Temporary Obstacles

Frankie has been reminding me for days that I need to get my head out of my *** and to quit feeling sorry for myself.  She's right of course, I've been wallowing for days, no, weeks.

I don't even have a good reason to wallow.  Life is good, yet I kind of feel like I did when I was going through menopause, 'out of sorts' all the time.  Not myself.  If anybody was ever in a Purple Funk, it's been me.  I've been a crying, slobbering idiot.  Talk about feeling sorry for yourself, not appreciated, all alone, I'm so all alone...looking for a Pack to take me in, Lone Wolf...that's been me.  Not only did I not want to climb the mountain, or try to go around it, I wanted to dig a cave, move my stuff in and dwell in it for the rest of my life.

Mostly, this involves my store.  Sigh.  I've spent the last year and a half, hours, and hours, and hours, making a store on a website called Zazzle.  I've poured my heart and soul into this project.  I've made over 500 items, all kinds of beautiful items.  I've been encouraging people to visit my store.  They haven't, and so around the first of this month, my enthusiasm dwindled, I lost my desire to make merchandise, and...frankly...even I stopped visiting my own store.  If nobody gave a crap, why should I?  And, so began my wallow.

Okay, I know I'm losing you, too.  Nobody, but nobody likes a Wallower.  But, please keep reading because this morning, as it so often has, my daily Hexagram left me a miraculous message.

"Have temporary obstacles been blocking your way? In the course of trying to reach a goal or to fulfill a personal ambition, obstructions inevitably present themselves. This is not always a bad thing. Obstacles, difficulties and even setbacks that are eventually overcome often turn into assets. Without irritating grains of sand, oysters would never make pearls.

The obstacles pointed to here are not permanent, yet they are in the way. As when a large boulder falls in the road, the best course of action is usually to go around it, rather than to try to move it out of the way. Temporary obstacles must be seen for what they are — temporary — and should not be allowed to take on too much significance.

A positive aspect of even the most difficult obstacle is that it may cause a person to turn inward, and gain greater depth and character. While the ignorant bemoan their fate and seek to blame their problems on others, the wise seek the cause of the problem within themselves. Through this type of introspection, obstacles become a means for personal growth and self-discovery.

Without air resistance, no plane would ever fly.

If you are facing temporary obstacles, try not to be overly concerned. Obstacles are a part of achieving every goal and furthering every undertaking. Setbacks and reverses can affect morale, but keeping up your self-confidence in the face of challenges is part of a successful solution to many of life's problems. Obstacles of short duration are best handled with a yielding attitude. Go around the rock, don't put your shoulder to it."

Such a simple message.  It was definitely a slap across the face, I confess, it still stings.  And of course brings home the fact that Frankie is right...some how, I've got to find the where with all to pull my head out of you know where and overcome my obstacles.

Did you ever...

....take a three quarter made, granny square, afghan apart?

Oh, brother.  Don't.  Take it from me, it is a very tedious chore.  And painful, until your 'common sense' kicks in.

There's the thing.  Years ago I decided I was going to make an afghan in bright orange and yellow hues.  I'd make star shaped, (squares), and then hook them all together.  I crocheted them together as I went along. For a while it looked like I was really on to something.  I was pretty pleased with myself.  Then, for some reason, I sat my work aside, for quite some time.

When I did pick up the afghan again, I was not as pleased with my work, but decided I'd come too far to give up, so I continued making stars. However, this time I decided to crochet all the stars and then hook them together, but something must have come up because I put the incomplete afghan back on the shelf for another lengthy rest.

Next time I worked on the blanket, wanting to hook all my stars together,  I realized I had not crocheting quite as tightly as the original stars, and I couldn't get the old stars and new stars to match up.  I was very disgusted with myself and put the whole shebang into the closet where it stayed for years and years and years.

Finally, last week I got a 'bee in my bonnet', and decided to do 'something' with all that yarn. And......without further ado, set about, first taking the connected star section apart, and then started pulling apart the stitches of each individual star.

Oh, it was tedious alright, slow and painful, too.  I was using my thumbs and forefingers to seek out each knot, and then with my thumbs and forefingers undid every....single...knot.  Man! I can't begin to tell you the pain I felt between the underside of my thumbnails where they connect to the skin beneath.  Who knew that would hurt. Did it ever...and to tell the truth even this morning, the tips of my thumbs are still sore if I press on them too hard.

