share this snippet of my personal history with you.

What I like...

about the cold.

It seems the thing I do best is complain...about the weather.

It's too hot.

It's too wet.

It's too dry.

It's too humid

It's too grey, dark, damp, dreary.

Blah, blah, blah.

I confess, it's been unusually cold and windy here, and yesterday I commented how my house is struggling to keep the inside at a comfortable, stable temperature.  It is not succeeding, but like the little train that thought it could, my little house thinks it can, too.  I've not the heart to tell it that it never would.  It simply was not built for extended cold spells, especially if the East Wind wants to come out to play...which it has.

Anyway, today I'm not going to complain.  I'm going to say only nice things about the weather.

The sun is shining brightly, and when I checked the outside thermometer sitting in its direct path the temperature read a healthy 80 degrees.  The one in the shade out front is registering 40 degrees.  Now, factor in the wind chill, and no matter what the temperature reads...it's cold.  But, it is beautiful and the sun is shining brightly.

There is not a cloud in the sky.  Jet planes are not even leaving contrails.

The air is clean, crisp and cold.  A good deep breath will hurt you lungs, if it were a few degrees colder, and a bit more humid, the hairs inside you nose would freeze up and clog up, too. 

The humidity is almost zilch.  The water that normally runs along the curbs has frozen, and because it's so dry, it is evaporating, and there was no frost overnight, because of the lack of moisture in the air.

The sidewalks, driveways and streets are clear of fallen leaves, and the few leaves that remain on the trees are being stubborn, the yin to the East Wind's yang, they refuse to play the 'let's see which leaf will be the last to fall, I don't care how hard you blow'.

Creeping, crawling creatures are tucked away, at least until it warms up and rains. 

I live in a reasonably warm house, have layers of warm clothes, and a crock pot full of Tortilla Soup.  What more could a Rambling Old Woman ask for?

November seems to be ending in an amazing way, and has filled me with great happiness, and excitement for the month ahead. 

I thought this was going to be hard, I've surprised myself just how easy it was to write good things about the cold.  Cold, does after all, keep ice cream nicely frozen, ice cubes, too. 

Mmmm, A Jim Beam on the rocks sounds like a good cold thing, too.

It's that time of year.

"So, what's ya' gonna' write about this Christmas?"

It's Frankie.  I kind of give her a puzzled look because I'm not exactly sure what she's leading up to. 

"You know, for your blog.  Remember, last year, you wrote the really warped 'Twelve Days of Christmas'."

I'm not sure if this is a statement or a question. However, I have to confess that over the year I've been wondering about that myself.  What in the world could I write about?  Last year I kind of went overboard.  Have I got anything that could top that 'Twelve Days of Christmas' gem?  What fun it was having a mysterious love bring me such outrageous presents.

"Sorry, Frankie, 'I've got nuttin', as you so frequently like to tell me.  I wish I could say I have something clever up my holiday sleeve...but I don't."

Frankie looked devastated, took her blueberry muffin and left the office, Zorro trailing behind obviously looking, waiting, for falling crumbs. 

I confess I truly have been trying to come up with something clever for my December blogs, maybe I set the bar to high last year, and my pole is too short to vault over anything.  Or, maybe my creative juices have simply been flowing in another direction.

Sigh.

The Adventures of Brunhilda

Once upon a time, in the land of snow, icicles, reindeer, and a fat, jolly fellow who likes to wear red and work with elves in a gingerbread style toy shop, there was an elf (we will call her Brunhilda or, Brunie for short).

Now, nobody knows just how old elves live to be, so let's just say Brunie has 'been around the block' a couple of times.  I don't want to say she's 'older than dirt', but I'm pretty sure she grew up in a time when 'eating a peck' of it was still acceptable.

She was a hard worker and an inspiration.  She always had a smile on her face, a song in her heart, and kept the other elves in a holly, jolly state of mind.

In her youth she worked with glue.  All kinds of glue.  Her boss, The fat, jolly fellow (he had many, many names, we will call him Santa) often started the new elves in the Gluing Toys Together Department, and felt this was the ideal department for Brunie to begin her career.

Eager to do her best, Santa started her out with White Glue, you know the kind you can eat, or spread out on the palm of you hand, allow to dry, peel off and get a perfect 'hand print'.  Let's just say Brunie loved this job, but since she began to eat more of the glue, than she glued Santa could tell White Glue was not the best glue for her and moved her up to Tacky, and Book Binding Glue. 

Here, Brunie did ever so well, however after a couple of years, Santa found out she spent more time sitting in a corner reading books rather than gluing them together and she was moved on to Glitter Glue.  Oh me, oh my, Glitter Glue and Brunie were made for each other, and for the longest time her work was perfect, until the day she discovered she had accidentally glued some bright red glitter to her cheek and a whole new world opened up for her.  She glittered herself silly.

