News Flash!
I've got company coming. They are staying overnight.
I'm happy and excited.
But guess what?
I'm not vacuuming, sweeping, cleaning or dusting. Oh, the place is straightened up, and all that...but, unless they actually write their name across the tables in the dust, I'm thinking they might not even notice...and what if they do....notice...
Oh well.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Okay...here's the thing.
I admit...up front...and, I've mentioned before, I enjoy the pictures of the guys on relationship web-sites. It's not that I'm in the market for a relationship, with a guy, young or old, rich or poor. However, I do like the pictures of the guys that appear on the right hand side of my e-mail page. These guys are gorgeous. Seriously they are real 'eye candy'.
Hey, there might be snow on my roof (dyed blond), but there's still fire (well, burning embers) in my furnace.
Anyway, trust me, I never go to the actual I've Got Just The Mate Connections web sites, I just browse the ads. Besides, Frankie won't let me. The truth is I worry more about her visiting these sites than me. I've watched her drool. I don't want her to find anybody, she might form a relationship with one of these guys and move out....move out! Move out? How would I survive without her?
Then, this morning, there was this picture...Oh, he was not my age or anything like that, but, boy, was he ever my type. Son of a gun. He was, chocolate covered cherry, pie al-a-mode, hot from the oven butterscotch cookie bee-uuu-ttt-ful. Salt and pepper grey hair, thin, not too muscular, wearing a white V-neck, short sleeved T-shirt.
You talk about drool...'scuse me, I've got to go get a towel. OMG. Put a pack of cigs' against the edge of one of those sleeves and roll the sleeve up and you've got, you've got...you've got... Oh, my, I think I'm getting the vapors.
Oooooooo, If I were only forty years younger. Forty years did I really say forty years?
This is so outlandish. What the heck is the matter with me? Earth to Sandra, earth to Sandra. Reality check, reality check!!!
Let's face it, no matter how good looking these guys are 'on paper', eventually I would have to do their laundry, cook their meals and clean their house. Oh, they might wine and dine me, send me flowers, warm my feet at night; and that all sounds peachy-keen, however, I could no longer be able to eat from a can, let dust collect on the furniture and work until the wee small hours. Hmmm, let me see.
Don't care much for wine, though an occasional dine I can do with friends, the dirty socks in the laundry are mine alone, I don't have to cook, and seldom do, (oh, I do eat from cans, [more often than I should admit], but do take it from the cans and heat it before consuming). And unless Frankie writes in it, mostly I can't see the dust, and no longer give a crap it's there.
Doing the weight's and measures, I'm afraid I have to say, "Sorry, good looking guy." I was tempted there for a minute. Truth be told, unless you've got a be-jillion bucks in the bank, one foot in the grave, and me as your beneficiary on insurance policies and will, I'm simply not interested.
However, if you do happen to have all those things, you can reach me at 1-555-5555, extension 555. Ask for Rambling Old Woman.
Hey, there might be snow on my roof (dyed blond), but there's still fire (well, burning embers) in my furnace.
Anyway, trust me, I never go to the actual I've Got Just The Mate Connections web sites, I just browse the ads. Besides, Frankie won't let me. The truth is I worry more about her visiting these sites than me. I've watched her drool. I don't want her to find anybody, she might form a relationship with one of these guys and move out....move out! Move out? How would I survive without her?
Then, this morning, there was this picture...Oh, he was not my age or anything like that, but, boy, was he ever my type. Son of a gun. He was, chocolate covered cherry, pie al-a-mode, hot from the oven butterscotch cookie bee-uuu-ttt-ful. Salt and pepper grey hair, thin, not too muscular, wearing a white V-neck, short sleeved T-shirt.
You talk about drool...'scuse me, I've got to go get a towel. OMG. Put a pack of cigs' against the edge of one of those sleeves and roll the sleeve up and you've got, you've got...you've got... Oh, my, I think I'm getting the vapors.
Oooooooo, If I were only forty years younger. Forty years did I really say forty years?
This is so outlandish. What the heck is the matter with me? Earth to Sandra, earth to Sandra. Reality check, reality check!!!
Let's face it, no matter how good looking these guys are 'on paper', eventually I would have to do their laundry, cook their meals and clean their house. Oh, they might wine and dine me, send me flowers, warm my feet at night; and that all sounds peachy-keen, however, I could no longer be able to eat from a can, let dust collect on the furniture and work until the wee small hours. Hmmm, let me see.
Don't care much for wine, though an occasional dine I can do with friends, the dirty socks in the laundry are mine alone, I don't have to cook, and seldom do, (oh, I do eat from cans, [more often than I should admit], but do take it from the cans and heat it before consuming). And unless Frankie writes in it, mostly I can't see the dust, and no longer give a crap it's there.
Doing the weight's and measures, I'm afraid I have to say, "Sorry, good looking guy." I was tempted there for a minute. Truth be told, unless you've got a be-jillion bucks in the bank, one foot in the grave, and me as your beneficiary on insurance policies and will, I'm simply not interested.
However, if you do happen to have all those things, you can reach me at 1-555-5555, extension 555. Ask for Rambling Old Woman.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
I didn't know learning can be quite disturbing.
Last night I learn something disturbing about America's history. It was on the Investigation Discovery channel. The show was called "Sundown Towns". Towns, that before integration, made it clear to black people they were not wanted, and for their own safety, had better be out of town before dark, or something bad was going to happen
A young black man was doing research on these "Sundown Towns", and was curious as to whether these towns still existed. He had a copy of an old book, written back before the end of segregation, it was a travel guide for black people meant to safely guide them around these northern "Sundown Towns". His findings were astonishing. He first traveled from New York City to the state of Indiana. At the beginning of this journey he had a professor with him who was an authority on these towns and as they reached a certain point on his map, they stopped the car and began examining the countryside. They spread out a map, across which was a long highlighted line indicating they were about to cross into "Sundown Town" territory.
As they traveled deeper into this territory, they began to see subtle signs that indeed these towns did at one time exist. In one town they looked for a motel that once housed black people as they traveled, the building itself had been torn down, yet strangely the motel sign, rusted and unpainted still stood in its original spot. A permanent reminder...there was a time blacks were not really welcomed here. They traveled further north to a second "Sundown Town". Here, they could intuitively feel they were not welcome. Still, one of the producers, hungry, entered a local diner prepared to order himself a meal. He began to talk to patrons about what he was doing in town, and the atmosphere in the place changed. People stopped talking to him, apparently some folk actually left the diner. Eventually, the owner approached him and asked him to leave the building. He did, but was quite disturbed by the incident. Later in the show, another member of the team entered the men's room of an establishment, and was shocked to find the walls of the stall had not been painted in eons, for on them had been scratched the 'n' word, swastikas, Jewish stars of David, and other questionable remarks. It was stunning.
Eventually, they came to a small Indiana town where a young black woman had been murdered, in 1968, I believe. She had been selling encyclopedias door to door, and for some reason was not able to get out of this particular "Sundown Town" before dark. She became quite frightened when a car with two white men in it began to follow her. She knocked on the door of a white couple and they, seeing her fright, invited her in, and called the police. The police apparently showed no interest in the young girl's plight and did nothing.
This young girl realized she was putting this couple in grave danger, and even though they asked her to stay, she decided she had to try to get out of town. In the show, the couple walked with the young man doing the show, to the spot a few blocks away from their home, where she had been found murdered, lying on the sidewalk. She had been stabbed to death. Today the scene is eerie and quite disturbing. Her killers were never found, until recently when a young man phoned the police and told them he believed his father had been one of the men who had attacked her. He was about ready to go to trial when he passed away from a terminal illness. The other man still believed to be alive and at large.
As the show moved along, the moderator and his crew slowly headed back east. As they went, using the book of 'Sundown Towns', they constantly saw evidence of the past, old, old dilapidated signs with the only visible word "Sundown" on them. While in one spot a black donkey is painted on a hillside, shorthand for "get your black ass out of town, before dark".
Eventually they made a stop in Ohio, where long ago a young black doctor opened up a clinic. They interviewed a couple who were patients at the clinic who reported the town's folk made the doctor's life so miserable, even slandering him on trumped up charges, that he lost his license to practice medicine in Ohio. For safety sake, he closed his clinic and left town and apparently the State. When asked what the black population of the city is today, the couple said (guessing) 95% white, 5% other races. Are blacks welcome? "Yes", was their reply, "if they keep their place".
I tell you this show was shocking to me. I wonder how many towns there are across our country today that still tolerate the "Sundown Town" mentality? Oh, they no longer tar and feather folks, or hang them from trees, or burn their homes. They, by law, cannot refuse them service in public places, and they don't have to ride at the back of buses. Yet, these towns have apparently found ways to skirt the law, to me it is very clear blacks, and I'm supposing other minorities, are made to feel quite uncomfortable, out of place, and unwanted in these towns; the minorities have got to be living in turbulence and constant fear, yet by being law abiding citizens, they are also showing amazing bravery as well, as they are free to live where ever they choose.
Supposedly we've come so far...yet, apparently we haven't. I grew up in the north and east and now I wonder...I don't think my hometown was a "Sundown Town". Or, was it and I just didn't know.
A young black man was doing research on these "Sundown Towns", and was curious as to whether these towns still existed. He had a copy of an old book, written back before the end of segregation, it was a travel guide for black people meant to safely guide them around these northern "Sundown Towns". His findings were astonishing. He first traveled from New York City to the state of Indiana. At the beginning of this journey he had a professor with him who was an authority on these towns and as they reached a certain point on his map, they stopped the car and began examining the countryside. They spread out a map, across which was a long highlighted line indicating they were about to cross into "Sundown Town" territory.
As they traveled deeper into this territory, they began to see subtle signs that indeed these towns did at one time exist. In one town they looked for a motel that once housed black people as they traveled, the building itself had been torn down, yet strangely the motel sign, rusted and unpainted still stood in its original spot. A permanent reminder...there was a time blacks were not really welcomed here. They traveled further north to a second "Sundown Town". Here, they could intuitively feel they were not welcome. Still, one of the producers, hungry, entered a local diner prepared to order himself a meal. He began to talk to patrons about what he was doing in town, and the atmosphere in the place changed. People stopped talking to him, apparently some folk actually left the diner. Eventually, the owner approached him and asked him to leave the building. He did, but was quite disturbed by the incident. Later in the show, another member of the team entered the men's room of an establishment, and was shocked to find the walls of the stall had not been painted in eons, for on them had been scratched the 'n' word, swastikas, Jewish stars of David, and other questionable remarks. It was stunning.
Eventually, they came to a small Indiana town where a young black woman had been murdered, in 1968, I believe. She had been selling encyclopedias door to door, and for some reason was not able to get out of this particular "Sundown Town" before dark. She became quite frightened when a car with two white men in it began to follow her. She knocked on the door of a white couple and they, seeing her fright, invited her in, and called the police. The police apparently showed no interest in the young girl's plight and did nothing.