Anyway, finally, Sunday afternoon Ms. Common Sense gave me a good talking to.  "Idiot", she says, says, she, "once you find a knot, why don't you take your smallest pair of craft scissors and simply 'snip' the knot open."

?

?

?

?

I wanted to slap her silly!!!!!!!

Actually, I wanted to throttle her...I'm sure you get my drift.

But, I eventually put my wounded pride aside and began to use Ms. Common Sense's method, and it worked!  Boy, oh boy, did it ever work.  I got so inspired I dwelt on little else than pulling those stars apart, and winding them all together into large balls so I can eventually use all that yarn for something else.  I finished the job early yesterday evening.

And, that is why I didn't blog yesterday, I was so inspired by Ms. Common Sense and her ability to make a hard job easy, I had to bring the chore to completion. Don't get me wrong, it was still long and tedious work, but at least it's finally done and now I've a whole bunch of yarn to begin a new project.  Don't worry, it will not involve five pointed stars.

Yesterday

Boy, yesterday sure proved it.  Son of a gun!  I'm old.  I think I need to find new hobbies that do not require physical labors.  My day went something like this.

It's summer, time to put away my spring garlands and garnishes that muck up my house...bouquets of artificial flowers, bowers, and wreaths.  You know what I'm talking about...DUST CATCHERS. It didn't take long to put the spring stuff away, I simply grabbed the empty plastic, see through, storage containers and threw the crap into them.  Piece of cake.

Then, because I'm constantly going through my twenty-some plastic, see through, storage containers the ones marked summer were all over the place...thank goodness I had the foresight to label the containers.  (In the process of moving things around I discovered, the cardboard boxes job to cover the window of my makeshift laundry room had slipped and light was once more coming in...well, THAT has got to be fixed.) However, I decided to concentrate on setting up my summer arrangements...you know, crap...dust catchers.

I really should be more tidy.

Anyway, I discovered I had to 'remake' every single arrangement because I had not been...tidy...when I put them away.

Sadly this took hours, I'm talking hours.  SERIOUSLY.

Finally I've got the bouquets of artificial flowers, bowers, and wreaths exactly the way I wanted them, and breathed a sigh of relief.  The empty summer containers are neatly stacked back in the garage.  I have a bunch of darling frogs I like to sit in my morning room and this was to be my last chore, to sit them out. The box they are stored in sits on a shelf just above the garage refrigerator, I grab my stool and pull it off the shelf.

Uh-oh!

There is that  gaping hole where the cardboard covering the window has slipped.  CRAP.  I had forgotten about that.  So, before sitting out my frogs, I decide to fix the window covering first.  Since the duct tape, didn't hold (I'm sure because the shelf and everything surrounding it is covered with years of dust), I decided to thumbtack the cardboard into place.  Pound, pound, pound, tack, tack, tack.  This took about half an hour, and required moving boxes out of place and then putting them back.

By now it is late afternoon...I've not eaten...I'm very hungry, but I'm gonna' get those frogs set up or die trying.  One by one I extract them from their enclosure, and put them in place in the morning room.  CRAP. All of a sudden a hand falls off of one of them.  Apparently it must have fallen off before, because I can see I had done a make-shift repair job sometime in the past.

Okay, I re-evaluate the situation.  Perhaps I should eat then tackle the repair.  Yeah, that's the ticket.  I will fortify myself.  I fix myself a twice baked potato with chicken and gravy.

While I'm watching TV I repair that frog's hand, and then discover a second frog has lost a little tuft of artificial grass that I had attached to the back of it. CRAP.  Well, by now I'm exhausted, and knew I should have put off this chore until the morning...but I'm bound and determined I'm gonna' finish today's chores.

I poured and poured glue over that sucker.  This time that grass was going to stick in place till that dang frog disintegrated around it. I held it into place until I thought the glue had set.  The tuft of grass was so slathered in glue, it simply slid off.  I'm such an a--, dumb old woman, or, as Frankie would say IDIOT.  By now, it is midnight, I'm still trying to hold the tuft into place.  It refuses to stick.

In desperation, I grab a plastic sandwich bag and lay it on my TV tray, then flip the frog over, so the tuft of grass is between the plastic bag and the weight of the frog itself.  Surely by morning the glue will have dried, and I can put the frog in its place among the others.

Fast forward.  It's Sunday morning.  I go about my regular routine, and then go to check my frog.  It is not 'stuck' to the sandwich bag.  That's a good thing, right?  But when I turn it around I can see the glue as not dried.  CRAP.