Finally, Santa had had enough and moved her up to the prestigious Hot Glue Gun department.  Well, that was a disaster!  Brunie and Hot Glue did not go well...at all.  She burned her fingers, left long spider-web trails of glue everywhere, and frequently, though accidentally, glued pieces together that did not belong.  So, not so jolly fellow moved Brunie to the finally gluing room.  Super Glue.

Now aside from the fact that Super Glue tended to give Brunie a 'buzz', she also had a problem gluing herself, to herself.  Thumb to forefinger, hand to hand, hand to chin, hand to ear, hand to butt (don't ask), so that Santa in his infinite wisdom, removed her from the Gluing Toys Together Department and sent her on a nice l-o-n-g vacation to Hawaii.

Chapter two, will follow.

Wooo, hooo,hello sunshine...

...how the heck are ya?  So nice to see ya!

It is amazing what a bright, crystal, blue sky, and crisp, breath catching air can do for a person.  I mean, I've been moving at the speed of light...hustle, bustle...not enough hours in the day.  Zip, zip, zippity, do, da!

I don't know where the time goes.  Yesterday I got up, dusted and vacuumed in preparation for Bible study, then went to work for several hours, eventually getting myself "spit" polished as well.  Before I knew it study was over, and we all went to Zeppo's for happy hour in Lake Oswego.  It was a lovely time. 

When I got home I finished eating my happy hour meal, and sat down to spend some quality time with Zorro.  Of course, with a warm house, and an afghan and dog to snuggle with, sleep came suddenly, and it was lengthy.

By the time I awoke, I had not desire to work, so I watched TV and then toddled off to bed.  It was not until four o'clock this morning it occurred to me I didn't write a blog yesterday.  Well, bummer.

Since I was awake at four this morning (Zorro was restless all night) and I had to get up to put him out for a few minutes I decided to turn on the heat early.  I guess the warmth must have sent us into a stupor, because I didn't open my eyes again until after eight. 

So far today, I've worked all morning, and just came back from my lunch break.  I'm hoping to work most of the afternoon finishing up Christmas merchandise.  It is so wonderful looking out at a beautiful sky and a gentle breeze doing its job blowing the few remaining leaves off the trees.

However, it has also occurred to me another day is slipping by without writing blog entry.  What the heck?  The dang sun has me in come kind of a trance.  I LIKE IT, no, I LOVE IT!  The world is happy, the birds are happy, the sun is happy, I'm happy....I'm telling you, as the little boy from the Kaiser Permanente commercial says..."Things are looking up,!"  I can attest to you, they definitely are. 

Consider: I've made a few sales, this miserable month is almost over, as is the year, and I've a whole year yet to go to make my Zazzle store successful. 

Hey, is my enthusiasm is rubbing off on you?  I hope so, I just feel I've just gotta spread the joy.  So, put a smile on your face and a melody in your heart, the best is yet to come.

Wooo, hooo, hello sunshine...how the heck are ya?  So good to see ya.

Sheding Tears

It's November. 

November is my least liked month of the year.  I work hard to get through it, both physically and emotionally.  I can count on not feeling healthy for at least two weeks out of the month.  The older I get the longer it takes to recover.  This year, once again, the flu shot has had an effect on me.  I know, I know, the shot itself can't make me ill, yet (yes, this sounds crazy) something happens at the nape of my neck a few days after I get the shot, and it spreads out and up until it reaches the top of my head, from ear to ear, it hurts, not aches, it hurts to touch my head.  It is absolutely weird, like fluid had built up between my scalp and crainium bones, there's a pressure there.  Last year was especially bad because I was dizzy, my vision was affected, and I had panic attacks.  It was terrible.  This year I have the same symptoms, but now that I know what's going on, (a malaise) I'm better in control of the situation.

Emotionally, I've had a problem with November longer than I can remember.  I hate that everything dies, the days get short, dull, grey and wet.  I cry for absolutely no reason at all.  Happy tears, sad tears, miserable tears, angry tears...tears, tears, tears.  When I was going through my Discover Nature Phase, I came to better grips with November, when I 'discovered' the leaves 'had' to fall, because the buds for next year's growth were already formed and ready to burst forth with life come their season, whether that be January, February or March.  At first I didn't really believe this, I walked my yard checking shrub after shrub and tree after tree, and by golly, there they were, tiny buds, probably hundreds of thousands of them, sleeping, waiting for the sap to begin to creep up the roots, trunks and branches bringing the plants out of slumber.

However, this November, I've slipped back into my old melancholy, yesterday was really bad.  My head felt like it weighed a ton, and frankly I wished I had one of those collars to hold my head up.  And, I cried at postings on Facebook, my e-mail, stories on TV.  I was a train wreck.  So, I drowned myself in work.  I was going to make some key chains, but after spending days on this project Frankie came in and said "Bleck", so I abandoned that project, 'uncropped' all my illustrations and am now making refrigerator magnets instead.  I have to say they are lovely, each illustration will have an accompanying quote.  I should have this project done by the end of the week.  (I hope.)