This young girl realized she was putting this couple in grave danger, and even though they asked her to stay, she decided she had to try to get out of town. In the show, the couple walked with the young man doing the show, to the spot a few blocks away from their home, where she had been found murdered, lying on the sidewalk. She had been stabbed to death. Today the scene is eerie and quite disturbing. Her killers were never found, until recently when a young man phoned the police and told them he believed his father had been one of the men who had attacked her. He was about ready to go to trial when he passed away from a terminal illness. The other man still believed to be alive and at large.
As the show moved along, the moderator and his crew slowly headed back east. As they went, using the book of 'Sundown Towns', they constantly saw evidence of the past, old, old dilapidated signs with the only visible word "Sundown" on them. While in one spot a black donkey is painted on a hillside, shorthand for "get your black ass out of town, before dark".
Eventually they made a stop in Ohio, where long ago a young black doctor opened up a clinic. They interviewed a couple who were patients at the clinic who reported the town's folk made the doctor's life so miserable, even slandering him on trumped up charges, that he lost his license to practice medicine in Ohio. For safety sake, he closed his clinic and left town and apparently the State. When asked what the black population of the city is today, the couple said (guessing) 95% white, 5% other races. Are blacks welcome? "Yes", was their reply, "if they keep their place".
I tell you this show was shocking to me. I wonder how many towns there are across our country today that still tolerate the "Sundown Town" mentality? Oh, they no longer tar and feather folks, or hang them from trees, or burn their homes. They, by law, cannot refuse them service in public places, and they don't have to ride at the back of buses. Yet, these towns have apparently found ways to skirt the law, to me it is very clear blacks, and I'm supposing other minorities, are made to feel quite uncomfortable, out of place, and unwanted in these towns; the minorities have got to be living in turbulence and constant fear, yet by being law abiding citizens, they are also showing amazing bravery as well, as they are free to live where ever they choose.
Supposedly we've come so far...yet, apparently we haven't. I grew up in the north and east and now I wonder...I don't think my hometown was a "Sundown Town". Or, was it and I just didn't know.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Ordinary Sunday
Here it is Sunday morning.
I'm sitting here waiting for inspiration to whomp me up-side the head. I've got nothing. Absolutely nothing. So.
Sunday
Funny, isn't it? You never know when you open your eyes whether a Sunday morning is going to be ordinary or not.
You stretch, leisurely pet your dogs and linger under the warm blankets before getting out of bed. (So far, so good.) Thanks to the automatic timer, the coffee is hot and ready to pour. You feed your hungry four legged children and head for a bath.
The bubbles smell like lilacs, you submerge yourself up to your armpits in the 'pink skin' hot water, sip coffee and let your mind wander.
How is your husband feeling? He had felt poorly all week and had not wanted to go to work last night, even called the company to see if they could find a replacement to take his place as a night security guard. They could not, and you watch him, with worry, take his lunch and walk out the door.
You're grateful he'll be home in a few hours, around noon.
You step out of the tub and begin your morning ritual, make-up, dressing, walking to the curb to get the paper. You separate the paper just the way your husband would. Stack of advertisements and coupons, comics and inserts, and the newspaper itself. (Everything is copasetic.)
Then you busy yourself getting a second cup of coffee and head for your office. There is always e-mail to answer, there are some birthday cards to make. Oh, and Christmas cards, should you make one, or buy this year?
After a bit, the comics call and you head for the living room, re-light the wood burning stove, curl up on the sofa with your furry friends and relax. You glance at the clock, it's almost 11, in an hour or so your husband will be home. You hope he's feeling better.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, your phone rings...and even before you answer it...you know...you sense something is amiss. It's your husband's boss. Her voice is warm---friendly---but, strained---tense. Odd, she had never called before...suddenly you know, this is not going to be an ordinary Sunday.
November 2002
I'm sitting here waiting for inspiration to whomp me up-side the head. I've got nothing. Absolutely nothing. So.
Sunday
Funny, isn't it? You never know when you open your eyes whether a Sunday morning is going to be ordinary or not.
You stretch, leisurely pet your dogs and linger under the warm blankets before getting out of bed. (So far, so good.) Thanks to the automatic timer, the coffee is hot and ready to pour. You feed your hungry four legged children and head for a bath.
The bubbles smell like lilacs, you submerge yourself up to your armpits in the 'pink skin' hot water, sip coffee and let your mind wander.
How is your husband feeling? He had felt poorly all week and had not wanted to go to work last night, even called the company to see if they could find a replacement to take his place as a night security guard. They could not, and you watch him, with worry, take his lunch and walk out the door.
You're grateful he'll be home in a few hours, around noon.
You step out of the tub and begin your morning ritual, make-up, dressing, walking to the curb to get the paper. You separate the paper just the way your husband would. Stack of advertisements and coupons, comics and inserts, and the newspaper itself. (Everything is copasetic.)
Then you busy yourself getting a second cup of coffee and head for your office. There is always e-mail to answer, there are some birthday cards to make. Oh, and Christmas cards, should you make one, or buy this year?
After a bit, the comics call and you head for the living room, re-light the wood burning stove, curl up on the sofa with your furry friends and relax. You glance at the clock, it's almost 11, in an hour or so your husband will be home. You hope he's feeling better.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, your phone rings...and even before you answer it...you know...you sense something is amiss. It's your husband's boss. Her voice is warm---friendly---but, strained---tense. Odd, she had never called before...suddenly you know, this is not going to be an ordinary Sunday.
November 2002
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Do you remember?
Well, I remember. All those old television shows where the parents and grandparents would tell the whining kids how "they had to trudge for miles through the icy, snowy, weather to and from school every day, and both ways were up hill". Of course this always brought great laughter (whether canned or live) from the studio audience. The kids would shudder in false horror, roll their eyes and walk away.
Oh, I remember an occasion we had to trudge home from school one very snowy afternoon when an unexpected snow storm closed the school early. (I say unexpected because we didn't have edjukated metrolgists in those days.) We were told the busses were coming, and we patiently waited, and waited, and waited, but all we got was colder, and colder, and colder. So all of us from our neighborhood decided it was time to start walking. Fortunately, the miles to go were all down hill. Man, it was cold, blustery and blowing.
There was absolutely no traffic, so we walked right down the middle of the highway. All the while in the back of my mind, I'm thinking if that dang school bus goes by loaded with snuggly warm kids, I'm going to kill whoever it was that thought this was a good idea. We never saw a school bus.
It took quite a while, but we all made it home. You talk about a bedraggled, soggy, tired, bunch of kids. It's funny, now that I think about that event, I don't recall how my mother took our grand adventure. I don't think she was angry we didn't wait for the bus. But, I also don't remember being heaped with sympathy, understanding and a cup of something hot. The greeting probably went something like this.
Get out of those wet clothes and take them to the basement.
Go to the bathroom and towel dry your hair.
And, go sit by the radiator.
Which, I'm sure we dutifully did.
Exactly why my mom did not consider this a big deal? Let me remind you...she was from the era where you had to walk home, regardless of the weather. Please...we walked home one afternoon! That was not a big deal.
Did we ever walk home again in an unexpected snow storm? I don't recall we ever did.
Did we do it on that first beautiful, warm, sunny, Robin singing day? Yes, yes we really did.
Now, let me tell you about the time I had to trudge for miles through the icy, snowy, weather home from school, it was all down hill. A bunch of us......
Oh, I remember an occasion we had to trudge home from school one very snowy afternoon when an unexpected snow storm closed the school early. (I say unexpected because we didn't have edjukated metrolgists in those days.) We were told the busses were coming, and we patiently waited, and waited, and waited, but all we got was colder, and colder, and colder. So all of us from our neighborhood decided it was time to start walking. Fortunately, the miles to go were all down hill. Man, it was cold, blustery and blowing.
There was absolutely no traffic, so we walked right down the middle of the highway. All the while in the back of my mind, I'm thinking if that dang school bus goes by loaded with snuggly warm kids, I'm going to kill whoever it was that thought this was a good idea. We never saw a school bus.
It took quite a while, but we all made it home. You talk about a bedraggled, soggy, tired, bunch of kids. It's funny, now that I think about that event, I don't recall how my mother took our grand adventure. I don't think she was angry we didn't wait for the bus. But, I also don't remember being heaped with sympathy, understanding and a cup of something hot. The greeting probably went something like this.
Get out of those wet clothes and take them to the basement.
Go to the bathroom and towel dry your hair.
And, go sit by the radiator.
Which, I'm sure we dutifully did.
Exactly why my mom did not consider this a big deal? Let me remind you...she was from the era where you had to walk home, regardless of the weather. Please...we walked home one afternoon! That was not a big deal.
Did we ever walk home again in an unexpected snow storm? I don't recall we ever did.
Did we do it on that first beautiful, warm, sunny, Robin singing day? Yes, yes we really did.
Now, let me tell you about the time I had to trudge for miles through the icy, snowy, weather home from school, it was all down hill. A bunch of us......
Friday, February 21, 2014
Things they never tell you.
Growing old is a funny thing. Funny as both peculiar and funny, (ha, ha, ha). If you want to view the end of the tunnel of this phase of your life you might as well enjoy both of them, because they are interconnected and certainly related.
Take for instance a talk I had with my sister this morning. Out of the blue she mentioned how hard it is now for her to cut her toe nails. I was over come with giggles. Of course I know how hard it is to cut your toe nails. I've had that problem for quite a while now. I used to be able to fling one leg over the other, turn my foot into any position I wanted, and have those suckers trimmed in minutes flat. Now, not so much.
One of my daughters a couple years ago suggested I put my foot up onto the toilet seat cover and lean over to trim my nails that way. Good idea, just didn't work for very long because of my eyesight which is 'not so good'. I need a closer observation as to what I'm doing, and finding the best position in bending over from the hips, and bending my leg from the knees...well, let's just say my body does not bend so well any more.
So, the nail trimming job that used to take just a few minutes takes quite a bit longer. In addition to the bending problem is the fact that my nails are now hard as nails (yes, I mean the kind made of metal). You see, another thing they never tell you about getting old is that your toe and finger nails get tough. Oh...so...tough. I can no longer depend on the little clippers to do the job anymore, I had to go and buy the giant size clippers to do the job.
Oh...and here's a bummer thing, too. After decades and decades of wearing shoes, my toe nails have taken on shapes I cannot describe. Seriously, I've no words. Of course, these hard to describe shapes are part of the reason they are difficult clip. Oh dear, I'm starting to giggle. Shapes? Toughness? This is all so ridiculous because in addition to the shapes and toughness I barely reach my toes, shoot, I can barely reach my foot. Is this a sad state of affairs or what?
Anyhoo, as my sister and I continued conversing, I happened to mention there is an alternative, as my local Community Center monthly newsletter points out. In it there is always a schedule of events, one of which is a nurse who comes to trim old peoples toe nails. How embarrassing! In addition to needing help to do a job I've done for myself all my life...to have a stranger see my OLD FEET is simply put, disgusting. Dear Lord, never let me come to the point I must have someone to do that job. My sister agrees.
