Oh, what a beautiful day

I think the song is from the stage play Oklahoma, where the guy sings "Oh what a beautiful morning, oh, what a beautiful day, I've got a beautiful feeling, everything's going my way."

Boy, is it ever a beautiful day.  The sky is so crystal clear, clean and blue I think if I threw a rock at it, it would shatter exactly like an expensive piece of crystal.  Thank goodness I can't do that, what a waste that would be.  There is also a bit of an east wind blowing, and I'm betting it is warmer outside than it is here in my office.  I'm going to open the windows in every room as soon as I get done working.

I know I should work all morning, but spring and summer rush by in such a hurry I don't want to miss it by sitting at my keyboard. Plus, some years the 'good days' are not as plentiful as others and I don't want to waste one single second of time I could be spending outside. So, today's blog is going to be short, very, very short.

I don't care who you are, where you are and what you are doing.  Go outside, for your coffee break, your lunch, your kids, your monotony, your work, whatever...even if it's really not a nice weather day where you are.  Pretend you are with me, go...hang out in a doorway, a breezeway, an overhang, anywhere, simply go outside and breathe, and breathe, and breathe.  It'll be good for your body and good for your soul.

This, that and the other thing

THIS

Well, talk about a surprise.  Last night I was watching The Late, Late Show with Craig Ferguson, and he began the show by telling us he is going to leave the show in December.  What????  The most quirky, non-follow the script, you never know what is going to come out of his mouth Craig Ferguson is leaving The Late, Late Show.  I was shocked.

I was devastated.

I was sad.

He says he is leaving by his own choice, has not been fired, and after ten years he simply feels he need to do something else...even though he does not know exactly what that will be.  And, he asked we not send nasty letters to the network, and not to believe what we hear and see and read in the tabloids and the various medias.

I will be sad to see him and his cohorts go.  If you've never seen the show he has and almost imaginary friend (a skeleton named Geoff) with whom he banters, and a horse named Secretariat, with whom he plays soccer.  There is an imaginary band who is so shy they refuse to come out from behind the red curtain, although occasionally a plastic hand will appear and wave at the audience.  It's a silly, silly show, which makes it so endearing to me.  I love silly.

His guests never know what will be talked about, because as soon as he and the guest sit down, Craig immediately tears up the cheat, crib cards, and they wing it from there.  Oh, it's always been such fun.  I miss him already even though he promises 'quality, first class shows till Christmas' until he leaves.  Yeah, right.

THAT

You all know I ordered groceries last week, when I did I ordered a couple of cans of evaporated milk. Normally this is an item I seldom even think about, much less have on hand.  (Usually this kind of milk is called for in recipes, but since I don't cook, I don't need it.)  Anyway, quite a while back I decided I was hungry for ice cream, and I made some by throwing together reconstituted powdered milk, some fruit, some chopped up cookies, and some fruit flavored pancake syrup.  Believe it or not, it was not bad.  It was kind of icy, rather than creamy, but very tasty, kind of like a sorbet.

Time went by, and I once more got a 'hankering' for ice cream and that's why I ordered the evaporated milk. Having learned the reconstituted powdered milk was so watery, I knew there had to be a better liquid, real, honest to goodness milk.

As a result, last evening, I began collecting the items necessary for ice cream.  For the first, I used lemon flavored, cream-filled cookies, a can of peaches (with syrup) a handful of shredded coconut and a can of milk.  I crumbled and soaked the cookies in the syrup, sliced the peaches into tiny pieces, and mashed them with my potato masher, and then mixed the cookies and peaches together, added the coconut and milk, stirred and put the whole shebang in the freezer.  My second concoction contained chocolate flavored, cream filled cookies, that I mixed with the evaporated milk, and two bananas that I mashed (again with my potato masher).  I threw the bananas in with the milk soaked cookies and continued mashing until the whole think looked like chocolate mashed potatoes.  That concoction went into the freezer, too.