Anyway, (whew) November is almost over, and I can take down my autumn decorations and begin to decorate for Christmas.  December is a joyful month.  Filled with celebration.  I can hardly wait.  I know I will slowly begin to feel better. Winter solstice happens and daylight slowly increases.  I'm optimistic business will begin to take off, and oh, those tiny buds will begin to swell with life.  Yesterday, as I was checking on my chickens, I looked down to see the Marsh Marigolds coming to life, tiny green, spade shaped leaves, creeping up through their blanket of fallen leaves. 

This morning I feel better, not great you understand, but better.  There are Marigolds, and buds, and birds, and rain, a roof over my head, food in my larder and income enough to pay the bills.

Life is good, life is sooo good.

Before I forget

The events that unfolded the week of November 22, 23, 24, 1963 were devastating.  The nation was in turmoil, outrage and mourning.  Theories about conspiracy abounded, and rumors ran amok regarding the assassination of the President of the United States.

The headlines of every newspaper in the nation, in the largest font they had, screamed that the president had been assassinated. Television networks cancelled programing in order to keep Americans informed about what was happening.  Back then, things didn't move at the speed of light, and everyone was glued to their glowing TV screens
anxious to hear the very latest news.

I remember a young man was arrested, for shooting and killing a Texas policeman.  His name was Lee Harvey Oswald.  Little did the police know, what an intricate roll this man would play in the act that changed the course of America's history.

Lee Harvey Oswald, was a loner, troubled, and an unstable man.  Small of stature with no physical attributes to make him stand out in a crowd, he worked in a building called the Texas Book Depository Building in downtown Dallas.  It was just another work day.

Except, it wasn't.

The President of the United States, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, and his beautiful wife were also in Dallas that day.  Two men, unknown to each other, would forever be linked together in history, when shots ring out from the Book Depository, a president would die, and Lee Harvey Oswald would go on a strange, short, odyssey.  He takes a bus, a cab, shoots a police officer, takes in a movie, is arrested, pleads innocence to murder and denies he has shot the president.

This was a national nightmare.

It has been captured for posterity.  There were a lot of still pictures snapped that weekend, and there are a few that will forever stand out in my memory.  One is that of Vice President Lyndon Baines Johnson being sworn into the office of the presidency aboard Air Force One.  There, standing beside him, still in her blood stained suit was widow, Jacqueline Lee Bouvier Kennedy.  He is somber.  She appears in shock.  I'm sure she was.

But, of all those pictures, there is only one that stands out above the rest. 

It was Sunday morning, and like the rest of America, I arose and turned on my television wondering what might have transpired over-night.  The scene was the basement of the Dallas Police Station, the broadcasters were reporting that the man who had been accused of assassinating President Kennedy was about to be forwarded to the county jail.  Aside from the television reporters, their crews, and newspaper reporters there were others milling about. 

It seemed to take forever for Oswald and the police to exit the building.  When they did everything seemed to be normal.  Suddenly, out of the crowd, a gentleman in a suit, wearing a hat, moved forward.

A shot rang out.

In an instant, in front of millions of television viewers, the man who had been accused of murdering the president, had himself been murdered.  I was one of those eyewitness viewers.  I will never forget the look on Lee Harvey Oswald's face when he realized he had been shot.  It is as indelible in my memory today as it was the day I saw it happen.  Today I'm going to share that picture with you. 
 

In that split second, had justice been served?  America thought not.  Troubling questions remained.

In order to put an end to this national tragedy, our new president, Lyndon Johnson, on November 29, 1963, established The Warren Commission to investigate the assassination. The commission printed its findings in the Warren Report, a 366 page  volume, that was released to the public September 27, 1964.  (I have a copy.)  It concluded that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone, and there was no conspiracy, and that America, was supposed to put an end to the mystery and any questions we had.  Still, today, fifty years later, questions linger, there are occasional whispers, and theories abound. 

Perhaps the truth about this event is still out there somewhere, and in the future, after all the players have gone to their great beyond we will have the clear and final picture of President Kennedy's assassination.

"I got nuttin' "

Any writer will tell you, the only thing that will cause their palms to sweat, their hearts to race, and their minds to turn to mush is to have absolutely nothing to say.  Oh yeah, I'm talking about writer's block.

I've got that today. 

In days of old I'd be sitting at my desk, my number two pencil going tappity, tap, tap, up and down on my 'steno' pad waiting for my muse to arrive.  Then, I'd doodle a little, you know, those repetitious circles, circles, circles and push-pulls we had to make in grade school as we learned cursive.  We'd get graded on those, they had to be perfect.  I still make them sometimes if I'm on 'hold' on the phone.  "Our representatives are all busy now, please remain on the line, insert elevator music here.

Circle, circle, circle.

Push-pull, push-pull.

Yesterday I had to call the water bureau, I wanted to know if it would be okay to pay only half of the bill this month, and half the next.  The nice recording told me my wait would be two minutes to speak to a representative.  Sure, sure, been there, done that.  I was prepared for a much longer wait. 

I was surrounded by bills, envelopes, check and address books and the little booklet that holds address labels and stamps.  (Yes, I know, I'm so orderly it disgusts even me.)