In conclusion, I'm simply putting this out there as another thing you can add to the list of things I'm telling you are going to happen as you age, so you won't be surprised when the day comes you have to buy your own giant sized clippers, and realization hits your hips and knees don't bend the way they used to. This is all part of the growing old joke, mean-spirited and unsettling as it is.
What can I say, welcome to the club. Oh, and keep laughing.
Take for instance a talk I had with my sister this morning. Out of the blue she mentioned how hard it is now for her to cut her toe nails. I was over come with giggles. Of course I know how hard it is to cut your toe nails. I've had that problem for quite a while now. I used to be able to fling one leg over the other, turn my foot into any position I wanted, and have those suckers trimmed in minutes flat. Now, not so much.
One of my daughters a couple years ago suggested I put my foot up onto the toilet seat cover and lean over to trim my nails that way. Good idea, just didn't work for very long because of my eyesight which is 'not so good'. I need a closer observation as to what I'm doing, and finding the best position in bending over from the hips, and bending my leg from the knees...well, let's just say my body does not bend so well any more.
So, the nail trimming job that used to take just a few minutes takes quite a bit longer. In addition to the bending problem is the fact that my nails are now hard as nails (yes, I mean the kind made of metal). You see, another thing they never tell you about getting old is that your toe and finger nails get tough. Oh...so...tough. I can no longer depend on the little clippers to do the job anymore, I had to go and buy the giant size clippers to do the job.
Oh...and here's a bummer thing, too. After decades and decades of wearing shoes, my toe nails have taken on shapes I cannot describe. Seriously, I've no words. Of course, these hard to describe shapes are part of the reason they are difficult clip. Oh dear, I'm starting to giggle. Shapes? Toughness? This is all so ridiculous because in addition to the shapes and toughness I barely reach my toes, shoot, I can barely reach my foot. Is this a sad state of affairs or what?
Anyhoo, as my sister and I continued conversing, I happened to mention there is an alternative, as my local Community Center monthly newsletter points out. In it there is always a schedule of events, one of which is a nurse who comes to trim old peoples toe nails. How embarrassing! In addition to needing help to do a job I've done for myself all my life...to have a stranger see my OLD FEET is simply put, disgusting. Dear Lord, never let me come to the point I must have someone to do that job. My sister agrees.
In conclusion, I'm simply putting this out there as another thing you can add to the list of things I'm telling you are going to happen as you age, so you won't be surprised when the day comes you have to buy your own giant sized clippers, and realization hits your hips and knees don't bend the way they used to. This is all part of the growing old joke, mean-spirited and unsettling as it is.
What can I say, welcome to the club. Oh, and keep laughing.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
It's going to be wonderful
I'm finding it difficult to tear myself away from my computer today. I keep going to the eagle nest in Decorah, Iowa. You see, mom is about ready to start laying eggs. Last night the folks who are in charge of looking after the nest let us know mom was on the nest during the night and in years past when she did this, the first night she also laid her first egg.
Needless to say, last night I was glued to my computer monitor. Seriously, I watched, and watched and watched. Most of the time she preened, rested or napped. Still I was mesmerized. I wanted to be there to watch this marvelous event hoping against hope I would be lucky enough to be on-line when that first egg made its appearance.
However, I was also exhausted, I've had a week of long hour days. I've been working diligently making merchandise for my store and have approximately 60 items to move from 'in progress' to my departments for sale. In addition, there's been Bible study and research, taxes to prepare and day to day stuff that needs be done. So, by 9:30 last night I had to throw in the towel and admit I could no longer keep my eyes open. Fact is, I was so tired I didn't even attempt to play my Lumosity games.
First thing this morning I could hardly contain myself long enough to feed my lovable pets and make my coffee wanting so badly to check and see if I missed mom's
birthing. Oh, she was on the nest alright, but she had not laid an egg. I was dejected but delighted at the same time...maybe, just maybe I will catch a birth today.
I think I now know how dads used to feel when they had to wait in a special room when moms gave birth in hospitals. Yeah, they were there, but not involved. I'm antsy, anxious, excited, still I might be away from the waiting room when baby arrives. I want to be at my computer. Fact is, in all the years I've been watching the Decorah eagles, I've yet to be lucky enough to see a birth. Maybe this year, I hope.
In the mean time, everything else in my life has gone to wrack and ruin. I don't even care, I just want my little eagle family to begin their new cycle of life. It's going to be an exciting fun filled couple of months.
Come on mom...do that thing you do so well.
Needless to say, last night I was glued to my computer monitor. Seriously, I watched, and watched and watched. Most of the time she preened, rested or napped. Still I was mesmerized. I wanted to be there to watch this marvelous event hoping against hope I would be lucky enough to be on-line when that first egg made its appearance.
However, I was also exhausted, I've had a week of long hour days. I've been working diligently making merchandise for my store and have approximately 60 items to move from 'in progress' to my departments for sale. In addition, there's been Bible study and research, taxes to prepare and day to day stuff that needs be done. So, by 9:30 last night I had to throw in the towel and admit I could no longer keep my eyes open. Fact is, I was so tired I didn't even attempt to play my Lumosity games.
First thing this morning I could hardly contain myself long enough to feed my lovable pets and make my coffee wanting so badly to check and see if I missed mom's
birthing. Oh, she was on the nest alright, but she had not laid an egg. I was dejected but delighted at the same time...maybe, just maybe I will catch a birth today.
I think I now know how dads used to feel when they had to wait in a special room when moms gave birth in hospitals. Yeah, they were there, but not involved. I'm antsy, anxious, excited, still I might be away from the waiting room when baby arrives. I want to be at my computer. Fact is, in all the years I've been watching the Decorah eagles, I've yet to be lucky enough to see a birth. Maybe this year, I hope.
In the mean time, everything else in my life has gone to wrack and ruin. I don't even care, I just want my little eagle family to begin their new cycle of life. It's going to be an exciting fun filled couple of months.
Come on mom...do that thing you do so well.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
PBJ&O, here we go again!
One day last week I was watching those olden days television programs, you know Green Acres, Mr. Ed, Beverly Hillbillies, the good shows, no swearing, no lewd behavior and outrageous clothing; just good clean fun. I do so enjoy an afternoon with them.
Anyway, I think it was on the Patty Duke show that someone (I think Patty's boyfriend) said he was going home and have a peanut butter, jelly, onion sandwich.
Yes, I'll wait for you.
I did say peanut butter, jelly and onion sandwich.
Boy, was I intrigued. I tucked that little 'goodie' away in my brain's refrigerator and told myself "some day, some day". Now, I know I've posted here some pretty disastrous recipes, and I admit they were awful...really, really awful. I learned from my mistakes, never ate them again and moved on. Still, I like to try new things, like escargot and frog legs, and for some reason PBJ & O...well as I say I was intrigued, I knew someday I would try this.
It didn't take long.
A few nights later I happened to mention to my daughter I might try this sandwich sometime. She laughed, and almost dared me to eat such a thing. I'm sure she though I never would. Well, I did.
Picture me in my kitchen. It just so happens I have some marbled rye bread on hand, lots of peanut butter, three kinds of jam and a big Texas Sweet onion. Soon peanut butter is spread on one slice of bread while a huge amount of strawberry jam is spread on the other. On top of the peanut butter side I've added lot of onion. I plop the two sides together and stare (unbelieving I've actually made this sandwich) wondering if I'd have the guts to take a bite, much less eat the whole darn thing.
I'll be honest. I thought this was going to be Awful, with a capital A. The first few bites were, "do I like this, or don't I". Turns out I do, did, do. By the time I was done eating it I discovered you don't really need the "J", because the peanut butter and onion stand alone quite nicely. I decide I will have this sandwich again. However, trust me, not everybody is going to like this, and it is definitely for 'discriminating' tastes.
The only 'down hill' side to this sandwich is, you can't stand near anybody for quite a while...I'm talking QUITE A WHILE, but believe me, as far as I'm concerned this sandwich is worth it. Just make sure you don't have any social engagements for at least 24 to 48 hours, depending on your brand of tooth paste, mouthwash and how long you scrub your tongue and roof of your mouth.
In conclusion and retrospect, I think the only thing that would make this sandwich better is bacon, crispy, crunchy, bacon.
Anyway, I think it was on the Patty Duke show that someone (I think Patty's boyfriend) said he was going home and have a peanut butter, jelly, onion sandwich.
Yes, I'll wait for you.
I did say peanut butter, jelly and onion sandwich.
Boy, was I intrigued. I tucked that little 'goodie' away in my brain's refrigerator and told myself "some day, some day". Now, I know I've posted here some pretty disastrous recipes, and I admit they were awful...really, really awful. I learned from my mistakes, never ate them again and moved on. Still, I like to try new things, like escargot and frog legs, and for some reason PBJ & O...well as I say I was intrigued, I knew someday I would try this.
It didn't take long.
A few nights later I happened to mention to my daughter I might try this sandwich sometime. She laughed, and almost dared me to eat such a thing. I'm sure she though I never would. Well, I did.
Picture me in my kitchen. It just so happens I have some marbled rye bread on hand, lots of peanut butter, three kinds of jam and a big Texas Sweet onion. Soon peanut butter is spread on one slice of bread while a huge amount of strawberry jam is spread on the other. On top of the peanut butter side I've added lot of onion. I plop the two sides together and stare (unbelieving I've actually made this sandwich) wondering if I'd have the guts to take a bite, much less eat the whole darn thing.
I'll be honest. I thought this was going to be Awful, with a capital A. The first few bites were, "do I like this, or don't I". Turns out I do, did, do. By the time I was done eating it I discovered you don't really need the "J", because the peanut butter and onion stand alone quite nicely. I decide I will have this sandwich again. However, trust me, not everybody is going to like this, and it is definitely for 'discriminating' tastes.
The only 'down hill' side to this sandwich is, you can't stand near anybody for quite a while...I'm talking QUITE A WHILE, but believe me, as far as I'm concerned this sandwich is worth it. Just make sure you don't have any social engagements for at least 24 to 48 hours, depending on your brand of tooth paste, mouthwash and how long you scrub your tongue and roof of your mouth.
In conclusion and retrospect, I think the only thing that would make this sandwich better is bacon, crispy, crunchy, bacon.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Beep...beep...beep
I awoke to an unfamiliar sound.
Beep, beep, beep.
What the heck was that?
It is pitch black in the bedroom, except for a very subtle light that outlines the bedroom window. I push down on the pillow so I can see the clock on the night stand. Nothing is glowing there.
Beep, beep, beep.
By now I'm awake enough to realize the beeping is not coming from my smoke detectors or carbon monoxide detector. And, that we have lost electrical power.
Beep, beep, beep.
Yep, every couple of minutes there's that dang beeping. I know the power is off, because there is no glow from the clock or the phone. I mean it's dark.