I occasionally checked on my ice cream and gave both containers a good stirring, and by the time I went to bed they had both begun to firm up.  These batches are not nearly as 'icy' as my first attempt at making homemade ice cream.  This morning I stirred the containers again.  This ice cream is looking pretty darn good, AND TASTES DARN GOOD, TOO. Way to go Sandra.  I think I've got two winners.

THE OTHER THING

Now, I hate to end on a disturbing note, but while watching the news last night I got some bad news.  I was told msn.com has a terrible, awful, really yucky bug and should not be used for searching the internet until Microsoft can figure out how to get rid of it.  Shoot, I've been using msn for years after Google Chrome apparently had a bug and my computer hick-upped for quite a while.  Eventually I gave up on Google and went back to the more primitive (in my opinion only) Microsoft.  We had a pretty good relationship after I eventually learned the idiosyncrasies and quirky ways of maneuvering through their system.

After learning about the newest, and most horrible bug that would wipe out my computer, and spread my personal, most private information around the globe I knew it was time to dump msn.com.  So, last night I went back to Google Chrome.  This meant I had to build a whole new favorites list, fish around Google itself, re-establish passwords for every damn site and generally re-learn a whole new look of some sites.  I almost missed Craig Ferguson.

Don't get me wrong.  I would be lost with out the internet.  It is my connection with the world, and I love having the world just a keystroke away.  It's such a marvel.  I've no intention of abandoning this marvelous technology.  I'd have no store, I'd have no blog, I'd have no friends on facebook, I'd never 'get mail'.  It's okay internet, I'll carry on.

And, there you have it, this, that and the other thing.  Life's like a box of chocolates, you just never know what you're "gonna' git".

Uh Oh

I was just checking my news page on the 'net' and see the mid-section of the country is supposed to be having severe storms today, with possible tornadoes.  Now, I'm trying not to write as much about my darling, adorable eaglets this year, and I've been doing pretty good at that.  However, today as I looked at the weather map I have to confess I got a lump in my throat, and a rather sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.  Seems Decorah, Iowa is sitting smack dab in the part of the country that could get some pretty bad storms today.  I confess, I fear there could be a violent thunder storm and/or tornado that could wipe out the strand of cottonwood trees where the Decorah nest sits.

Not long ago they had a night time thunderstorm that was very, v-e-r-y impressive, the lightening strikes made it look like daylight, and the thunder was awful, it rumbled after each strike for a very long, loud time. Mama did her best to keep the babies dry, but they are getting so large it is hard for her to cover them 100%.  I was wishing dad would show up to help.

It is very grey and windy in Iowa today, the nest tree sways pretty darn good every once in a while.  The snow has not been gone all that long, and the trees have only started to bud, so there is not much natural protection for the nest yet.  Since I feel as though I'm part of this magnificent family, I've dressed myself for worry.  Yes, tornado season time, I worry,  Mama and dad are great parents, but there's no way they will be able to save the babies if the tree goes over.  I can only hope the folks who operate the Raptor Resource Project (since they are very close by) get there lickity brindle, and can transport the babies to a safe, secure, warm place. 

I know mama and dad will survive, and will build a new nest, or perhaps return to their original one, and next year start a new family.  In the meantime, from afar, I will continue to watch, hover and worry, worry, worry.

Add this to the list.

Frankie:  "Whaz the madda wiz chew."
Me:  "Stop that!"  She knows I hate when she talks like that.

Frankie is well within my personal space and has grasped my chin in her right hand, thumb on one side, fingers on the other; like a mommy does when her kid has leftover lunch on either side of their mouth.

Her head is bobbing and weaving, in and out, in and out as though she's trying to bring something into focus.  All the while she's turning mine back and forth, back and forth.

I try to escape, but her grasp becomes stronger.  She removes my glasses.

"Hmmmm???"  Her voice is quizzical.

Me:  (Still wiggling.) "Hmmm?  Hmmm, what?" I inquire. By now her grasp is so tight my lips are pursed like a goldfish.
Frankie:  "You have a droopy eye."  With her free hand she takes her forefinger and begins poking and prodding my right eyelid.  She pushes it upward, but as soon as she lets go, my eyelid slides right back into place.