Turmoil

I love, yet hate today.

Yes, it's summer.  I love that yesterday evening the lights came on in my piazza.  It is a most beautiful sight.  It literally, warms my heart...it is doing so right this very minute.  I swear!

I love that the birds are so wonderfully happy.  Their songs have been delighting me for days.  One sings close by, while off in the distance I can hear another sing back. I sit in silence and simply enjoy.

And, all those lawnmowers...and the smell of freshly mowed lawns...my, oh my.

This year I've decided to allow myself to ACTUALLY enjoy sitting outside and NOT  feel guilty that my furniture is dusty, the vacuum needs to be run, or that I should be making merchandise for my store.  It has taken time, but I'm starting to enjoy my afternoon 'sits' while guilt hides behind my front yard shrubs.  I'm learning to ignore it and not feel...well... guilty.

My neighbor's wild honeysuckle is in full bloom.  Is there honeysuckle growing near where you live?  Oh, my, the scent comes washing up on dancing fairies, that sneak up and tickle me with their wands under my nose. I breathe deep, dear friends, I breathe deep.

Then of course there are the long, slow to wane evenings with gentle breezes that wash me with the sun's lingering warmth.  Oh, what a joy.

Soon, I'll be smelling BBQ's.

Later crickets will lull me to sleep.

And, then, I'll remember why I'm not so crazy about summer.

The days get shorter, the leaves begin to fall, and my world turns avocado skin green.  The sun rises and sets farther and farther south along my earthly horizon, and the evenings cool more quickly.  Spiders weave their webs across my walking paths, and somehow mysteriously creep and crawl into my house...and (for unexplained reason) tend to like my bathtub.

Before I know it, I've eaten all my huckleberries, the hops have overgrown my garage door, and I'm starting to sneeze as grasses begin to seed, achoo, achoo, achoo.

Oh, I'm so conflicted.  How can a person love and hate something at the same time with such a passion?  I don't think I'll ever get it.

But, today I think I'll revel in the love, maybe tomorrow...maybe...I'll think about the hate.

Here's what I think.

Bear with me.  I'm going to ramble.  And, I realized I'm being insane, at my age I guess I'm okay with that.

Here's what I think.

The President of the United States should call together both houses of the legislature and announce an immediate (right now) withdrawal of all military troops and diplomatic personnel from the Middle East.  I'm talking starting immediately.  Not tomorrow, not next week, month or year.  But now.

It is obvious to me the Middle East does not want us there for humanitarian reasons, but simply for the billions of dollars we've already spent, and for the billions more we are (apparently-my opinion) ready to spend again by starting up military action once more.  How many more men and women of the military are going to be maimed and killed (when-my opinion) they are sent into action (again) before we realize no amount of money makes this kind of action worth the loss of more precious, American lives?

Now, don't tell me the President can't call a meeting.  Presidents have done stuff behind closed doors since (I'm beginning to think -my opinion) President Washington was in office.  At least, even though the legislators will not be able to stop the President, they will not be able to gripe at 'being in the dark', and 'out of the loop' with the President's decision.

Yeah, yeah, I know (here the biggest argument for our intervention) there's billions of barrels of oil in the Middle East, we're greedy, we want them, we think we need them (my opinion).  However, don't you think the cost of those billions of barrels of oil is too steep for us to continue to lose lives, military equipment, and the reputation of our country at large to continue to be greedy about them.  I (my opinion) do.

This is a golden opportunity to prove the good ole' USA still has initiative, fortitude, ingenuity, resourcefulness, and down right imagination to stand alone, on it's own two feet, with the same courage this country had at its inception.  Come on people, let's get our thinking caps on and find alternative sources for all the things the USA feels it needs to import, and become self-reliant again.

I think it's time to pull Americans noses out of their electronic devices, create jobs, and put those noses behind desks, into conferences, in think tanks and come up with ideas to make America a productive nation once more. We can and should band together and pull this country up by the boot-straps...before it's too late.

It has been obvious to me for quite some time we've become nothing more than a pocketbook for the world in general.  Please, don't get me wrong, I'm sorry for the droughts, and famines, and sick and starving children. I thankful for the humanitarians that are lending helping hands around the world, I appreciate they are building homes, digging wells, and providing animals, seeds and clean water for those less fortunate the we, goodness knows, these folks don't get near the credit they deserve.