Showing great foresight, late last fall I sat one of my LED battery operated lamps on my chest of drawers, 'just in case' of a winter storm power outage. It seemed like a good spot and I guess at the time I figured in order to reach it I could just roll over grab the lamp and turn it on. (Forgetting I would have to squash Zorro in the process).
Beep, beep, beep.
Sigh! So, I get out of bed, walk around it and eventually reach the lamp.
Beep, beep, beep. Where the H-E-double hockey sticks is that noise coming from?
By now Zorro is aroused and the two of us begin to explore the house.
Wait a minute!!! Beep, beep, beep.
There is an eerie, bluish hue coming from the office. There is power in there! The monitor 'sleep mode button' is glowing, so are the buttons the modem. Has the power come back on? Nope, the rest of the house is pitch black.
Beep, beep, beep. Ah-ha! The old grey matter suddenly kicks in, and I remember the power to my computer also has a three hour battery pack in it. The dang thing is telling me so. I walk over and click the off button.
Zorro and I retreat to our bedchamber and eventually fall into a troubled sleep. By the time we got up this morning the power had returned. However, now I've got to go around the house and reset every electrical device that has a built in clock.
Well, at least they aren't going beep, beep, beep.
Beep, beep, beep.
What the heck was that?
It is pitch black in the bedroom, except for a very subtle light that outlines the bedroom window. I push down on the pillow so I can see the clock on the night stand. Nothing is glowing there.
Beep, beep, beep.
By now I'm awake enough to realize the beeping is not coming from my smoke detectors or carbon monoxide detector. And, that we have lost electrical power.
Beep, beep, beep.
Yep, every couple of minutes there's that dang beeping. I know the power is off, because there is no glow from the clock or the phone. I mean it's dark.
Showing great foresight, late last fall I sat one of my LED battery operated lamps on my chest of drawers, 'just in case' of a winter storm power outage. It seemed like a good spot and I guess at the time I figured in order to reach it I could just roll over grab the lamp and turn it on. (Forgetting I would have to squash Zorro in the process).
Beep, beep, beep.
Sigh! So, I get out of bed, walk around it and eventually reach the lamp.
Beep, beep, beep. Where the H-E-double hockey sticks is that noise coming from?
By now Zorro is aroused and the two of us begin to explore the house.
Wait a minute!!! Beep, beep, beep.
There is an eerie, bluish hue coming from the office. There is power in there! The monitor 'sleep mode button' is glowing, so are the buttons the modem. Has the power come back on? Nope, the rest of the house is pitch black.
Beep, beep, beep. Ah-ha! The old grey matter suddenly kicks in, and I remember the power to my computer also has a three hour battery pack in it. The dang thing is telling me so. I walk over and click the off button.
Zorro and I retreat to our bedchamber and eventually fall into a troubled sleep. By the time we got up this morning the power had returned. However, now I've got to go around the house and reset every electrical device that has a built in clock.
Well, at least they aren't going beep, beep, beep.
Sunday, February 16, 2014
To too two, be bee, or oar, not knot, to too two, be bee
As I come into the office this morning, Frankie is sitting in my chair. She's swiveled it around and has her nose buried in our "Big Book". I'm perplexed. Usually I'm the one who has to look things up.
Me: (In a sing-song tone.) "So, what's ya doin?"
Frankie: (Not even bothering to look up.) "Just checking something out."
How odd! My curiosity has peaked, I walk toward Frankie and the book. At first she tries to flip some of the pages, but I manage to put my hand on the upper left hand corner of the book so she can't.
I see she is in the C's, the first word on page 266 is canvasback the last on page 267 is capital allowance. What the heck???
"Okay, Frankie." "What in the world are you looking at?"
She sighs, and slumps back into the chair and gives me a sheepish look.
"You made a mistake in your blog yesterday...I corrected it last night, but then thought maybe I made a mistake, so I'm checking out the word to see who's really right me or you."
Now I'm really curious..."...and just what word might that have been?" I'm not angry, upset or anything, but can't imagine what word she's talking about.
She uses her heels and rolls the chair back up to the dictionary, and points. Her finger falls on the word 'capital'.
I'm quite surprised, and openly confess when I typed that word yesterday I meant to look it up myself, but being the dither head I am I forgot. Oh, I 'spell checked' the word alright, but never did look it up.
Here's what Frankie and I learned this morning.
Me: (In a sing-song tone.) "So, what's ya doin?"
Frankie: (Not even bothering to look up.) "Just checking something out."
How odd! My curiosity has peaked, I walk toward Frankie and the book. At first she tries to flip some of the pages, but I manage to put my hand on the upper left hand corner of the book so she can't.
I see she is in the C's, the first word on page 266 is canvasback the last on page 267 is capital allowance. What the heck???
"Okay, Frankie." "What in the world are you looking at?"
She sighs, and slumps back into the chair and gives me a sheepish look.
"You made a mistake in your blog yesterday...I corrected it last night, but then thought maybe I made a mistake, so I'm checking out the word to see who's really right me or you."
Now I'm really curious..."...and just what word might that have been?" I'm not angry, upset or anything, but can't imagine what word she's talking about.
She uses her heels and rolls the chair back up to the dictionary, and points. Her finger falls on the word 'capital'.
I'm quite surprised, and openly confess when I typed that word yesterday I meant to look it up myself, but being the dither head I am I forgot. Oh, I 'spell checked' the word alright, but never did look it up.
Here's what Frankie and I learned this morning.
cap·i·tal1 [kap-i-tl]
ɪ
noun
the city or town that is the official seat of government in a country, state, etc.: Tokyo is the capital of Japan.
adjective
adjective
chief, especially as being the official seat of government of a country, state, etc.: the capital city of France.
excellent or first-rate: a capital hotel; a capital fellow.
Cap·i·tol [kap-i-tl]
noun
the building in Washington, D.C., used by the Congress of the U.S. for its sessions.
( often lowercase ) a building occupied by a state legislature.
Well, son of a gun...I did use the wrong word. Thanks, Frankie.
Me: "I'm curious, Frankie, how is it you caught my error?"
Frankie: "I remember in school the difference between them was hard for me to remember. Especially when it came to capital or capitol letters. Somebody made the English language so dang difficult. Lay, lie...you, your, you're...bear, bare. Oh, I could go on and on."
I have to confess Frankie has a good point. I think for the most part, I know, no which, witch word to use and when to use them. However, there will always be those words I should, I need to look up before embarrassing myself as my blog wings across the world.
Thanks, Frankie you saved my but, butt.
Well, son of a gun...I did use the wrong word. Thanks, Frankie.
Me: "I'm curious, Frankie, how is it you caught my error?"
Frankie: "I remember in school the difference between them was hard for me to remember. Especially when it came to capital or capitol letters. Somebody made the English language so dang difficult. Lay, lie...you, your, you're...bear, bare. Oh, I could go on and on."
I have to confess Frankie has a good point. I think for the most part, I know, no which, witch word to use and when to use them. However, there will always be those words I should, I need to look up before embarrassing myself as my blog wings across the world.
Thanks, Frankie you saved my but, butt.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Bridges over troubled waters.
It's just another wild and whacky winter here in the Pacific Northwest. Last weekend it was snow, this weekend it's rain....and, wind. Already creeks are on the rise, and there are some areas along the banks of the Willamette River that have reached flood stages, especially down around the state capital, Salem.
Hunker down folks, and grab something that floats.
When we first moved here, back in the early '70's, we knew there was a creek in our back yard and we were good with that, the sound of flowing water was relaxing and serene and added to the charm of the neighborhood. There were frogs, and quail, and beautiful shimmering dragon flies. We loved it.
Before we learned about the marsh that had been filled in so that our house could be built we had our first flood. The water rose up as high as the top of our front stoop step. The kids were in a frenzy, I tried to stay calm, all the while I'm wondering what the heck I should be doing. I admit I was scared.
First thing I did was call my husband. It was almost time for his commute home, and I wanted him to know he might have to park in the school parking lot, and walk home from there. Then I began to ponder if I should walk with the kids over to the school myself.
Then, as quickly as the water had risen, it slowly began to recede. Boy, was I a happy camper.
However, I began to wonder about the creek. Was flooding something I was going to have to worry about every time we had a super-duper rainfall? At the time we were only renters, and the creek was not on our property and we didn't quite know what to do.
So began my first PRIVATE WORKS project. I cleared the blackberry brambles, fallen branches and debris from the back wall of the house to the creek. That way, and for the first time I could see what I was dealing with. Between my husband and I we were able to keep, our section of the creek clear and open.
We eventually bought the house. A couple of years later we bought the land behind ours. And that began my second PRIVATE WORKS project. It took a whole summer, but I dragged brambles out of trees that were fifty plus feet high, sawed branches, saved native plants and marveled at the tiny red salamanders I found hiding under decaying branches. It was hard, tedious, sweaty, wound causing, skin breaking work.
But, once the land was clear, and the creek running through it was 'kind of' ours, Hubby deepened and widened it. We were bound and determined that if the water rose it would not be because we had neglected our duty to keep the waters flowing freely.
For as long as we owned the property the waters would rise as high as the banks, but thankfully it never over flowed again. I eventually sold that property, and once more the creek was unattended, it became overgrown with brambles and ivy. It was a mess, but since it was no longer my responsibility all I could do was worry. Should I buy some sand, make some permanent sandbags I could drag around if I needed them?
Last year, the local 'powers that be' made the owners of the property 'clear the ivy' from the property, turns out English Ivy is not a native plant. At least the creek is open again and running free. What a relief.
Do I worry that we will have flooding? Sure. When you live this close to a natural waterway, that is always an option. But does it scare me away? No. Whatever will be will be.
Then again...it is going to rain, and rain, and rain. Where the heck did I leave my waders?
Hunker down folks, and grab something that floats.
When we first moved here, back in the early '70's, we knew there was a creek in our back yard and we were good with that, the sound of flowing water was relaxing and serene and added to the charm of the neighborhood. There were frogs, and quail, and beautiful shimmering dragon flies. We loved it.
Before we learned about the marsh that had been filled in so that our house could be built we had our first flood. The water rose up as high as the top of our front stoop step. The kids were in a frenzy, I tried to stay calm, all the while I'm wondering what the heck I should be doing. I admit I was scared.
First thing I did was call my husband. It was almost time for his commute home, and I wanted him to know he might have to park in the school parking lot, and walk home from there. Then I began to ponder if I should walk with the kids over to the school myself.
Then, as quickly as the water had risen, it slowly began to recede. Boy, was I a happy camper.
However, I began to wonder about the creek. Was flooding something I was going to have to worry about every time we had a super-duper rainfall? At the time we were only renters, and the creek was not on our property and we didn't quite know what to do.
So began my first PRIVATE WORKS project. I cleared the blackberry brambles, fallen branches and debris from the back wall of the house to the creek. That way, and for the first time I could see what I was dealing with. Between my husband and I we were able to keep, our section of the creek clear and open.