I sigh.  I had been living with the assumption I was the only one who knew or saw my droopy eyelid.  I was shocked it was so noticeable.  DANG IT!  Now I'm depressed.

And, here we go again.  How come nobody ever tells you, when you get old, your eye- lids begin to droop?  I still don't have a lot in the way of 'crows feet' at the corner of my eyes, but my eyelids have fallen...dang near over my eye lashes...which by the way, I don't have many left.  Anyway, my eyelids have not only fallen, they have 'folds', so that by the end of some days (depending on how tired I am) my right eyelid, puffy and saggy, has partially closed the eye. 

I know this is true, because as I brush my teeth at night, I wink that eye in an attempt to make the sag go away, thinking exercising it will help.  Blinking does not work either.  Apparently this is an old person malady.  What's shocking is I really, r-e-a-l-l-y believed this was a secret I could keep to myself.  I was utterly shocked to find that Frankie discovered it. 

She eventually let go of my chin,  I retrieved my glasses and put them back into place.  I'm angry at her and I suspect she's going to tease me about this all day.  Instead, she has sympathy.  Kind of.

Frankie:  "Well," she says, "There's one good thing about this."
Me:  "Yes, and just what might that be?"
Frankie:  "You'll soon be able to save money by not having to buy mascara, eye-liner, and shadow anymore, nobody will be able to see that junk what with all the droop and folds, and stuff."

I've got a gigantic urge to poke her in the eye...maybe both. 

Me:  "Thanks, Frankie.  That helps a lot."
Frankie:  "Hey, we could buy some cucumbers, you could cover your eyes with some nice cool slices every day.  That might help, too."
Me: (Insert grunting.)
Frankie:  "How about School Glue, remember how you told me you used to cover your hand with it, let it dry and make a hand print.  Maybe if you put it on your eyelids, and held them up till the glue dried, they would stay in place all day."
Me:  "Yeah, right."



"Hmmmm?"  (Imagine me thinking.)
?
?
?
?
Me:  "Frankie, where the heck did you put the School Glue?"

So, remember folks, add this to your list of 'things they never tell you'.  You will develop eyelid droop.  It's not pretty, but it is inevitable.  Go look for your School Glue.  Hey, it might work, it   just   might   work.

Edjukated Metrolgists

So, them edjukated metrolgists are at it again.  Boy oh boy, I'm so excited I could jump up, down and all around.  They told me this morning Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday of next week are going to be "like summer".  Yep, she said Tuesday could possibly hit 80 degrees.  She was not confident enough to actually put 80 on her graph, but she was bold enough to put a 79 there.  And, as for clouds those three days there was...not...a...single...one.  Seriously?  Seriously!

Would I joke about a thing like that?

It looks as though I might be able to throw open every single window in my house next week and get rid of the stale winter air I've been breathing for months.  I'm so excited.  It's going to be great.  I might not even work those three days, but hang out (outside) reading and drinking iced coffee.  We might even get to do our Bible study sitting on the park benches...how lovely that would be.  Oh, the joy of it all.

And, that swampy area in my back yard.  It might have the chance to dry up.  No more muddy foot marks when I get back into the house.  I've been keeping up with the weeding between showers, but I suspect the warm temperatures will bring up a whole new batch of them, and I'll be able to stock up on some good natural vitamin D while I set about yanking them out.

Gosh, I can't believe how excited the prospect of being outside is making me.  Come on down sunshine...do your thing.  Oh, maybe I can even have breakfast alfresco on my patio, I have groceries coming tomorrow, and I'll have a supply of sweet treats, or maybe I'll splurge and have bacon and eggs.  Whoooeeeee. 

Now I suppose you think I'm being silly about a little sunshine, and warm temperatures, but when you consider I've not had warm toes since last mid-October, you can perhaps understand how important next week is going to be.