But, I think we should not stay where we are not wanted. (My opinion.)  Not long ago we fought for and freed the people of Bagdad (Baghdad), have you been watching the news?  It seems to me they going to lose everything we fought and lost lives over. Years and years of fighting, for what?  Oil?  Democracy for the common folk of the Middle East?  Did, do they really want that?

Please, Mr President...call a meeting, If YOU have the power to send the troops in, you have the power to bring them out.  This goes for all diplomatic personnel as well.  Bring our people home, now! As for private companies and their employees...it is up to them to make the choice to bring their people home...at their expense; if they choose to stay, it is at their risk, not our government.

Okay, I'm done.  Do I feel better, not really, I know this is all a cock-a-mammie, pipe dream.  Truth is, lives will be lost, billions of dollars will be spent, Iraq will become a country in deep despair and in the end we will have accomplished nothing.

Sigh, I'm sad. I know the majority of you disagree with everything I've written here, and thank goodness you still have the right to do that.  However, and before it's too late, thank goodness, I still have the right to write it.

Eaglet watching

I've been watching an eagle nest in Decorah, Iowa for four years now, and each has been an adventure, each one somewhat the same, but different as well.  This year has been very special.  The dutiful parents repaired and upgraded the nest, sometimes disagreeing where a particular piece of branch/limb should go, and where a corn husk or chunk of dried grass should be placed.  But, overall they did a good job of making a perfect bed for the babies.

Before long the eggs were nestled deep within the bowl of the nest and mom and dad took over the chore of keeping them incubated.  24/7 they pulled and tugged at the tufts of grass and corn husks making sure the eggs were protected on all sides.

This year early spring was awful.  The temperatures were bitter, bitter cold, and often mom and nest were covered with snow.  No matter how cold it got or how much snow fell upon the parents, the eggs were never left to the elements.  The switch off of egg sitting was always hasty and followed by the a fore mentioned pulling and tugging of the nesting material.

Oh yes, I watched these babies from birth, tiny, bald, blind creatures that they were.  To this morning when they are so large and eager to flee they are practically knocking each other out of the nest.

Over the last weekend, during the night, the eaglets were attacked by barred owls; one eaglet in particular took the brunt of the attack.  You see, the nest has a camera pointed at it all the time and it has night vision a capability; as a result, the attack was caught on camera.  It was awful.  And after the second dive attack I could no longer bear to watch.  The poor eaglet was in dire straits. 

Sunday evening the poor thing lay in the center of the nest, breathing heavily, wings slightly spread, head leaning awkwardly on its side.  Yesterday morning, things didn’t look much better.  Frankly, I was very, very worried.  Things looked bleak for this feathered creature.  I stewed and fretted. 

Not knowing what else to do, I took my computer mouse, and stopped it directly on top of the ailing baby, and prayed.  I simply asked that this magnificent creature be blessed and made whole again.  Please, Lord.

Let it never be said one’s prayers are not answered, because they are.  By late afternoon yesterday, the injured eaglet was up, moving around, and although not completely 100%, it was obvious it was well on its way to recovery.  I prayed again.  Thank you, Lord.

Then, last night there was a thunder storm over Decorah.  When I checked the nest I could only see two, water logged, bedraggled eaglets.  What had happened to the third?  I watched, and watched, and watched.  Eventually the rain stopped, and the birds began to shake the excess rain from their drenched bodies.  There, almost out of camera range I began to see movement, it was the third eaglet.  What a relief!

I went to bed a very happy camper.

This morning it is 72 degrees and the sun is shining in Decorah.  I learned the national weather service reports some very nasty weather is headed that direction.  Checking the eagle nest, I can see all three eaglets are up and moving about.  I can tell injured eaglet still has a way to go before it is ready to leave the nest for good.  Frankly, what the final outcome will be for this feathered creature I do not know.  I can only hope it survives the weather and its injuries.  Really, all I can do is hold good thoughts…

…and say a few more prayers, too.

I got advise to 'change my color'.

This morning I got some advise that I should “change my color” and I choose to be ‘hot pink’ today.  However, this got me to thinking about a little piece I wrote quite some time ago for a creative writing class I was taking.  The assignment was to choose a color and then pretend we were that color. Needless to say, the students all picked lovely, sweet, fuzzy, warm colors.  My quirky mind went into a totally different direction.  Follows is a copy of my assignment.

Purple Funk

By Sandra Ann Hiller

Purple Funk, that’s me.  Not the razzle dazzle, pop-out your eyeballs, plum, orchid or mulberry

purple, much less February’s birthstone Amethyst.