Anyway, I'm thumbing through all this crap looking for my pen (that
has mysteriously disappeared) because I feel the need for push-pulls and circles coming on.  How will I ever endure the wait until I get to speak to a representative.  My hands have got to be busy or I will become unglued.

Pen found!

Now all I need is a slip of paper, I shuffle through the crap again.  I tell myself not to panic, there's got to be a hunk of throw away paper here somewhere.

There is!  And...here's my rub for the day.  All those ads, notices, and newsletters that utilities, banks and insurance companies include with their mail.  Do you ever read yours?  I 'glance' at mine, but seldom find a headline interesting enough to actually read the article.  Then, there are those fillers from the bank, that explain the new changes to my accounts that will take affect next month.  They are sometimes pages long, and the font size so small I need a magnifying glass to read them.  I keep those, but don't actually read them.  I figure if I make a mistake the bank will be more than pleased to tell me and charge my account $25 a clip at the same time. 

Do companies have any idea how many trees they could save by not including all that paper with their mailings?  Yeah, yeah, they all tout "go paperless", and I've no objection to doing that, however, (I'm guessing here) I suspect their web-sites probably make you read through some 'new kind of crap', before you get to your account.  Kind of like web-sites you go to now that have a message like "this ad will end in 05, 04, 03, 02, 01 secs.  Sigh, well, at least we're saving trees.

Where the heck is a piece of paper?

"Thank you for calling the Water Bureau, my name is Carter, how can I help you?"

Son of a gun...one minute, fifty nine seconds.  I wonder if he was sitting at his desk with a stop watch, doodling?

I did NOT know 'imaginary friends are people too'.

I learned this revelation yesterday when I read it on the front of a T-shirt.  Frankie was with me, oh boy, did she ever laugh.  Well, I admit, I did, too.  I'm going to buy her that shirt for Christmas.

But, that brought us to another topic for conversation.  She and I occasionally watch a show called "the MIDDLE".  It is about a family that lives in small town Indiana, they are typical by today's standards.  The middle could actually mean "middle America" considering that's where they live.  It could mean middle, because they are in the  middle 'members' wise.  Father, mother, older son, middle child, special needs (unusual) young son.  Or, it could mean middle, as in every day they struggle to remain in the vanishing 'middle class'.  However you want to mean middle, they are America in serious financial trouble.  Economically?  They are a train wreck.

Anyway, the middle child is a girl, not exactly the prettiest pebble on the beach, desperately wants to be popular, and just gangly enough
not to be graceful at anything, but, she is more optimistic than Mary Poppins and me put together.

Here's the thing.  Last night, middle child, Sue Sue Heck had a paper to write for school.  She had to choose a hypothesis, then set about to prove it true.  Ever cheerful as she is, Sue decided to prove Smiling is Contagious.  Sadly, she could not.  If she had been head cheerleader, class president, most popular and queen of the prom, she would have succeeded.  However, Sue Sue, is not and her project was a complete failure, the teacher was not impressed with the subject matter, and said she would certainly have to "WOW" him with her written report or she would fail.

Poor, Sue Sue.  Well, her written report was a smash hit, her teacher even had as slight smile at the corner of his lips by the time he was finished reading it.  I wish I could remember all of it, it was elegant.  The gist being, that although she could not prove her hypothesis today, she was not going to give up, that it took 10 years for Einstein to win the Nobel Peace Prize, and she was not going to quit till she could prove smiling was contagious no matter how long it took.

Frankie and I cried...then, she smiled...son of a gun...before I knew it I was smiling, too.  Way to go Sue Sue Heck. 

Then I said something phenomenal.

Me:  Frankie, I just want you to know, even though you are invisible, and everybody I know knows you are a figment of my imagination, I KNOW you are real.  And, I appreciate you more than I could ever put into words.  You put a smile on my face, and truth be told, I'm betting (though they will never admit it) there are some people out there who get a smile on their faces when they read my blogs about you. I smiled broadly.

Looking across the room, I see Frankie, she's grinning ear to ear.  Well, son of a gun, Sue Sue is right smiling is contagious.

So, your homework for today is to smile at a stranger.  Forget he/she might have a gun or a knife, or that he/she might take a swing at you.  They might not smile back, but YOU just might be the one to let him/her know life's still good, even if he/she is living in the MIDDLE, and hanging on by a thread. 

Smile.

Smile though your heart is breaking
Smile even though it's aching
When there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You'll see the sun come shining through for you

Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile

That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile

Songwriters: CHARLES CHAPLIN, JOHN TURNER, GEOFFREY PARSONS

Pondering

Did you ever have a relationship with someone that's so hard to explain you don't know what words to use to explain it?

I have one.  He came to visit me yesterday afternoon. 

I can't tell you the exact date I met this man, he was young, in the Navy.  He was dating one of my daughters.  I liked him immediately.  He was tall, lanky, and had 'Texas' rugged good looks.  He was a good guy, a good guy, serving his country with pride.