Of course, I do have to deal with those dang edjukated metrolgists and you all know how I feel about them.  The scale of balance is not in their favor when it comes to being right.  If they let me down I might have to spit tacks, scream bloody murder and pull my hair out...(what's left of it). 

You hear me edjukated metrolgists...you let me down and I'm going to be hurting myself...plus, I made a doll that looks like you, and (trust me) I'm going to put a hex on you if you let me down.

Tramp, tramp, tramp...

I guess I didn't have time to post yesterday.  I don't know where the day went.  I can't even, with any accuracy, tell you how I spent the 24 hours. 

Oh wait, I remember...I cleaned my house because I had Bible study yesterday afternoon.  Yesterday was the first day I used my electric vacuum on my new living room carpet.  I've got to tell you I was apprehensive about that.  I was hoping I had it securely anchored to the floor with duct tape, so the vacuum would not suck up the edges and ruin it before one of my creatures had the time to throw up on it.

I'm pleased to say the carpet held, the vacuum did no damage whatsoever, and I was pretty proud of it and myself. 

There has always been that conflict of whether, when cleaning, you dust first and then vacuum, or visa-versa.  I've learned with my 'famous name' vacuum, it doesn't matter, I HAVE to vacuum first, because, my vacuum has such a stream of exhaust air it has been known to blow magnet held papers off the side of my refrigerator, and towels right off the kitchen and bathroom racks.  I'm not kidding.

My dog, Zorro, hates the vacuum, he gets himself into such a state.  He dashes around the house, breathing hard, not knowing where to go to get away from the monster he perceives the vacuum to be.  I'm not sure why he behaves the way he does.  I've never, ever....not once...chased him with it, yet the minute I open the closet door to extract it his reaction is swift, and consistent.  "Le' me outta' here!"

I try to get the job done as quickly as I can.

Then, I've had an ant problem of late...again...this time it was pretty bad, because I had cooked myself some rhubarb sauce the other day, and forgot to turn the burner down on 'simmer'.  And, since I got (I always do) distracted and came back to the kitchen later, the broth from the sauce had boiled over the edge of the pot, down into the drip pan, over the edge of that, and down onto the floor.  Bummer...and what a mess.  I cleaned up the best I could and even pulled out the drawer beneath the oven to make sure I had wiped up all the spill-over.  It looked good. 

Next morning, I came out to feed the dog and there are ants on the counter, the stove top, and especially where the puddle of rhubarb broth had been on the floor.  I was appalled, I cleaned up again.  Next morning, more ants, although not as many.  Then, night before last, I went out to get myself an evening snack and there...marching across my dining area floor is an army of tiny black creatures, tramp, tramp, tramping over to the baseboard of my stove island and disappearing under the baseboard.  DAMN IT.

Grrrrrrrr.  I would have grabbed my ant spray to kill them, except for the fact I had already closed up the house, and I didn't want to breath toxic air all night.  So I grabbed my household cleaner, a combination of water and ammonia, and squirted it at the trail of ants.  To my delight, it did kill them...I scrubbed the floor....again. 

As I toddled off to bed, I thought perhaps I would have to cancel Bible study if I discovered in the morning ants had once more overtaken my kitchen, and I had to fumigate the place with deadly ant spray.

Fortunately, yesterday morning there were just few straggler ants lingering about.  They seem befuddled, not knowing where to go.  I was delighted, they were easy to squash beneath my forefinger.  I'm thinking they must have been hiding out of harms way when I went through my cleaning rampage, and when they emerged, there was no trace of their compradas, the scent of them obliterated.  Suckers!!!!!!!

So, it's no wonder why I couldn't remember what I did yesterday, it was all so...so...foreign.  I'd not cleaned house like that for months, and I was left a little befuddled myself. 

This morning, I'm delighted to report, there was not one single ant to be seen, anywhere.  Oh, I'm sure they are re-gathering in some dark, secluded place, and will be back.  But, next time I'll be ready, cause, I'll be clean.

Letting go, making peace and moving on.