But, the ominous cloud, blinding lightening and horrendous thunder, eventual deluge, Prussian Purple.

The color of that black and blue mark, two days after the nasty run-in you had walking into the

Edge of the coffee table, and your shin swells up like a tennis ball.

That’s me; Prussian Purple and I give you Purple Funk.

You do remember Prussian Purple, the purple that nobody ever used...for anything?  

I never got broken, and was always the last crayon in the box: 

Prussian Purple.  

They don’t even make me anymore.

One look at me and you know you’re going to have one heck of a bad hair day. 

I make you snarl at the bus driver,

 Break the heel on your favorite pair of peep-toe, sling-back pumps,

Spill coffee on your cashmere sweater,

Splatter puddle water on your silk skirt,

Be ten minutes late for the most important meeting of your life,

Laughing in your face, ‘cause your boyfriend’s going to leave you for your very best friend,

Personal Purple Funk.

Woooo, that felt good!

Now, if you have any doubts, I’ll make your soup cold, and your ham sandwich hot, go ahead,

Leave them in your parked car, but decide to eat them anyway Purple lunch,

And I’ll show you what Funk is really all about.

We have a saying our house that when things don’t go right and you got out of the bed

On the wrong side, you’re having a Purple Funk day.

God knows we’ve all had one from time to time.

What's meant to be

This morning while I was feeding my furry creatures, the voice in my head said something very profound.

"What we think we want to have is not necessarily what is meant to be."

No matter how badly we want to have (whatever that is), we have not control over what happens in real life.

Take for instance:  When I was young all I talked about was wanting to be a nurse when I grew up. I wanted to help people.  However it didn't take long to discover, that was not my calling.  I was a horrible nurse.

Trust me, learning this was quite a blow, and I had no idea what in the world I was going to do with the rest of my life.  It didn't take long (thank goodness) to discover I was meant to be in advertising.  Who knew? Turned out, I was really good at what was meant to be.  I was one happy camper, and my life changed for the better...much better than my want to have could ever have been.

Then, I decided I wanted to live independently, and I thought frequently about having a tiny apartment downtown in my hometown.  I would be close to work, shopping, entertainment. How cool that would be.

However, that was not meant to be either.  And before I knew it I was winging 3,000 miles away to a place most people only dream about. Sunny Cal-e-for-ne-a.

What was meant to be was much, much better than what I thought I wanted to have.

As years went by, I thought I wanted to be a single, career woman.  And I was for a while. Then, what was meant to be took over, and I became a single mom.  I still had a career, of course, but when a tiny, blond, human being entered my life, it was one of the best meant to 'be' ever.  It was a struggle at times, money was tight, but we managed.  Good times.  Very, very good times.

I thought, yes, this is definitely what I want to have, a lovely apartment, a lovely child, a great job.  Life was good.

But, ultimately, this was not meant to be.  And, as time passed, I met someone, got married, and moved (again) north this time by a thousand miles or more, and what was meant to be happened again.  My family grew in number and in age.  More years passed many, many more.  And...

...here I am today.

All those things I thought I wanted to have did not come to pass. How fortunate I am they did not.

Otherwise I would not have had the life I do.  If I've learned anything, it is to expect the unexpected, and to roll with the tide.  When the tide is coming in, ride the waves, but when it isn't, don't struggle, focus on 'what's meant to be' which will surely rescue you.

When what you want is not working, no matter how much effort you are putting into it, it simply will not work.  Subtle influences, gentle persuasions, are at work, preparing a way for a better future.  Let your intuition chart your long term course.  

This just might be an excellent time to consider a new career, make a move, explore a hidden talent, or simply discover you are braver than you think.  Let go of the idea that what you want is the best thing for you.  Think outside the box and let 'what's meant to be' lead the way.

I don't know what happened to yesterday

Honest I can’t figure out how some days the time tick-tocks along at normal speed, while some days move in slow motion like you see in old time cartoons, and yet others speed along as though you are fast forwarding through boring parts of a movie.  What the heck?

Yesterday was one of those ‘fast forwarding’ kind of days.  I had a lot of ‘piddling’ things to do.  You know the kind; you start one job, but walk by another that needs to be done.  So, you change course and to do that job, (almost to completion) until that unexpected ‘spill’ happens and you have to stop to clean up the mess.

Man, that was the kind of day I had yesterday.  There was a lot of miscellaneous filing to do. 'Thinking of you' cards to finish and put into the mail.  And, shredding, don’t we all just love that job.  