The more he came the more I liked him.  Eventually he married my daughter, they settled here and we began to have family gatherings for holidays and summer picnics.  They had a daughter.  She was followed by a son. 


Time moved on.  And, as frequently happens, their relationship ended.  He stepped up to the plate and took responsibility for the kids.  They remained close by, and I got to watch the grand kids grow into great adults. 

And, here's where it gets kind of strange.  Usually, when a couple breaks up, the In-Law person in the relationship kind of silently, mystically, disappears into a totally different life, and like a wisp of smoke is suddenly gone on the autumn breeze.

This man stuck around...I talk about him frequently, admire him greatly and frankly, love him to bits.  He's like a son...well, truth be told, he is a son.

When people ask me how he fits into the the family, I confess I have to sputter, and hem and haw around, because the word that fits him does not exist.  I could say he's my ex-son-in-law, but I hate that label.  I could say he's a dear family friend, but that's not right either, and that sounds even more horrible than the label ex-son-in-law.  I could say he's my grand children's father.  And, yes he is, but he's a lot more than that, besides that's just an awkward label, too.  Ugh.

Yesterday afternoon, we finally addressed the awkward relationship we have.  Come to find out, he has no exact word to express it either.  I just know I love him, and maybe we shouldn't concern ourselves about trying to label what we have and just accept it. 

So, as we said goodbye yesterday afternoon, I gave him a great big hug and told him how much I love him, and told him I though of him as a son, and that's what I'm going to call him from here on out.  Even though "We ain't even blood"

And, to make this all legal and binding:

I, hereby declare on this date November 11, 1013  that from this day hence,

I will refer to you as my Son, and that the love I have for you

is and will be binding until the day I'm called home.

 

I also declare I am of sound mind, (though a little old of body),

I promise to remain your friend and Adopted Mother

for as long as we both shall live.

 

 

Signed: Sandra Ann Hiller

Witnessed by: Frankie Zorro and CC



 

 

 

Do you ever wonder if...

...Mary Poppins had a bad day.

Do you suppose she ever wanted to snap the handle of her umbrella in half?

Stomp off to her room and slam the door?

Mix a little vinegar in with that sugar on her spoon?

Or, wonder why she went into the Nanny Business in the first place?

Well, I never did until yesterday morning when I was watching the morning news, and they showed a little tongue in cheek clip about how an adult looks throwing a two year's old temper tantrum.

I've got to say it looked pretty silly.  This lady threw herself on the floor of the coffee shop and kicked the counter, and her heels on the floor because the Barista didn't use soy milk in her drink.

Then, it showed her throwing everything helter-skelter off her coffee table because her wi-fi was not doing what she wanted it to do.

And finally, it showed her slamming her bed pillow into the furniture until the room was filled with white, downy  feathers.  Definitely bad behavior.

Now, normally, I would probably jump all over a clip like this, saying how it give license for kids to watch this, and figure 'well, mommy got away with this, so can I.'  After all, kids learn by watching their parents.

However, after a couple of days of hanging on (by a thread) to my 'Susy Homemaker, Mary Poppins' image myself, I got to thinking I would like to throw a temper tantrum, I think I just might feel a whole lot better.  Don't get me wrong, I can and do get angry, you've actually read me when I've been up on my soap box.  And, I do feel better once I've blown off some steam.

Still.

Something...

something has been missing.

I think I want to throw a tantrum, an honest to goodness, throw myself on the floor, scream and kick, hold my breath, turn blue kind of a tantrum.  I think that would make me feel pretty darn good.  I could do it here where Frankie, Zorro and CC would see my bad behavior.  But, I'd really like to do it in my driveway where everybody, including God would see me. 

And I would do that.

Except.

Either the police or a bunch of guys in white suits and a straight jacket would show up and haul my sorry A-- away. 

So, I'm going to down a spoonful of sugar, tuck the image of the woman writhing around on the floor of the coffee shop in the very back corner of my brain, and act like a grown up.

But....



some day.....some day.

Sigh.

Let me start by saying, and as Frankie frequently reminds me, I should not always believe everything will end up for the good, the guy in the white hat just might not ride up in his shiny, red Ferrari and save the day.

Still, my proverbial glass is always half full every day, and I try to make sure it is half full at bedtime, so when I open my eyes in the morning I can see it's going to be a good day no matter what.  It's getting harder and harder to do that, and some mornings I find myself squinting when I look at the glass to make sure it is even still there.

The latest thing to shake my belief that good will always win is the news.  For instance, this morning, there was the President of my country (a very smug look on his face) saying he had made a 'mistake' when he said his health plan would not affect those of us who had good plans, and that we could stay with our current providers, I could tell he did not believe that and never did.  So, apparently those folks who have had their insurance cancelled, were duped, along with the rest of us, and our government has no plans whatsoever to rectify their 'mistake'.  