There are times we have had to deal with great disappointments in our lives.  Trust me, some can be difficult to deal with, and holding on to a grudge can be satisfying...up to a point.  Then, time comes, it's just a heavy weight around your neck, I guess like an albatross.   It no longer has a purpose, but you don't want to be the one to 'cave' so to speak.

For a long time I held a grudge.  It was against Birdlady.  Man, the animosity I had for this woman went on for a couple of years.  I don't like using the word hate, so I won't but my dislike for this person was my albatross.  Every time I saw her while I was outside I would make a bee-line to my front door.  Not even wanting to look at a person is pretty bad don't you think?

Plus, since she is the neighborhood Queen, I was never quite sure if (in her mind) she thought I was doing something unlawful to harm, or disturb neighborhood, and turn me in to the authorities (again).  As a result, I steered as clear of her as I could.  But, as I say an albatross around the neck gets pretty heavy, so last year, one morning, I simply said 'hello' to her while she and her husband were out for their morning constitutional.  Suddenly, my albatross was gone.  Whew, it felt super good to have that weight gone.

As a result, the 'hello' grew into short sentences, "How are you?"  "Nice day isn't it?"  And so on.  Then this morning I was out with Zorro at the same time Birdlady and husband were walking home from their daily ritual. 

To my surprise, she said, "Say, I have a question for you."

Really?  (Should I be afraid?  What had I done now?)

I was flabbergasted.  Actually, she had a question about an unpaved street that abuts their property and wanted to know if I knew any history about the street and whether it had ever been vacated.  I didn't.  She said the city wants to pave it, with the homes lining the unpaved section sharing the expense of the paving.  She was appalled, and said their share alone would be in the two hundred thousand dollar range.  I was not surprised.  When our section of street was paved, we too had to bear some of the expense, which we did over the years on our taxes. 

Obviously, things have not changed, but the expense of paving has.  Now, she indicated to me that "...those of 'us' on the street 'we' (meaning 'me' and my neighbors) would also have to share the expense".  Hmmm, well, that's a new wrinkle.  But, since she is the neighborhood Queen, I'm gonna' let her do her thing.  This could take years to work out...I could be dead and gone before it's resolved.  She's not about to give up her albatrosses, I think she enjoys carrying them and this street paving thing is just another necklace.

Anyway, during the years she was my albatross, I refused to share my rhubarb with her, and this morning, I asked her is she would like some, and she said yes.  I gave her several stocks, she said she's going to make jelly.  I hope it turns out to be yummy. 

In the meantime, I'm sure glad I've let go, made peace and moved on.   My heart is light.

one a penny, two a penny

Yesterday I was just finishing 'prissing up', when my phone rang.  It was my next door neighbor telling me she had left 'a little something' for me on my patio table. 

It was a couple of Hot Cross Buns.

Oh, I do so enjoy Hot Cross Buns and I told her so.  Not that I'm a connoisseur or anything like that.  But, a good Hot Cross Bun is...well, there are no words to describe it.  It's all in the taste.  I've had some that are so over-loaded with citron the taste is overwhelming, some are so dry they are difficult to swallow without a good strong mug of coffee to go with them and some are so-so.  There are, of course, some that have been pretty darn good, and when I find some of them, I buy several containers at a time and put them in my freezer for the future.  I do this because Hot Cross Buns are only available for a very short time, Easter, to be exact.

So, when my neighbor told me she had left some on my patio, I was ecstatic.  She told me another neighbor had told her about a bakery that made 'the "best"' Hot Cross Buns in the world, which caused my gift giving neighbor to get into her car, and dash to the bakery and buy some.  And, as an Easter treat for me she was sharing.  I was over-joyed, and thanked her profusely...very, very profusely.  I hurriedly finished dressing and practically fell all over myself, Zorro, CC and Frankie to reach the goodies first.

There they were, two Hot Cross Buns, in a zip-lock bag...I scooped it up. Oh, my gosh...these buns were so fresh, they were still warm.  I stepped inside the morning room and pulled the screen shut, opened the bag, pulled out a bun, and took a bite.

Oh,

my

goodness

gracious

me.