My regular, house call veterinarian doctor closed her mobile clinic and opened a cat clinic across town some time ago and I confess I didn’t give that much thought until I got the notice in the mail that my pets licenses need renewal. Uh oh, now that I have to get their shots updated, I’ve got to find a new vet, oh dear.  This of course, led to my having to go online and do research to find a new house call vet.  That took time, quite a bit of time, morning melted into afternoon, e-mails were sent, and phone calls were made.  I eventually found one, and we, (Zorro, CC and I) have an appointment later this month.  

Then I decided I wanted to make myself some of my ice cream concoctions, and that went well, until I walked away from my TV tray station and Zorro grabbed half a chocolate chip muffin off the tray, and left a trail of crumbs and paper muffin cup from the living room to the kitchen.  Of course, I got mad at him…heaven forbid it should be my fault I left it where he could reach it.  I was so ashamed I yelled at and scolded him.  

Finally I finished the ice creams, cleaned up the mess, and decided to do a little crocheting and watch some TV.  So, I snuggled under a blanket with Zorro and immediately fell asleep. When I awoke, I decided I was hungry, and the mess started all over again.  

While I was fixing myself a sandwich I thought about what a wacky, disorganized, kind of day it had been. The hours had whizzed by, I felt exhausted, where had the day gone?  I could not actually say with any conviction I had accomplished a single thing.  I felt I should look for a rewind button and start the whole dang day over.  

Shoot!

So, I was looking at my calendar this morning.  Dang, if it doesn’t show the Summer Solstice is a mere nine days away.

How is that possible?

Oh, now I’m so depressed.

Sigh!

I r-e-a-l-l-y despise the arrival of the Solstice, because from that day forward, it is all downhill to the Winter Solstice.  And second by second, eventually minute by minute the daylight time shortens every…single…day.

The lovely chartreuse greens of spring, turn tired, dust covered, olive drab.  Yuck.  And, sadly by mid-August, the leaves on the alder trees in my neighbor’s yard will begin to fall into mine.  Before I know it…it’s September, and that old melancholy starts to set in. 

I tells ya’…I hates it.

Next thing I know the robins are gathering in my front yard getting ready to migrate south, overhead I can hear gaggles of geese on their trip to warmer climes as well.  And, before I know it the seagulls are getting ready to winter on the middle school property. 

Oh, the horror of it all. 

Man, I’m really bumming myself out here. 

After all, it is only the middle of June. I’ve still got July and August, when twilight still hovers around the 9 o’clock to 8:30 time period.  I shouldn’t be wishing my life away.  Right?

Still, there is just something about that dreadful day, June 21^st, when the sun has reached it northern most peak in the sky, then yawns, stretches it long, warm rays, and bids us all adieu.  Then, slowly retreats to bring longer days to the southern hemisphere of this big blue marble. 

I guess there’s just one word I have for how I’m starting to feel.

Letitgo!  

Seriously, SERIOUSLY.

Seriously!  I’ve been trying to figure out why the heck I can’t type without a ton of typographical errors.  I’ve been at this since I took typing in high school.  Remember when the teacher would roll up the huge screen that held the layout of the keyboard when it was time to take a test?  Trust me I know where the keys are, it’s just my fingers apparently still do not.  

For a while I blamed it on the fact I’m ambidextrous, I liked that idea, I could blame ‘something’.  This was not my fault. 

Then, I decided I had fat fingers, so that the keys ‘next to the key’ I wanted to hit got in the way.  Yeah, that’s the ticket.

Lately I’ve been looking at what the actual mistake is, before it (I) correct it and I’ve found it has nothing to do with being ambidextrous, of (or) having fat fingers.  (I originally typed pingers.)  You will noitice (that should be notice) the incoorect letters are randomly typed with absolutely no rhyme or reason.  The ‘f’ is notwhere (notwhere?) near the ‘p’ on the keyboard; the ‘i’ is simply an addition to the word, as is the second ‘o’ in the word correct that should have been an 'r'.   

Seriously.  SERIOUSLY!  I have a terrible problem.  For a writer this si (is) absolutely ridiculous. I have no choice but to depend on word/spell check in order to put anything out for publication.  Then, I edit, edit, edit, and re-write, re-write, re-write.

Maybe, I’m trying to type too quickly and my fingers can’t possibly keep up with my brain that is at least half a sentence ahead of them.  Well, that’s just a stupid wxcuse, (wxcuse?).