I personally had no fear of cancellation.  I was confident my provider had been truthful, and my coverage would remain the same.  I was covered, nothing would change.  I have even received my 'book of coverage' for next year.  Yeah, there were a couple of changes regarding certain co-pays, but they were only a couple of bucks here and there, which is to be expected, and has happened just about every year, so I was not concerned.

When I heard the president this morning apologizing to the folks who had lost coverage, I listened quite carefully to hear how he was going to correct his error.  However, not once did he say he would get the people their original coverage back... apparently he and his plan have no intention even trying, they are at the mercy of Obamacare.

Lions, tigers and bears, oh my...is my Medical Plan next...have they lied to me, has yours???

Eventually I slapped myself silly, and 'woke up' to a glass only a quarter full.  I had been duped.  Damn...I'm sooo...gullible...(that's really too nice a word)...I'm stupid, stupid, stupid.

Although I was eventually fortunate enough to be able to stop working and become Susy Homemaker, I was in the work force for many years, long enough to go through some "Mergers"...yes, we all know THAT word. And, we're told not to worry, nothing is going to change, everything is going to stay the same, no jobs will be lost, blah, blah,   blah,   blah, blah.

We're believers, right?  At least we want to be.  And then, the powers that be sign the papers, and before the ink has dried, your company's name is gone, your building is closed, your job is secure....IF you are willing to move where ever the heck it is your new company wants you to go.  Nothing has changed?  Everything has changed, most particular your life and your security.

This morning I came to realize, that is exactly what the government and insurance industry is doing...(there is no other word for it) "Merging".  And even though our coverage companies scream and dance and bound about stating nothing will change, it will, nothing will be the same...ever...because, neither of them (government or insurance providers) care (give a crap) what they are doing to Average Joe and his coverage.  No, not a bit.  So, even though I've been reassured by my provider, that nothing is going to change, and everything is okay for the next 12 months I suddenly don't believe them.  I've come to think that none of us should believe anything the insurance companies and government tell us with regard to our coverages, and where we should sign up for coverage that will be unique for us, because, from here on out there is not going to be any...none...whatsoever.  We are at the mercy of the 'Mergees', they will decide for us.

And, so goes the America I so loved, trusted and held in high esteem.  She's circling round the toilet.  Blub, glub, blug, glub.

Sigh.

"Little Things Mean A Lot."

I tend to forget that "Little Things Mean A Lot" in my life.  A facebook friend reminded me of that this morning.  She just came back from vacation, and so appreciates the things she takes for granted in her every day life.

I guess if we were truthful, we would all say the same thing.  Instead we get caught up in 'stuff', missing life in the smallest form.  For instance, I've been looking around for the Shield Bug I brought into the house last month.  I wonder if its still around, or if it decided it likes the outdoors better and has fled. 

The last day we had sunshine, I noticed a long trail of abandoned spider's web hanging from one of the skylights in the morning room.  I meant to grab a broom and sweep it down, but there was 'just something' about the way it floated in the air I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it.

Then, there are the remaining autumn leaves.  I try not to 'look' for them, but I can't help myself.  Do you take time to 'look' at them?  What magnificent colors.  Artists try and try to imitate them, but the fact of the matter is, they can come close, but the real thing...well, there is nothing quite like God's yellows, reds and oranges. 

There's the smell of my laundry when I open my dryer door, and the feel of that towel against my cheek, still toasty from it's tumble through the cycle.  Have you ever put on a pair of socks you've just removed from your dryer, oh my, oh my.  Ahhhhh!

Cinnamon toast.  Now, there's a heavenly aroma. 

That first taste of vanilla ice cream.  Or, whatever your favorite flavor is. 

My morning lick from Zorro, that soft, warm tongue.  The weight of CC on my chest that eventually wakes me up.  Such little things, but how I would miss them if they were not there to enjoy.

And I guess I should include my imaginary friend, Frankie.  I can't tell you the joy this mystical character has given me.  I can blame her for just about any and everything.  She's the Yin to my Yang, the slapstick in my comedy, my ear to bend and the laughter in my wind. 

Little things can be seen, hear, touched, felt, and tasted.  Most often they don't cost anything, they are simply sensual expressions that arouse our emotions to remembrances of yesterday, today, and gives us surprises for every tomorrow.  All I ask is that you savor just one little thing today, just one little thing you so frequently take for granted.

Kitty Kallen - Little Things Mean A Lot Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Blow me a kiss from across the room
Say I look nice when I'm not
Touch my hair as you pass my chair
Little things mean a lot
Give me your arm as we cross the street
Call me at six on the dot
A line a day when you're far away
Little things mean a lot
Don't have to buy me diamonds or pearls
Champagne, sables, and such
I never cared much for diamonds and pearls
'cause honestly, honey, they just cost money
Give me a hand when I've lost the way
Give me your shoulder to cry on
Whether the day is bright or gray
Give me your heart to rely on
Send me the warmth of a secret smile
To show me you haven't forgot
For now and forever, that's always and ever
Honey, little things mean a lot

And, that dear friends, is all Kitty and I have to say about that.

Oh, to soar like an eagle.