Mmmmmmmm.


Mmmmmmmm.


Mmmmmmmm.

Now,  I was pretty sure I was mmmmmming out loud, but didn't realize I really was until yesterday afternoon, when I saw my neighbor transplanting some plants and I stepped outside to thank her again.  It was then she told me she had heard me.  Mmmmmmmmming.  (I was just slightly embarrassed.)

Anyway, I told her I still had the second one and didn't know whether to eat or save it for some future time.  I think I probably would have saved it, except that shortly after that conversation I got a call from my sister and I told her my Hot Cross Bun story, and she said I should eat it, because if I kept it for some other time it would 'not taste the same'.  I realized she was right.

So,

I

ate

it.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm. 


Hot cross buns! Hot cross buns!
One a penny two a penny - Hot cross buns
If you have no daughters, give them to your sons
One a penny two a penny - Hot cross buns

What to do, what to do

Okay, it's a normal Saturday.  I'm in my scrounges, doing laundry, I'm in the garage, lookin' around.  Earlier in the week I moved some stuff around out there, and moved a small yellow storage cabinet out onto the patio.  It has summer patio stuff stored in it and I figure later this summer I will paint it, the same orange color as the trim on my house put feet under it to get it off the concrete, and make it a permanent outside year-round piece of furniture.  It's all good.

So, this morning 'lookin' round the garage, I see all this open space in my personally constructed cardboard laundry room.

Hmmm, I says to myself, hmmm.  What can I do with this open space.  I know, I'll build some free standing shelves.  I've always saved bits of leftover lumber from construction projects and figure I've got to have some pieces that will work to make shelves.  Oh, I do, I DO. 

And, so construction began with a top and the two sides.   Yeah, yeah, I whacked my thumb a few times...well...maybe more than that and I broke my right hand thumbnail.

It's all good, it's all good, I didn't need that nail anyway...but I have to confess the thumb its self is not looking very good either.  There was a lot of 'damnin' and
's--tin', going on.  But I persevered.  I added a middle shelf.  It's leans a tiny bit, but not enough stuff rolls off of it.  I wasn't sure about making a bottom shelf, because you never know when your washer is going to go 'belly up" and you have an indoor swimming pool.  However, I discovered my beautiful shelf wobbled quite a bit, and it is after all top heavy, so I knew I had to at least put a brace across the bottom for stability.  Which I did.

Oh, my poor thumb.  It's not black and blue yet but typing is making it hurt like a son of a gun.  I'm telling ya' I'm not cut out for this kind of job.  The brace is working(somewhat) but not good...really.  Mostly because I ran out of lumber...Although I know there is a garden stake in my garage somewhere...cause I just put it there yesterday...and it would work great...but I can't find the darn thing.

So, as I say the brace sways, because I had to use three small piece of lumber to go across the bottom of the shelves, and I know that missing stake is just the right size to hold the three pieces together.  But, since that has disappeared I used left-over pieces of cork, from an old bulletin board as the brace.  Yeah, yeah, have yourself a good laugh...I did too.  If the shelf does not fall over I know I will eventually find the stake and use that instead of the cork, it's all good, it's all good.

Here's the best part...just like my dad and my husband, they built things to last and last and last.  Same thing holds true for me and my brand new shelving.  By the time I was done I could hardly stand it up it weighs so much.  I sincerely hope if it does fall over, my darling dog and cat are not under it.

But, no worries, it's good, it's all good.

And When I am Old I Will Wear Purple

As you all know...I'm losing my hair...yes, it's getting so thin I've actually stopped coloring my hair, thinking perhaps after years, and years, and YEARS of abusing my hair, maybe its had enough chemicals.  Maybe, if I left the natural color come back, so would my hair.  Sigh.  It is not coming back.

So, I thought maybe all the brushing I do with such a hard bristled bush might be my problem, as a result, I've stopped brushing and gone to combing my hair...I'll let you know how that works out.