Damn it!

 Here’s the think (thinkg)…’er thing.  A couple of days ago I was answering my Bible study questions, recording them in the margins of the book, when I discovered the same thing happens when I write.  Why it took me so long to realize this I df (do) not know.  But, there I was writing, reasing, (erasing)…writing, erasng (erasing).  Lo wod no wonder my pencils are always ‘like  new’ while the erasures are ‘nubbins’ . 

There has got to be a name for my conditon (condition) “Lord same (save) a duck.”

Crap!  I asa (am) sooooooooo done.

It's not looking good for Frankie

You will recall my sister came to visit a couple of weekends ago, it was her birthday.  We went shopping, ate, talked, relaxed, and ‘hung out’.  While we were shopping a delivery person put one of those marvelous looking ‘fruit bouquets’ on my front stoop.  (It’s amazing it was not covered in ants by the time we got home.)  Anyway, attached to the bouquet was one of those helium filled foil balloons. 

When she was packing up to go home, we put what was left of the fruit bouquet in a special container, loaded her car and off she went.  It was not until the next morning I noticed her helium balloon was floating, hugging the ceiling, in one corner of my kitchen.  Uh-oh.

Oh, well.

Then, (you know me) I began to ponder helium filled balloons, in particular just how long they can remain inflated and thanks to the Internet, I discovered that under the right conditions they can last quite some time…from a couple of days to a couple of months.  This one looked pretty darn healthy, and I suspected it could last a pretty darn, long, time. I mention this to Frankie, and she simply snorted and said we’d be lucky if it lasted a couple of weeks.  I told her to put her money where her mouth was.  And, she informed me the balloon would be gone by the end of week June 14.

I told her….”You’re on.”  I said the balloon would last till the Fourth of July.

While I was talking with my sister, to whom the balloon belongs, I mentioned to her the bet between Frankie and I and she said she wanted a piece of the action and said she thought the balloon would last until August 3.

At this point I decided I’d better start a written list, memory being what it isn’t.  Then, I mentioned this little game on Facebook, and that whoever got closest to the date the balloon went kaput would get a prize, one of my Zazzle Store mugs.  Well, that was incentive enough for others to choose a date, too, and seven of us are now waiting and wondering just how long the balloon will remain in the ceiling corner of my kitchen.

It’s not looking good for Frankie.  The 14^th of June is only four days and some hours away, and the balloon is in the kitchen smirking at her.   Two people will then stand between me and the Fourth of July.  Come on Fourth of July, ‘er…come on balloon!

I’ve decided what constitutes the end of this endeavor.  When the bottom of the string attached to the balloon touches the floor.  Which means the balloon will be half way down from the ceiling.

Come on Fourth of July. 

There are six alder trees

Month unknown 1994

I have started to read "Faith in a Seed" by Henry David Thoreau and it set me thinking about nature, trees in particular.  After several years of little summer rain, water usage was greatly restricted.  As a result, I watered as little as possible, to such an extent in fact, I secretly feared we might lose some, or perhaps all of our native greenery.  To my amazement, last spring, every single plant, shrub and tree greened up.

True, they did not appear as robust as years past and I noticed in particular that the group of alders around our park bench was not lush with leaves.  Still, they had survived, but even in August, when I gazed upward through was is normally a canopy of lush green leaves, I could see patches of blue sky.  I suspected this was the way it would be forever more.

After last year's sorrow for the alders I took joy in the leaves that woefully hung to the ends of their spindly branches, bravely providing whatever shade they could.  All the trees on the whole did not appear healthy. Indeed they seemed to be struggling for survival.  Once watering was no longer restricted I tried to provide adequate moisture for them.  In particular, I watched the six alders closely, fearful we would have to cut a few, or perhaps all of them down. Then, this year, 1994, it happened, I saw God's hand at work.  New branches began to appear along the trunks of the trees, close to the old branches.  True, they are small, some barely noticeable, but, nonetheless, the trees have begun to heal themselves.  It is as though some inner healing had to happen first, before any visual proof could be seen that the trees would indeed survive. 