We eventually bought the house. A couple of years later we bought the land behind ours. And that began my second PRIVATE WORKS project. It took a whole summer, but I dragged brambles out of trees that were fifty plus feet high, sawed branches, saved native plants and marveled at the tiny red salamanders I found hiding under decaying branches. It was hard, tedious, sweaty, wound causing, skin breaking work.
But, once the land was clear, and the creek running through it was 'kind of' ours, Hubby deepened and widened it. We were bound and determined that if the water rose it would not be because we had neglected our duty to keep the waters flowing freely.
For as long as we owned the property the waters would rise as high as the banks, but thankfully it never over flowed again. I eventually sold that property, and once more the creek was unattended, it became overgrown with brambles and ivy. It was a mess, but since it was no longer my responsibility all I could do was worry. Should I buy some sand, make some permanent sandbags I could drag around if I needed them?
Last year, the local 'powers that be' made the owners of the property 'clear the ivy' from the property, turns out English Ivy is not a native plant. At least the creek is open again and running free. What a relief.
Do I worry that we will have flooding? Sure. When you live this close to a natural waterway, that is always an option. But does it scare me away? No. Whatever will be will be.
Then again...it is going to rain, and rain, and rain. Where the heck did I leave my waders?
Friday, February 14, 2014
So, it's Valentine's Day
I have to confess, I don't get too excited over Valentine's day. Never cared for it much.
I remember when we were in grade school and we would buy those packets of valentines cards to hand out to classmates. I hated that, not because I didn't want to give one to each of them, but because I worried that I would get one back. You see, in those days you were not required to make sure each kid got one, (although my mom made sure we had one for each child). We knew the 'popular kids' would be getting bunches, while the rest of us...well...not so much. It was a very unsettling occasion.
Yes, there were always some in my box, but not always from the most popular. And, since each card was signed, you knew exactly where you stood with your classmates.
I always thought it was a mean, unkind way to celebrate a day that was supposed to revolve around love.
My hometown was by no means affluent, we were miners, and steel workers. Some families lived on the constant edge of poor, and handing out valentines was a thing some kids wished they could do. As a result, I was thankful my mom always made sure each of us had a card to hand out to everybody, because if she had not some of the kids in my class would not have had a single card in their boxes. Imagine how you would have felt?
By the time my kids were handing out valentines, schools had changed the rules,
you had to have a card for every child, and a list was sent home with the names of everybody in the class, so you knew how many packets of cards to buy. There was no discrimination allowed. There would be a little party with cookies and such, and the kids would come home with their little pile of cards. I think perhaps they were looked at once or twice, but mostly they were in the trash by the end of the week. I've often wondered about this ritual...what the heck is really the point?
Anyway, as I grew older, I could see the Valentine's Day holiday hype was meant for retailers who raked in the big bucks selling those little packets of cards, big boxes of chocolates, and dozens of red roses (that died in a week and went to the trash). Oh, and worst of all were those exciting expectations you might get a diamond engagement ring...maybe...but mostly maybe not...while you are in some expensive restaurant dining on steak and lobster. Which by the way, leaves a lot of girlfriends bewildered and dejected. mostly because of the 'maybe not'. Let's face this is a mean, sad, perplexing, dumbfounding, baffling day.
As a result, this is the tale I tell. Don't wait for a holiday to tell someone you care. If you want them to know that you love them, send them flowers for 'just because', or a card to say "hello, I hope you're well", or phone them because you want to hear their voice.
Holidays are rare, the people in your life deserve to know day by day they are valued, thought of, and cared about. And, if you're busy and time flies by, simply lift your voice and pray...Please, Lord, be with my loved ones today.
I remember when we were in grade school and we would buy those packets of valentines cards to hand out to classmates. I hated that, not because I didn't want to give one to each of them, but because I worried that I would get one back. You see, in those days you were not required to make sure each kid got one, (although my mom made sure we had one for each child). We knew the 'popular kids' would be getting bunches, while the rest of us...well...not so much. It was a very unsettling occasion.
Yes, there were always some in my box, but not always from the most popular. And, since each card was signed, you knew exactly where you stood with your classmates.
I always thought it was a mean, unkind way to celebrate a day that was supposed to revolve around love.
My hometown was by no means affluent, we were miners, and steel workers. Some families lived on the constant edge of poor, and handing out valentines was a thing some kids wished they could do. As a result, I was thankful my mom always made sure each of us had a card to hand out to everybody, because if she had not some of the kids in my class would not have had a single card in their boxes. Imagine how you would have felt?
By the time my kids were handing out valentines, schools had changed the rules,
you had to have a card for every child, and a list was sent home with the names of everybody in the class, so you knew how many packets of cards to buy. There was no discrimination allowed. There would be a little party with cookies and such, and the kids would come home with their little pile of cards. I think perhaps they were looked at once or twice, but mostly they were in the trash by the end of the week. I've often wondered about this ritual...what the heck is really the point?
Anyway, as I grew older, I could see the Valentine's Day holiday hype was meant for retailers who raked in the big bucks selling those little packets of cards, big boxes of chocolates, and dozens of red roses (that died in a week and went to the trash). Oh, and worst of all were those exciting expectations you might get a diamond engagement ring...maybe...but mostly maybe not...while you are in some expensive restaurant dining on steak and lobster. Which by the way, leaves a lot of girlfriends bewildered and dejected. mostly because of the 'maybe not'. Let's face this is a mean, sad, perplexing, dumbfounding, baffling day.
As a result, this is the tale I tell. Don't wait for a holiday to tell someone you care. If you want them to know that you love them, send them flowers for 'just because', or a card to say "hello, I hope you're well", or phone them because you want to hear their voice.
Holidays are rare, the people in your life deserve to know day by day they are valued, thought of, and cared about. And, if you're busy and time flies by, simply lift your voice and pray...Please, Lord, be with my loved ones today.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Frankly, Miss Scarlett, "I didn't give a damn".
Normally when we have a snow storm I can't wait to grab my wonderful snow shovel and set to work. This time, the shovel stayed in the garage through the whole ordeal. On the first day the mailman did not appear felt I had no reason to go out...so I didn't.
Now I know my husband was not pleased with me over my decision. He worked his whole life in the insurance business and realized early on that people are 'sue happy' and worried constantly that we might someday be sued for libel, so worked diligently to keep our place as safe as possible not just for ourselves but others, mostly others. As a result, as soon as flakes began to fall it was my job to make sure there was always a clear, safe, un-snowed path from our curb to the front door.
Oh, don't be upset, I love shoveling snow, and hubby bought me the most wonderful lightweight snow shovel ever. It worked like a snow plow, and I could clear a path in 'lickity brindle' time. The dogs always loved these snow excursions, too.
This time, well...frankly, Rett Butler and I 'didn't give a damn'. I simply let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. I stood or sat by the bay window and watched the stuff pile up. It was beautiful. Until it got so deep my puppy could no longer wade through it to 'do his duty'. I did then clear the tiny patio off my sliding door as a convenience for him. He was happy, so was I.
Then, we waited, and waited, and waited for the flakes to stop falling. Days later they did. By then over ten inches blanketed my property. I was so glad I didn't shovel, because if I had, along that path the snow would have stacked up to 20 inches. Do you have any idea how long it would take for 20 inches of snow to melt? Let me tell you, it is a l-o-o-o--g time. It gets ugly, grey, black with hints of yellow here and there...if you get my drift.
So, this morning most of the snow is gone. There's a bit here and there where the wind gusts formed drifts, but it melted evenly for the most part, and my walks, driveway and most of the lawn are back to normal. However, looking around my neighborhood I do see piles of icky snow from left-over snow men, and clumps where people had finally dug their vehicles out.
Let me just say I'm so glad I didn't shovel....sorry honey, I just didn't give a damn.
Now I know my husband was not pleased with me over my decision. He worked his whole life in the insurance business and realized early on that people are 'sue happy' and worried constantly that we might someday be sued for libel, so worked diligently to keep our place as safe as possible not just for ourselves but others, mostly others. As a result, as soon as flakes began to fall it was my job to make sure there was always a clear, safe, un-snowed path from our curb to the front door.
Oh, don't be upset, I love shoveling snow, and hubby bought me the most wonderful lightweight snow shovel ever. It worked like a snow plow, and I could clear a path in 'lickity brindle' time. The dogs always loved these snow excursions, too.
This time, well...frankly, Rett Butler and I 'didn't give a damn'. I simply let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. I stood or sat by the bay window and watched the stuff pile up. It was beautiful. Until it got so deep my puppy could no longer wade through it to 'do his duty'. I did then clear the tiny patio off my sliding door as a convenience for him. He was happy, so was I.
Then, we waited, and waited, and waited for the flakes to stop falling. Days later they did. By then over ten inches blanketed my property. I was so glad I didn't shovel, because if I had, along that path the snow would have stacked up to 20 inches. Do you have any idea how long it would take for 20 inches of snow to melt? Let me tell you, it is a l-o-o-o--g time. It gets ugly, grey, black with hints of yellow here and there...if you get my drift.
So, this morning most of the snow is gone. There's a bit here and there where the wind gusts formed drifts, but it melted evenly for the most part, and my walks, driveway and most of the lawn are back to normal. However, looking around my neighborhood I do see piles of icky snow from left-over snow men, and clumps where people had finally dug their vehicles out.
Let me just say I'm so glad I didn't shovel....sorry honey, I just didn't give a damn.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Dearie, me.
When I woke up this morning I though sure it was Wednesday...I hate when that happens, because before all the fog has left my brain, the first thing I do is try to remember what day yesterday was, so I know what today is. I kind of go through the repertoire of that day's activities. Like, Monday is trash day. Did I put the trash out? Or, What TV show did I watch last nigh...oh yeah, that show is on Monday Night.
You know, that kind of thing. Since the snow storm, the days have all been the same.
We are pretty much house bound, and one day has been a duplicate of the previous one. Hence, my confusion this morning.
I yanked open the drapes hoping I would see ground, soggy as it might be. Nope, same old, same old, tired, sickly looking white stuff everywhere. Yuck! Oh, it's shrunk quite a bit, but it's still to deep, (and slippery) now for Zorro to venture into it. All the while I'm thinking, "What the heck day is this." Its got to be Wednesday.
I pull open the living room drapes, there's my trash bin at the curb. Oh, it must be Monday. No...that's not right. Didn't I get a call from the trash company saying something about no pick-up. Ahhhhhhhhh. What's my can doing at the curb? Oh, I remember putting it there yesterday afternoon. But yesterday was not Sunday...or, was it.
Dang!
Don't panic old woman. You'll figure this out. And, of course I do. It's Tuesday. There were two calls from the trash company, one a couple of days ago telling us that our recycle drivers were going to pick up the slack for the folks who missed their pick up day on Friday, and then a call yesterday afternoon saying they would pick up our neighborhood today. And, that they were very, very sorry for any inconvenience they might have caused us. Little do they know.