It has been some time since I've mentioned the eagles of Decorah, Iowa, simply because they built a new nest last autumn, and this year I was not really able to watch the babies grow.

But, I've not forgotten about them, and check their website on a regular and frequent basis.  One of the babies from the year before, was electrocuted by a power line, which was very sad indeed.  A program has been started to try to build perches on tops of poles giving birds a more safe place to land, rather than the wires themselves.  Of course that takes money and manpower, so I suspect it's going to take a lot of years for that plan to really be effective.

However, eagle D-1, that I did have the opportunity to watch grow and fledge, has a site of her own, so I can check on her comings and goings.  They tagged her with a transmitter and I've watched her travel between her home nest and the wilds of Canada, where she has spent her last two summers. 

She recently arrived back at her home nesting area, and yesterday on facebook I got to get a look at her, up close and personal.  Yes, there she was sitting in what looks like an oak tree.  Her head is turning majestic eagle white and she appears to be a powerful, strong, healthy creature.  Man...it made my heart sing.

I guess what I really want to do is thank the dedicated people who have such a passion for these magnificent creatures, a true symbol of the America I know and love.  The Decorah eagles are part of what is known as the Raptor Resource Project, and there are nests available for viewing for other raptors as well.  I just happened to fall in love with the eagles of Decorah. 

The pair is busily working on the newer nest at the present time, preparing for the mating season which is going to be pretty soon.  The Raptor Resource Project has installed a camera at the new nest, and, if it is going to be like the one at the old nest it should be operational 24/7, so I won't miss much once Mother Decorah is ready to lay her eggs.  What a joy that will be.

Unfortunately, I don't have as much time to watch the eagles as I used to, still, just knowing I can drop in anytime I wish, is good enough for me.  At the old nest, the eagles shared their space with smaller birds, who squatted below that of the eagles, and occasionally a mouse would dash across the nest at night, something I found quite amazing, considering the birds could easily have downed the tiny creature with one gulp. 


Above is a copy of the picture as shown on my facebook page yesterday.  Thanks to Raptor Resource Project.  D-1 home at last.  Is she the best or what?  And, thanks to  her  mom and dad for being such great parents, and having great success with raising their annual Aeries. 

I will try to post about these grand creatures from time to time, and hope they will bring you as much joy as they do me.

Brooooooom, brooooom, honk, honk.

I'm fascinated with the new automobiles.  I've seen commercials and news clips showing all the magnificent things they can do.

Some can sense children and objects behind them, so they magically stop.

Some can parallel park themselves.

Some can, with radar, sense an accident the driver can't see, and apply the brakes.

I even saw a news piece once on a car that will park and retrieve itself from a parking garage.

I mean, seriously, is that an absolute wonder, or what?

We've given inanimate objects computer generated brains. Cars that think for 'drivers'.  Does that mean they (the cars) are smarter than them (the drivers).  Wow a-dowie, dooo.  I'm blown away by all of this, aren't you?

I've really been pondering this.  Of course we all know drivers are still technically, in charge of their automobiles, and hopefully paying 100% attention to how they are driving 100 % of the time.  However, I want to take you 'down the road', let's say, 5 maybe 20 years.  You have purchased a car, that can automatically stop on a dime, park itself, and heaven only knows what else. 

There you are, sitting in the drivers seat.  You tell your car "Start engine.", push some 'comfort control' buttons, set some kind of cruise control, tell 'Hal' your destination, the time you want to arrive, where you want your car to park itself, and what time you want it to pick you up...and put your car in 'automatic drive'.

You text your companions you are on your way, take a sip of your coffee, pick up your book to read while your car drives, and off you go.

You are humming along the freeway.  Uh-oh.  Somebody in an 'older model' car, without all your wonderful gadgetry, has broken down, and an 18 wheeler, has plowed into it.

Crash, Bam, Alakazam...traffic backs up, backs up, backs up.

Your car is not happy, not happy at all.  It has been told it has a job to do, and by golly, it is going to do it.  Ooops.  The computer has not been programmed for 'incidents'.  It does not know what to do.  Yes, it has been programmed to allow a safe space in front of it in order to not be involved in the 'unseen' accident ahead.  But, it's blocked in.  There's no backing up, no turning right or left to get into another lane. 

Oh my, I'm starting to giggle.  I wish this were a cartoon so you could see the pictures in my head.

Poor car...it's computer is in a jumble, trying to right this, trying to reprogram.  It knows it has to be Cher Cher's at 11:30.  The engine roars...."Get outta my way, suckers. I've got somewhere to be." 

Not so much.  Time goes by, there's a helicopter overhead.  Behind, emergency vehicles and tow trucks are trying to inch their way to the scene of the accident.

Your computerized vehicle has become quite agitated, it's making strange, strangling, hyperventilating noises.  You reach into your 'storage receptical' to the right on your 'gauge panel', looking for the vehicles Owners Manual, realizing you've somehow got to change this thing back into a 'manually operated' vehicle. 