Also, I've mentioned here that I'm considering buying some wigs.  Marilyn Monroe Blond, Auburn, Raven Black, Copper Penny Red, Silver grey, and Pink (for my alter ego).  I've been wig shopping with a friend and I know there are hundreds of styles out there, so I know I will find exactly what I want, length, curls, waves, etc.  I'm saving my pennies for this shopping spree, oh, it's going to be so much fun.

And, the best part is going to be, you'll never know exactly which Sandra you will see on any given day, and will always be surprised.   Maybe I'll browse the antique stores to see if I can come up with accessories to match the wigs.  Perhaps a long shiny black and silver cigarette holder on the day I wear my pink one.  And lots of 'sparklies', for when I wear the one that's Raven Black, or Hollywood sunglasses when I feel like being Marilyn Monroe.  Ohhhhh, the possibilities are endless.

However, this morning one of my favorite poems has been circling round and round my brain, and I'm going to post it here, just 'cause a cause' I can.


Warning
by Jenny Joseph
WHEN I AM AN OLD WOMAN I SHALL WEAR PURPLE

With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes. 
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers. 
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple. 

Taken from the book
When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple
Edited by Sandra Martz
Papier Mache Press--Watsonville, California 1987

Now, you might be wondering what all this has to do with my losing my hair.  Here's the thing.  When the day comes I actually go to buy myself my wonderful collection of wigs, I'm not going to buy a pink one...it's going to be purple...because I'm an old woman and therefore, I can.

Happy Days Are Here Again

This little ditty has been running through my mind today.  No, it was not like yesterday's dream song.  This is simply a happy little song that goes, (I think) something like this:

"Happy days are here again, the skies above are clear again;
So, let's sing a song of cheer again, happy days are here again."

I have been wondering since I got up this morning just how it was this song writer was so possessed with his day's happiness he wanted to tell the world about it.  It sounds at though he/she had just come through a very bad time, or series of events.  My thinking being maybe it was written just after the Great Depression, and the country was breathing a great sigh of relief. 

Well, you know me, and thanks to the wealth of information at my fingertips I had to find out...and here we go again.
 
Thanks to Wikipedia, I've learned the song was written and copyrighted in 1929, by two gentlemen I never even heard of until this morning.  A man named Milton Ager who wrote the music and Jack Yeller, who provided the lyrics.  Supposedly the song was recorded by the Leo Reisman Orchestra with some guy I've also never heard of (Lou Levin) providing the vocal. 

Apparently, "Happy Days Are Here Again" seemed to strike a cord for just about every occasion, and there is a long list of films, in which the song can be heard.  It first appeared in a 1930 film titled 'Chasing Rainbows', in which the song concluded the picture, in what film historian Edwin Bradley described as a "pull-out-all-the-stops Technicolor finale, against a Great War Armistice show-within-a-show backdrop."^[

This film was followed by another film in 1936 with the same name, "Happy Days Are Here Again."

Perhaps the song is best remembered as the campaign song of Franklin Delano Roosevelt's successful run for president in 1932, and who's new deals and programs  did indeed bring the country out of it's Great Depression.  Happy Days were in deed, "Here Again."

Over the years this ditty has been sung by many entertainers in the style in which it was written, happy and upbeat.  However, there was one entertainer who defied convention and rather than singing the song at the pace it was intended, sang it slowly and so expressively, today it remains an outstanding rendition.  This entertainer's name is none other than Ms. Barbra Streisand.  I, in particular remember seeing it on television, preformed in her format, with another singing icon as a duet with the one and only Judy Garland...on the Judy Garland Show...it was a show stopper. 

It's no wonder this song is difficult to forget, and outstandingly easy to remember.  So, here for your listening pleasure...turn up the sound in your head is:

HAPPY DAYS ARE HERE AGAIN

Music and lyrics by Milton Ager and Jack Yeller

So long sad times
Go long bad times
We are rid of you at last

Howdy gay times
Cloudy gray times
You are now a thing of the past

Happy days are here again
The skies above are clear again
So let's sing a song of cheer again
Happy days are here again

Altogether shout it now
There's no one
Who can doubt it now
So let's tell the world about it now
Happy days are here again

Your cares and troubles are gone
There'll be no more from now on
From now on ...