You should have seen me trying to get my can to the curb yesterday afternoon. Dragging it through, inches and inches of snow. Especially since my main concern was trying to stay on my feet. Finally, after much ado and trash can wobbling I achieved my objective. I kind of ground it down through the snow so that it would not lose its balance and topple over, spill its continence into the street making a meal for the local coyotes.
Then, I remembered we'd not had mail since Thursday, and the good ole' mailman eventually appeared at my box. Another sign yesterday was Monday...after all when the most excitement you have is the trip to your box for an arm load of catalogs...
you tend to remember how many days you did NOT make the trip. I could tell the guy did not have his heart in his job yesterday because I got two electric bills. Mine and my neighbor's. As I was handing her the bill I told her I was a generous person, but it was winter, and she'd have to pay her own. We both had a good laugh over that.
So, I finally have it clear in my mind that yesterday was Monday, today IS Tuesday, and everything is copasetic.
I guess it doesn't matter the name of the day of the week, we only need to know that, and to quote Craig Ferguson... "Tomorrow just your future yesterday."
You know, that kind of thing. Since the snow storm, the days have all been the same.
We are pretty much house bound, and one day has been a duplicate of the previous one. Hence, my confusion this morning.
I yanked open the drapes hoping I would see ground, soggy as it might be. Nope, same old, same old, tired, sickly looking white stuff everywhere. Yuck! Oh, it's shrunk quite a bit, but it's still to deep, (and slippery) now for Zorro to venture into it. All the while I'm thinking, "What the heck day is this." Its got to be Wednesday.
I pull open the living room drapes, there's my trash bin at the curb. Oh, it must be Monday. No...that's not right. Didn't I get a call from the trash company saying something about no pick-up. Ahhhhhhhhh. What's my can doing at the curb? Oh, I remember putting it there yesterday afternoon. But yesterday was not Sunday...or, was it.
Dang!
Don't panic old woman. You'll figure this out. And, of course I do. It's Tuesday. There were two calls from the trash company, one a couple of days ago telling us that our recycle drivers were going to pick up the slack for the folks who missed their pick up day on Friday, and then a call yesterday afternoon saying they would pick up our neighborhood today. And, that they were very, very sorry for any inconvenience they might have caused us. Little do they know.
You should have seen me trying to get my can to the curb yesterday afternoon. Dragging it through, inches and inches of snow. Especially since my main concern was trying to stay on my feet. Finally, after much ado and trash can wobbling I achieved my objective. I kind of ground it down through the snow so that it would not lose its balance and topple over, spill its continence into the street making a meal for the local coyotes.
Then, I remembered we'd not had mail since Thursday, and the good ole' mailman eventually appeared at my box. Another sign yesterday was Monday...after all when the most excitement you have is the trip to your box for an arm load of catalogs...
you tend to remember how many days you did NOT make the trip. I could tell the guy did not have his heart in his job yesterday because I got two electric bills. Mine and my neighbor's. As I was handing her the bill I told her I was a generous person, but it was winter, and she'd have to pay her own. We both had a good laugh over that.
So, I finally have it clear in my mind that yesterday was Monday, today IS Tuesday, and everything is copasetic.
I guess it doesn't matter the name of the day of the week, we only need to know that, and to quote Craig Ferguson... "Tomorrow just your future yesterday."
Monday, February 10, 2014
What would you do?
I open my eyes.
There's Frankie sitting on the edge of the bed.
Me: "Don't DO that! Have you any idea how unsettling it is to find somebody sitting on a person's bed while that person is still sleeping in it?"
Frankie's brow is deeply furrowed, I know she wants to wax philosophic. It's waaay to early for one of these conversations plus I don't want to. I try to distract her in a not so pleasant voice.
Me: "Frankie, go away. Make coffee. Feed Zorro, feed CC. Turn on the heat."
I throw the covers over my head.
It's too late. Here is comes.
Frankie: "What would you do, just for the fun of it?"
I pretend I'm asleep and didn't hear her. Shoot, it's too late. My mind is already conjuring up scenarios. Dang it!
I slowly inch the covers off my face.
Me: "How much money do I have?"
Frankie: (In her not so pleasant voice) "This has nothing to do with money. If you could, what would you do just for the fun of it. Geeze, why do you always over think everything, and why does it always involve money."
Me: "Because, wealth has everything to do with everything. The more money I have, the better 'thing' I can do just for the fun of it."
By now Frankie is quite disgusted with me.
Frankie: "Know what I'd do? I'd pretend. I would pretend the 'bestest' stuff ever."
She pauses. I know her imagination is racing along at seventy-five miles an hour. At least! She gets up and walks over to the bedroom window, dreamy look on her face.
Frankie: "I'd pretend it's August, insects are making buzzing, chirping sounds. It's hot."
She turns, looks at me to see if I'm falling into her trance and continues.
Frankie: "But, not too hot. I'd throw a blanket across the lawn in a sunny spot and lie down. Puffy white clouds are meandering across the sky."
Frankie returns to the bed. "Look", she says, pointing a finger toward the window. "There's a rabbit."
"There's mushroom."
"There's a silhouette of Alfred Hitchcock." She laughs, and falls back on top of the blankets. Frankie rolls over onto her side, resting her head on her hand. "You make everything so...so...complicated."
She's right. I do. Where my mind went to a private jet and a quick trip to Paris, hers went to something simple and sweet. There's a lot of silence in the room.
Me: "Okay! I've got one!" Same August afternoon, only, I'd go to the garage and grab a big piece of cardboard. Lock up the house and head for the middle school, where the hills in back have browned. They are perfect for cardboard sliding. Oh, it's a bumpy, bumpy ride, teeth jarring. Still I'd make the trip often enough to tire myself out. Yep, I'd do that just for the fun of it."
Frankie is delighted I got into the swing of this.
"I've got one!" She says.
By now I'm out of bed and we're walking down the hall toward the kitchen.
"I'd go to the ice cream store and get myself a cone in every single flavor they have."
Me: "I'd feed the birds."
Frankie: "I'd run through the sprinkles."
Me: "I'd have a whipped cream pie fight."
...................
What would you do just for the fun of it?
There's Frankie sitting on the edge of the bed.
Me: "Don't DO that! Have you any idea how unsettling it is to find somebody sitting on a person's bed while that person is still sleeping in it?"
Frankie's brow is deeply furrowed, I know she wants to wax philosophic. It's waaay to early for one of these conversations plus I don't want to. I try to distract her in a not so pleasant voice.
Me: "Frankie, go away. Make coffee. Feed Zorro, feed CC. Turn on the heat."
I throw the covers over my head.
It's too late. Here is comes.
Frankie: "What would you do, just for the fun of it?"
I pretend I'm asleep and didn't hear her. Shoot, it's too late. My mind is already conjuring up scenarios. Dang it!
I slowly inch the covers off my face.
Me: "How much money do I have?"
Frankie: (In her not so pleasant voice) "This has nothing to do with money. If you could, what would you do just for the fun of it. Geeze, why do you always over think everything, and why does it always involve money."
Me: "Because, wealth has everything to do with everything. The more money I have, the better 'thing' I can do just for the fun of it."
By now Frankie is quite disgusted with me.
Frankie: "Know what I'd do? I'd pretend. I would pretend the 'bestest' stuff ever."
She pauses. I know her imagination is racing along at seventy-five miles an hour. At least! She gets up and walks over to the bedroom window, dreamy look on her face.
Frankie: "I'd pretend it's August, insects are making buzzing, chirping sounds. It's hot."
She turns, looks at me to see if I'm falling into her trance and continues.
Frankie: "But, not too hot. I'd throw a blanket across the lawn in a sunny spot and lie down. Puffy white clouds are meandering across the sky."
Frankie returns to the bed. "Look", she says, pointing a finger toward the window. "There's a rabbit."
"There's mushroom."
"There's a silhouette of Alfred Hitchcock." She laughs, and falls back on top of the blankets. Frankie rolls over onto her side, resting her head on her hand. "You make everything so...so...complicated."
She's right. I do. Where my mind went to a private jet and a quick trip to Paris, hers went to something simple and sweet. There's a lot of silence in the room.
Me: "Okay! I've got one!" Same August afternoon, only, I'd go to the garage and grab a big piece of cardboard. Lock up the house and head for the middle school, where the hills in back have browned. They are perfect for cardboard sliding. Oh, it's a bumpy, bumpy ride, teeth jarring. Still I'd make the trip often enough to tire myself out. Yep, I'd do that just for the fun of it."
Frankie is delighted I got into the swing of this.
"I've got one!" She says.
By now I'm out of bed and we're walking down the hall toward the kitchen.
"I'd go to the ice cream store and get myself a cone in every single flavor they have."
Me: "I'd feed the birds."
Frankie: "I'd run through the sprinkles."
Me: "I'd have a whipped cream pie fight."
...................
What would you do just for the fun of it?
Friday, February 7, 2014
...Oh, the weather....
I'm overcome with giggles today, and I'm not sure why.
Maybe it's because of the snow.
All I know is I'm finding things ridiculously funny.
Take Zorro for instance. All the dogs I've had, and there have been plenty, have loved romping in the snow, and if they had long fur would come back into the house covered in tiny balls of the cold, white stuff. Not so Zorro. Last night I acted all excited about going 'potty' before going to bed. He bought it, up to the door jam, where he came to a screeching halt. The snow stopped a mini-micro below the point I could push the door open.
He stared out. I coaxed.
He eventually, reluctantly, gave a bunny hop out onto the stoop, and went to the edge. He hesitated again, I don't think he knew where the step was. Again I offered encouragement telling him to hurry up, "the quicker you go, the quicker you can come back in". The snow was just about up to his back leg knees.
Boy, did he move fast. (I don't know what I'm going to do if we have more snow, and the remaining tips of plants disappear and there is nothing left to lift his leg on.)
This morning's outing was even more quick...I tell you, my dog hates the snow.
Then of course there's my neighbors 'chicken fence'. Giggle, giggle. Remember when it went up last summer and I stated it would not last the year? Well, things are not looking good. The east wind knocked it around pretty badly yesterday. It is listing southward, and the weight of the snow on it isn't helping. As I mentioned when it went up my neighbor simply used 'craft weight' wire to anchor his fence to my vinyl picket one, and at the time I thought he did a pretty good job with that. Giggle, giggle...not so much!
Now it's down to which will last longer...the chickens or the fence? Two of the chickens have already disappeared. And the fence...well...it's not looking good. Giggle, giggle, giggle.
Finally, I have to giggle at my Edukated Metrolgists. They are puffed up like peacocks this morning...oh, my word!!!!!!! Yesterday, they were right...spot on right. They said the snow would start at 11 AM, and it did. As a result, today, they are sooo confident they are forecasting this afternoon's holocaust is going to happen (around) two, and that there will be two to four inches of new snow in the metro area. See them strut! Strut, strut, strut.