What?  There's no hard copy of the manual...it's in the computer, and it's blowing up.  Where's George Jetson when you really need him?

Bzzzzzerrrrzzzzt.  Zzzzzzpppppttttt, pppptttttt, pptt, tt.  Hmmmmmmmm. Pt!

I know, I know, at the moment this can't possibly happen.  But, could it some day in the future?  I'm thinking maybe it could.  We've got to stop being lazy and letting mechanical things do the jobs for us.  What's that saying so popular now "Use it or lose it."  I'm thinking WE still need to use it.

Picture this.

As you know, this last week has not been one of my better ones.  The flu shot kind of put me under the weather.  My arm still hurts, but I am getting some ambition and energy back.

Since I had little desire to do much of anything but lie around like a lump.  I decided it would not take too much energy to be creative, what the heck, right?  In my garage I had a plastic container that held a bunch of artificial fruit, another held a garland of dried corn husks, I never used either.  I was inspired to put them to work.

With November approaching, I decided I would take down my September/October Chrysanthemum wreaths, and replace them with ones containing my plastic fruits and corn husks.  Piece of cake, right?

Not!!!

I discovered some glues will not stick to plastic fruits.  Seriously, I've got 'sticky', 'bookbinders', 'tacky', and my 'hot glue' gun.  I'm telling you...they would not work.  I tried for days, Oh, the glue would dry, but when I picked up the wreaths, the fruit would plop off,
                          going
                                               hither


                                                        and
                                                                    

                                                                                   yon.

It was disgusting, irritating and made me pretty dang angry, too.

The glues began to build up around the fruit, and I had to be more and more careful because I didn't want the glue to become more prevalent than the fruit.  Finally, on Thursday, all the fruit seemed to be set, and I took the wreaths to the garage for the final 'drying' period.  I was pleased, tremendously sick of this project, but delighted that come November I would be able to hang them.

Last night before bedtime, I went to check on my creations one more time, intending to hang them in the morning.

I picked up the first one.

                             Plop,


                                                Ploppity,

                                                           
                                                                         Plop,

                                                 Plop.

CRAP!

Mr. Sandman send me a dream

I've always been amazed we don't remember most of our dreams.   Funny, (peculiar) how our brains are wired not to.

I don't mind not remembering the bad/nightmare dreams, even though some of them have me wake up screaming.  Which, if you recall, throw me into a fit of giggles I cannot control.

I certainly don't mind remembering good dreams, that end the way I want them to, however, considering I'm apparently in control of my dreams and everyone in them I do find it amazing I don't remember many of the good ones either.

Then there are repetitious dreams, the ones I've had over, and over, and sometimes over.  Right before I moved to California I had two whoppers of those, both were horrible, and I'd wake up in a sweat.  In one I was on a stage in a huge empty theatre, I would be standing in front of a wall to wall, thick, plush, scarlet red, velvet curtain.  The theatre would catch fire, and I would try to escape behind the curtain, to find the area behind the stage was wall to wall snakes and I could not get out.  Right before that second when I knew I was going to die...I would awake.   

In the other I would be flying (floating)...without wings...just above the power poles and wires.  I could talk to people on the ground, and everything would be hunkie-dorie, until I would decide I was tired and wanted to be back on the ground only to find I could not return to earth.  Would I die up here from hunger, thirst, the elements?  It was horrible, because eventually everyone would leave, and I was left terribly alone. 

Funny, (peculiar) as soon as I left my hometown and moved the continent away I never had either of those dreams again...yet to this day I remember them vividly; I ponder what those dreams meant, and why they ceased once I moved to California.

Then there are the dreams about certain men in my life, and how one in particular is a frequent visitor, yet the one I would most like to dream about, I never do...what the heck is up with that?  If I'm in control of my dreams and what's in them, shouldn't I be able to have him in all of them?

Lastly there are the dreams that start out good, and turn bad.  I had one of those just about two hours ago.  (Interestingly, I tend to remember more the dreams I have just before I wake up in the morning.)  But, I digress. 

This morning my dream involved my moving to Montana...  MONTANA...never, ever in my life have I had the desire to move to and live in MONTANA.  Oh, the property was beautiful, nestled against a majestic mountain side.  The place we moved into, was not...and although I tried to fit in and belong, I was miserable, I worked hard, painting, hammering, nailing, sawing, trying to fix the place up, but I wanted to leave.

At this point I realized I was young, and told the woman I had moved with I wanted to return 'home', that I would stay and work till the end of August, but at that point I would return to the civilization, school, and the world I knew and loved.

Oh, how the atmosphere changed.  I realized the people I had moved with to Montana were never, ever going to allow me to leave.  The dream had taken an ugly turn.  Fortunately CC jumped up onto my chest and I woke up.

Here's the thing.  I've been thinking about that dream ever since, and have been trying to come up with plans and schemes on how I could escape from my dilemma.  I think it would have been better not to have remembered the dream at all.

What I do know is, I have got to stop watching the Investigation Discovery Channel.  I think I'm starting to go down a bad path.