Happy days are here again
The skies above are clear again
So, Let's sing a song of cheer again

Happy times
Happy nights
Happy days
Are here again!

Wishing you a Happy Day today.

I had a dream

Don't you just hate it when you are having a dream at the exact time you are being awakened and all you can remember is what happened in the dream at that exact moment.

That happened to me this morning.  Grrrrrrr.

I know the dream was longer, because the rest of it is in the grey clouds of my foggy brain and try as I might I can't walk it out of them.

So, here's what I do remember.

I'm in one of those giant Super Grocery Stores.  I was with somebody, but suddenly realize I'm quite alone.  I'm pushing a shopping cart.  I can see other people shopping.

Parts of the Super Grocery Store are being remodeled, and kind of dark.  I'm walking into the light at the back of the store.   I need margarine (I actually do, by the way).  And, there in the brightly lit corner I see the dairy products department, I head for it.

It's Christmas time, the store is not decorated, but maybe there is canned music in the background.  Anyway, I seem to be singing (not out loud) along with a Christmas Song, and I'm mouthing the line "Hang a shiny star upon the highest bough, and have yourself a merry little Christmas now." 

It is at this exact moment I wake up, and I'm filled with sorrow.  I mean with is weighing on me like a cinder block, I feel like crying.  What the heck?

Here's the thing.  I want to know what this dream meant.  Am I going to be alone this Christmas...every Christmas there after?  Does it mean something sorrowful is going to happen soon?  Or does it mean nothing at all?

I often wonder about unfinished dreams.  Like the ones I have when I seem to be lost and I'm trying desperately to get home.  Or, like the one this morning, does it mean I'm destined to be alone.  Or did it mean if I had walked to the 'light' and gotten there, I'd have died?  Or, about the ones where I'm trying to get home, if I actually reach 'home', would I die?  Is that why the dreams stop so abruptly, because it's not my time 'to go'?

Oh, the pondering.  In the meantime, I'm shaking off the feeling of sorrow, and "Hang a shiny star upon the highest bough..." is slowly fading away.  I guess it's a good thing I've lots to do today and my mind won't have time to dwell on my dream.

"...so, have yourself a Merry Little Christmas now."

The Water Cure

Since, the day is rapidly careening by, but still wanting to post something today, this is an entry from Ramblings of an Old Woman, Volumn 1.  It is one of my favorite poems.  One weekend, a friend and I went to Atlantic City, and as we were paying our breakfast bill, there by the cash register was a pile of postcards with this poem on it.  They were free, so I picked one up and have had it in my possession ever since. 

The Water Cure Sometime when you’re feeling important Sometime when your ego’s in bloom Sometime when you take  it for granted You’re the best qualified in the room.   Sometime when you feel your going Would leave an un-fillable hole Just follow this simple instruction And see how it humbles your soul.   Take a bucket and fill it with water Put your hand in—up to your wrist Take it out—and the hole that’s remaining Is a measure of how you’ll be missed.   You can splash all you please as you enter You can stir up the water galore But STOP—and you’ll find in a minute That it looks quite the same as before.   There’s a moral in this quaint example Just do the best that you can Be proud of yourself but remember There is no indispensable man.   GIC Salesman

The Water Cure Sometime when you’re feeling important Sometime when your ego’s in bloom Sometime when you take  it for granted You’re the best qualified in the room.   Sometime when you feel your going Would leave an un-fillable hole Just follow this simple instruction And see how it humbles your soul.   Take a bucket and fill it with water Put your hand in—up to your wrist Take it out—and the hole that’s remaining Is a measure of how you’ll be missed.   You can splash all you please as you enter You can stir up the water galore But STOP—and you’ll find in a minute That it looks quite the same as before.   There’s a moral in this quaint example Just do the best that you can Be proud of yourself but remember There is no indispensable man.   GIC Salesman