Oh, and, my local news is mostly storm related. Here's the thing. Apparently I'm not the only one who questions the experts in weather related things. Otherwise, people would listen to the news anchors and weather folks and STAY HOME, OFF THE STREETS, DRINK HOT CHOCOLATE, AND WATCH THE NEWS. But, do folks listen? Noooo....instead they are clogging roads, fender bending into other vehicles, and chaining up right in the middle of streets....(seriously, I saw this incident yesterday on the news). (Apparently it takes about 30 minutes to chain up an eighteen wheeler.)
I've got my TV on, and just got a new update...now we can expect two to FIVE inches of new snow today.
I admit, if the Edukated Metrolgists get it right today I will really be impressed and I might just stop making fun of them.
At any rate, I'm having myself a jolly good time this morning, ( I believe, I believe...giggle, giggle, giggle) Seriously! See! I'm staying home, off the streets, drinking chocolate flavored coffee and watching the news.
"....Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, and since I've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow."
Giggle, giggle, giggle......
......
......
......
giggle.
Maybe it's because of the snow.
All I know is I'm finding things ridiculously funny.
Take Zorro for instance. All the dogs I've had, and there have been plenty, have loved romping in the snow, and if they had long fur would come back into the house covered in tiny balls of the cold, white stuff. Not so Zorro. Last night I acted all excited about going 'potty' before going to bed. He bought it, up to the door jam, where he came to a screeching halt. The snow stopped a mini-micro below the point I could push the door open.
He stared out. I coaxed.
He eventually, reluctantly, gave a bunny hop out onto the stoop, and went to the edge. He hesitated again, I don't think he knew where the step was. Again I offered encouragement telling him to hurry up, "the quicker you go, the quicker you can come back in". The snow was just about up to his back leg knees.
Boy, did he move fast. (I don't know what I'm going to do if we have more snow, and the remaining tips of plants disappear and there is nothing left to lift his leg on.)
This morning's outing was even more quick...I tell you, my dog hates the snow.
Then of course there's my neighbors 'chicken fence'. Giggle, giggle. Remember when it went up last summer and I stated it would not last the year? Well, things are not looking good. The east wind knocked it around pretty badly yesterday. It is listing southward, and the weight of the snow on it isn't helping. As I mentioned when it went up my neighbor simply used 'craft weight' wire to anchor his fence to my vinyl picket one, and at the time I thought he did a pretty good job with that. Giggle, giggle...not so much!
Now it's down to which will last longer...the chickens or the fence? Two of the chickens have already disappeared. And the fence...well...it's not looking good. Giggle, giggle, giggle.
Finally, I have to giggle at my Edukated Metrolgists. They are puffed up like peacocks this morning...oh, my word!!!!!!! Yesterday, they were right...spot on right. They said the snow would start at 11 AM, and it did. As a result, today, they are sooo confident they are forecasting this afternoon's holocaust is going to happen (around) two, and that there will be two to four inches of new snow in the metro area. See them strut! Strut, strut, strut.
Oh, and, my local news is mostly storm related. Here's the thing. Apparently I'm not the only one who questions the experts in weather related things. Otherwise, people would listen to the news anchors and weather folks and STAY HOME, OFF THE STREETS, DRINK HOT CHOCOLATE, AND WATCH THE NEWS. But, do folks listen? Noooo....instead they are clogging roads, fender bending into other vehicles, and chaining up right in the middle of streets....(seriously, I saw this incident yesterday on the news). (Apparently it takes about 30 minutes to chain up an eighteen wheeler.)
I've got my TV on, and just got a new update...now we can expect two to FIVE inches of new snow today.
I admit, if the Edukated Metrolgists get it right today I will really be impressed and I might just stop making fun of them.
At any rate, I'm having myself a jolly good time this morning, ( I believe, I believe...giggle, giggle, giggle) Seriously! See! I'm staying home, off the streets, drinking chocolate flavored coffee and watching the news.
"....Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, and since I've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow."
Giggle, giggle, giggle......
......
......
......
giggle.
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Bits and pieces
1. I never should have put Bobby outside.
2. Apparently there is no such word as chuchle, although I have used it all my life. The meaning is 'to mix or shake things up'.
3. I've been biding my time, waiting to tell my gardener I did not want him to remove the moss from my back yard. It is very pretty. Yesterday, before I realized what he was doing he had removed half of it from my patio. Seriously...I'm so mad at myself I could spit.
4. One of my favorite shows, 'Phych' is being canceled. I will miss Shawn and Gus.
5. I've discovered Downton Abbey.
6. Bean soup is a wonderful companion to home made bread.
7. Manichewitz Concord Grape Wine and Lemon Lime Seltzer makes a pretty good mixed drink.
8. I wonder what Black Butte Porter would taste like if warmed in my microwave.
9. I'm at that point...should I cut my hair really, really short and go grey again?
10. What if Spring never comes.
11. I wish I had hot dogs and buns
12. Do I really have to play the lottery to win it?
Such are the bits and pieces bouncing round my empty head this morning. They sound exactly like a Ping-Pong Ball ricocheting off the sides of my skull.
2. Apparently there is no such word as chuchle, although I have used it all my life. The meaning is 'to mix or shake things up'.
3. I've been biding my time, waiting to tell my gardener I did not want him to remove the moss from my back yard. It is very pretty. Yesterday, before I realized what he was doing he had removed half of it from my patio. Seriously...I'm so mad at myself I could spit.
4. One of my favorite shows, 'Phych' is being canceled. I will miss Shawn and Gus.
5. I've discovered Downton Abbey.
6. Bean soup is a wonderful companion to home made bread.
7. Manichewitz Concord Grape Wine and Lemon Lime Seltzer makes a pretty good mixed drink.
8. I wonder what Black Butte Porter would taste like if warmed in my microwave.
9. I'm at that point...should I cut my hair really, really short and go grey again?
10. What if Spring never comes.
11. I wish I had hot dogs and buns
12. Do I really have to play the lottery to win it?
Such are the bits and pieces bouncing round my empty head this morning. They sound exactly like a Ping-Pong Ball ricocheting off the sides of my skull.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
It's really no secret
Last night I was in bed just in time to watch The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. His first guest was Matthew Mcconaughey. While they were talking Matthew mentioned the first time he was on the show how nice Jay was when he stopped by the Green Room before the show started asking if Matthew was nervous. Apparently Matthew responded that he was, but that Jay said to him "Just want to be here."
What a simple thing to say, but how much that must have meant to Matthew, of course he wanted to be there, anybody starting out in the entertainment business wanted to be there...with Jay Leno...on the tonight show.
And, with that simple sentence, I discovered the real secret of life. Just want to be here.
As we travel this sometimes dusty, dreary road, it is not always easy. Over time we have to face ugly things. Illness, divorce, death, I don't think anybody ever said or guaranteed life was going to be pretty and that there would not be uphill struggles.
Life holds inconvenient moments and things we don't want to do. Sometimes it's as simple a thing as getting out of bed in the morning, being stuck in an airport for a couple of days because of canceled flights, or having to face a judge.
Certainly there are places we don't want to be. Jail, for instance. Or a hospital emergency ward, or along the side of a road with a flat tire or no gasoline with no repair service or gas station in sight.
Often these bumps in our life's road are unavoidable, but necessary for our growth, teaching us patience, prudence, charity, kindness, understanding, humility, and love.
We may not particularly like the taste of our 'just desserts', but they are valuable nonetheless.
Sometimes we make what we want our secret of life to be, way more difficult than it need be. I think as long as we learn from our trials and tribulations, our way through life will be crystal clear, allowing us to become teachers for our children, grandchildren and beyond. Our life is the example, the secret...and all we need to do is JUST WANT TO BE HERE.
What a simple thing to say, but how much that must have meant to Matthew, of course he wanted to be there, anybody starting out in the entertainment business wanted to be there...with Jay Leno...on the tonight show.
And, with that simple sentence, I discovered the real secret of life. Just want to be here.
As we travel this sometimes dusty, dreary road, it is not always easy. Over time we have to face ugly things. Illness, divorce, death, I don't think anybody ever said or guaranteed life was going to be pretty and that there would not be uphill struggles.
Life holds inconvenient moments and things we don't want to do. Sometimes it's as simple a thing as getting out of bed in the morning, being stuck in an airport for a couple of days because of canceled flights, or having to face a judge.
Certainly there are places we don't want to be. Jail, for instance. Or a hospital emergency ward, or along the side of a road with a flat tire or no gasoline with no repair service or gas station in sight.
Often these bumps in our life's road are unavoidable, but necessary for our growth, teaching us patience, prudence, charity, kindness, understanding, humility, and love.
We may not particularly like the taste of our 'just desserts', but they are valuable nonetheless.
Sometimes we make what we want our secret of life to be, way more difficult than it need be. I think as long as we learn from our trials and tribulations, our way through life will be crystal clear, allowing us to become teachers for our children, grandchildren and beyond. Our life is the example, the secret...and all we need to do is JUST WANT TO BE HERE.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Oh, it's a long, long time.
We had some snow flurries today...some as we were coming out of the store after shopping, and some after I arrived home and was putting my groceries away. Believe me they were brief. Less than a minute or so. I was hoping the groundhog and local hedgehog would not see their shadows, and spring would arrive with robins, daffodils and pretty, delicate purple crocus.
Guess that's not going to happen...at least for six weeks. (Insert sighing here.)
I heard the low temperatures are going to plunge back into the teens. I wish now I had not put Bobby outside. I actually looked for my Shield Bug yesterday. Of course that was wasted time. I've no idea where the poor thing might be. I just hope it somehow survives the teen temperatures we are supposed to get over the next several days.
Oh, and the East Wind is supposed to be blustering as well. Dang it.
On the up side I'm pleased to report it is staying light longer as the days go by. I've noticed it is still quite light after 5:30 now. Go slowly, please because I want to enjoy this process leading up to the longest daylight day of the year come June.
All I really want at the moment is some warm. I want that day to come that I can open my sliding door, and sit in the door frame and drink my morning coffee. I don't care if I have to wear an extra sweater, I just want that day to come.
Well, maybe I want the robins back, too. This morning there were almost a dozen starlings in my front yard looking for grubs. It's the first time since October they've been around. I guess you could say my latest passion is looking for signs that winter is on its way out. It seems sooo much longer from September to April, than April to November.
I guess I'd like to see the forsythias, marsh marigolds and willows bloom, too. But, mostly I want to be warm, deep down to my bones warm. The sun is trying hard, it the darn off the Pacific Artic cold, and dang out of the gorge East Wind that's screwing things up. Get out of here...both of you...now...right now. As you can tell, this time of year patience is not one of my better virtues.
So, I've resorted to counting the days...43 of them to be exact...COME ON SPRING.
Guess that's not going to happen...at least for six weeks. (Insert sighing here.)
I heard the low temperatures are going to plunge back into the teens. I wish now I had not put Bobby outside. I actually looked for my Shield Bug yesterday. Of course that was wasted time. I've no idea where the poor thing might be. I just hope it somehow survives the teen temperatures we are supposed to get over the next several days.
Oh, and the East Wind is supposed to be blustering as well. Dang it.
On the up side I'm pleased to report it is staying light longer as the days go by. I've noticed it is still quite light after 5:30 now. Go slowly, please because I want to enjoy this process leading up to the longest daylight day of the year come June.
All I really want at the moment is some warm. I want that day to come that I can open my sliding door, and sit in the door frame and drink my morning coffee. I don't care if I have to wear an extra sweater, I just want that day to come.
Well, maybe I want the robins back, too. This morning there were almost a dozen starlings in my front yard looking for grubs. It's the first time since October they've been around. I guess you could say my latest passion is looking for signs that winter is on its way out. It seems sooo much longer from September to April, than April to November.
I guess I'd like to see the forsythias, marsh marigolds and willows bloom, too. But, mostly I want to be warm, deep down to my bones warm. The sun is trying hard, it the darn off the Pacific Artic cold, and dang out of the gorge East Wind that's screwing things up. Get out of here...both of you...now...right now. As you can tell, this time of year patience is not one of my better virtues.
So, I've resorted to counting the days...43 of them to be exact...COME ON SPRING.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Bibbity, boppity-ing, along, along
So, there I've been, for over a year now, increasing my brain power by playing the unique games on a web site call Lumosity. I have to say I've been enjoying the challenges these games present. Some I've gotten really good at, while some are still presenting obstacles.
I mostly like I'm not competing against anyone but myself. Although there are countless others playing the games as well. The site is broken down into age brackets, I'm in the last 75+years. Occasionally I check back to younger years age brackets, and I'm pleased to report I'm holding my own back as far as the 50 years of age bracket, but lose ground with those younger.
But, that's beside the point. The point is that a year ago in November when I started this program my BPI (Brain Profile Index) was a measly 107, and over the 14 months I've been at it my BPI has grown to 1167. It's been hard work. I went through a period of about a month when I fell back...badly...and I almost quit. Figuring I'd gone as far as my brain power was going to take me.
Stubborn me...I kept at it and slowly I regained the ground I had lost.
New games have been added in all five categories. Speed. Memory. Attention. Flexibility. Problem Solving.
My weakest category is Attention. A lot of these games require quickness, combined with good vision. Since my vision is not terrific, especially the peripheral kind. I have to concentrate very hard, to see what I'm supposed to see, and do it quickly...not a good combination. Let me tell you I can get very frustrated with this.
Still, I keep on truckin'. And, I'm amazed that in all five categories I am over 95% for my age group.
However, a couple of night ago, Lumosity threw me a curve ball. They wanted me to take a test. I knew this test was not going to be like the college courses I've taken on line where I have the lessons to refer to before taking the final. Nooo, this was cold turkey, and I felt that knot in my stomach tighten up. Exactly like it did in high school, when it counted on whether I'd graduate or not. I tell you what, I did not want to take the test.
I stewed about it. I knew I didn't have to take it. But, because I believe in this program, and they are still trying to figure out how our brains work I felt obligated, and duty-minded to take the time to take the test. Buddy, I was really scared. Could this screw up my score standings? Would this test tell me although I thought I was doing well, I wasn't?
Oh, mannnnn!
The test involved all five categories, some were easy, some more difficult, and then there was the last one. It was the kind of test like we used to get on those "Standardized Tests" the state made us take in high school. You know the one I'm talking about the 'what comes next' in a series of things. Uh-oh. My brain turned to mush...seriously...it went down, down, down, dark, dark, dark...a lot like a bowl of chocolate pudding.
I did terribly, awfully, disgustingly, ridiculously horrible. With each wrong answer, a bright red X flashed onto my monitor. After a while I got a bad case of the giggles...I've no idea why...(maybe because I was quite ashamed of myself). It all seemed so silly, I felt like a Sophomore facing my very first "Standardized Test", why did those da-gone tests freak me out so.
Well, I completed the test, and got the command to get my test results. Should I? What the heck.
And there it was, my score. Average ranking for people in my age group was a good solid 100. My over all score....
Are you ready for this....
My score 117. Holy crap. Now I realize this is not a really big deal, but for me it gave me the encouragement I need to keep playing the games, and pushing my brain to its limit.
Plus, after completing the test, I got a message that this was test 1, I can take it over and over again. Whether the additional tests will be the exactly the same as the first one I won't know until I take the second. I think perhaps they will gradually get harder as my determination to improve my grey matter continues. I'll keep you posted.
I have to go now, it's time for my daily visit to Lumosity.
I mostly like I'm not competing against anyone but myself. Although there are countless others playing the games as well. The site is broken down into age brackets, I'm in the last 75+years. Occasionally I check back to younger years age brackets, and I'm pleased to report I'm holding my own back as far as the 50 years of age bracket, but lose ground with those younger.
But, that's beside the point. The point is that a year ago in November when I started this program my BPI (Brain Profile Index) was a measly 107, and over the 14 months I've been at it my BPI has grown to 1167. It's been hard work. I went through a period of about a month when I fell back...badly...and I almost quit. Figuring I'd gone as far as my brain power was going to take me.
Stubborn me...I kept at it and slowly I regained the ground I had lost.
New games have been added in all five categories. Speed. Memory. Attention. Flexibility. Problem Solving.
My weakest category is Attention. A lot of these games require quickness, combined with good vision. Since my vision is not terrific, especially the peripheral kind. I have to concentrate very hard, to see what I'm supposed to see, and do it quickly...not a good combination. Let me tell you I can get very frustrated with this.
Still, I keep on truckin'. And, I'm amazed that in all five categories I am over 95% for my age group.
However, a couple of night ago, Lumosity threw me a curve ball. They wanted me to take a test. I knew this test was not going to be like the college courses I've taken on line where I have the lessons to refer to before taking the final. Nooo, this was cold turkey, and I felt that knot in my stomach tighten up. Exactly like it did in high school, when it counted on whether I'd graduate or not. I tell you what, I did not want to take the test.
I stewed about it. I knew I didn't have to take it. But, because I believe in this program, and they are still trying to figure out how our brains work I felt obligated, and duty-minded to take the time to take the test. Buddy, I was really scared. Could this screw up my score standings? Would this test tell me although I thought I was doing well, I wasn't?
Oh, mannnnn!
The test involved all five categories, some were easy, some more difficult, and then there was the last one. It was the kind of test like we used to get on those "Standardized Tests" the state made us take in high school. You know the one I'm talking about the 'what comes next' in a series of things. Uh-oh. My brain turned to mush...seriously...it went down, down, down, dark, dark, dark...a lot like a bowl of chocolate pudding.
I did terribly, awfully, disgustingly, ridiculously horrible. With each wrong answer, a bright red X flashed onto my monitor. After a while I got a bad case of the giggles...I've no idea why...(maybe because I was quite ashamed of myself). It all seemed so silly, I felt like a Sophomore facing my very first "Standardized Test", why did those da-gone tests freak me out so.
Well, I completed the test, and got the command to get my test results. Should I? What the heck.
And there it was, my score. Average ranking for people in my age group was a good solid 100. My over all score....
Are you ready for this....
My score 117. Holy crap. Now I realize this is not a really big deal, but for me it gave me the encouragement I need to keep playing the games, and pushing my brain to its limit.
Plus, after completing the test, I got a message that this was test 1, I can take it over and over again. Whether the additional tests will be the exactly the same as the first one I won't know until I take the second. I think perhaps they will gradually get harder as my determination to improve my grey matter continues. I'll keep you posted.
I have to go now, it's time for my daily visit to Lumosity.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
My winter house guest
If you recall, yesterday as I finished my blog I mentioned Bobby was slowly meandering across my computer's desk. He/she was moving at a slow pace, and looked good. At least at that moment, I thought he/she did.
Eventually it crawled across my printer, and down onto the typing table next to my computer desk. Then something unusual happened. It sat, and sat, and sat and sat.
I thought this was pretty odd and eventually leaned over and took a really good look at it. It was listing to one side, as though it wanted to fall over on its back. Then it kind of sat down, the way insects do, and like I do when I'm very, very tired.
Bobby made no attempt to crawl away, it either stood and leaned, or sat.
Finally, I said to no one in particular. "I think Bobby's sick."
"Maybe he/she's hungry. I've nothing to feed him/her." Obviously Bobby had come from the sun room, the only room with plants, so apparently nothing in there was helpful. "I don't know what to do."
So, Bobby continued to sit, and sit, and sit. I continued to stare, and stare, and stare.
I was worried.
Quite some time later I gently lifted (between my thumb and forefinger) the Shield Bug from the table. It didn't wiggle its legs the way a bug usually does when captured, but seemed resigned that perhaps he/she was about to be flattened like a pancake.
Such was not the case. I had finally decided the only thing I could do was put Bobby outside. Even though it is still winter, there are things starting to grow, and my thought was perhaps Bobby would be better off outside than in. Still gently restraining him/her I walk to the sliding door, explaining in a soft and gentle voice, that I hoped I was doing the right thing, and although it was still winter, and cold that he/she would somehow survive until spring arrived. With that I placed Bobby on some greenery and bade him/her farewell.
Over the course of the day I thought about looking for Bobby, but the thought I might find him/her belly up where I had left him would have caused me much grief. This morning I don't quite remember exactly where I put him and I hope he crawled away and had him/herself a good healthy meal of watercress, grass, or juicy buds from my rose bushes.
God's speed, Bobby, God's speed.
Eventually it crawled across my printer, and down onto the typing table next to my computer desk. Then something unusual happened. It sat, and sat, and sat and sat.
I thought this was pretty odd and eventually leaned over and took a really good look at it. It was listing to one side, as though it wanted to fall over on its back. Then it kind of sat down, the way insects do, and like I do when I'm very, very tired.
Bobby made no attempt to crawl away, it either stood and leaned, or sat.
Finally, I said to no one in particular. "I think Bobby's sick."
"Maybe he/she's hungry. I've nothing to feed him/her." Obviously Bobby had come from the sun room, the only room with plants, so apparently nothing in there was helpful. "I don't know what to do."
So, Bobby continued to sit, and sit, and sit. I continued to stare, and stare, and stare.
I was worried.
Quite some time later I gently lifted (between my thumb and forefinger) the Shield Bug from the table. It didn't wiggle its legs the way a bug usually does when captured, but seemed resigned that perhaps he/she was about to be flattened like a pancake.
Such was not the case. I had finally decided the only thing I could do was put Bobby outside. Even though it is still winter, there are things starting to grow, and my thought was perhaps Bobby would be better off outside than in. Still gently restraining him/her I walk to the sliding door, explaining in a soft and gentle voice, that I hoped I was doing the right thing, and although it was still winter, and cold that he/she would somehow survive until spring arrived. With that I placed Bobby on some greenery and bade him/her farewell.
Over the course of the day I thought about looking for Bobby, but the thought I might find him/her belly up where I had left him would have caused me much grief. This morning I don't quite remember exactly where I put him and I hope he crawled away and had him/herself a good healthy meal of watercress, grass, or juicy buds from my rose bushes.
God's speed, Bobby, God's speed.
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