With happy heart I walked the yard inspecting other shrubs and trees.  For the first time I SAW THE HEALING AT WORK. I COULD ALSO SEE THE TRUE EXTENT OF THE DAMAGE THE DROUGHT HAD DONE.  Especially in the shrubs.  Parts of them had died, and the parts that hadn't struggled for survival in the same way humans do against death.  It brings me great hope for the future to see each shrub (with a determination I will never understand) send out new shoots from underground, healthy and resolved to propagate their species.  However, it is the alders that have affected me the most because I truly thought they were going to die.  With every passing week I watch their new branches grow, slowly, sleepily extending outward, filling in the empty abandoned spots.  Is it their purpose to eventually take the place of the old and sickly branches?  I don't know and only time will tell.  Till then I'll simply enjoy these little miracles. 

I have a new admiration for the Creator and the secrets He is willing to share.  It reminds me of a pompous request I asked Him long ago.  I prayed, "Lord, let my faith be so, that I could move a tree from here to there."  He laughed.  I felt great remorse for having asked and quite chided in his laughter.  Then, He said, "You'll never move a tree from here to there, but I have given you an even greater gift.  Can't you see how I have let you grow them well, and in great abundance?"  Indeed He has, but He continues to be the Master. It is His handiwork that saved my alders from the drought.  I only continue to tend.  I thank Him every day for the gift to grow His trees.

So, there I was.

Sitting on my park bench.  Crocheting.

Zorro is doing his bounding around the yard, sniffing, greeting neighbors on their afternoon constitutionals and otherwise entertaining himself.

Suddenly, something is amiss.  I heard metallic 'ping', and the wooden slats beneath my butt feel insecure. What the heck?  Oh, I know THIS  can't be good.  I'm almost afraid to move.

Peculiar isn't it, when you know there's an unexpected 'something' looming that is going to disrupt you lazy, hazy late spring afternoon?

Shoot.

But stand up I do, and I can see through the wooden slats, the metal brace holding the slats into place is hanging loose.  Crap!  Sigh.  Since neighborhood ladies come to visit, I know I'm going to have to repair this before somebody sits on this bench and plops all the way down to the ground.

So, I get down onto the ground and scrunch myself under the bench, like a mechanic trying to get under a car and have a 'look-see' around.  To my dismay, I discover, the screw that held the metal brace to the wooden slat had rusted 'clean away'.  While the accompanying one, was simply...gone.  "Oh, my."  This is definitely not good.

It's late in the afternoon, I thought I was done with my chores and I hate, hate, hate unexpected occurrences like this.  I know I've got to take care of this immediately.  I trudge to the house, cursing under my breath. Yes, I know that doesn't help, it never does.

I've got the rusted screw in my hand, I'm surprised how short and stubby it is, and I'm amazed that it ever did any good at all holding the brace into place.  I take my trusty tool box off the shelf, and begin to scrounge around in the miscellaneous screws section.  (Where have they come from in the first place?)  I manage to find one that's just a gauge fatter, a bit longer and hope I can find one more to match. Hallelujah, I do.

I grab one of the Phillips screwdrivers from the bottom section of my tool box and
go confront my demon. I scrunch myself under the bench once more. This is going to be tricky.  I'm on my back and somehow I'm going to have to press the metal strap, wooden strap together, while trying to screw the new screw into place at the same time.  What I really needed was another pair of hands.

After dropping the screw into the grass a couple of times, and having to start over, I got a system going, and before long the new screw was neatly, tightly in place.  Now, for the second screw.  (Honestly, sometimes I'm such a dummy.)  Wouldn't you think, I'd have taken the second screw with me when I went under the bench?  Oh, no...not me.  I had put it on the table sitting next to the park bench.  As a result, I had to extricate myself from under the bench to get the screw, then scrunch myself under the bench one more time.

After I had secured the second screw into place I decide (like a good mechanic) to have a good look around, and discover another screw is missing.  DANG IT.

What's a body to do!  Why of course, what any good body would.  I climb out from under the bench, stomp into the house, look for and find another screw and stomp back out and under the bench.  This time Zorro decided he wanted to help.  There he is, one foot on my chest, his moist pink nose right next to mine.  Of course he's not happy till his nose leaves sweat streaks across the right lens of my glasses. Once he decides I can't play, I'm able to put the third screw into place.

By now, I've worked up a bit of a sweat, and have lost interest in wanting to enjoy a 'sit in the sun'; I tuck the screwdriver in my armpit, put my crocheting into my yarn bag, grab my water bottle and huff and puff myself back into the house.  Zorro hot on my heels.

As I'm putting my tool box away, I'm contemplating this job is not really over.  Since the park benches are so old, I'm thinking that over the summer I'm going to be making several more trips under them.  I'm also thinking I'm thankful I've got such a wide variety of screws in my tool box.  (Where the heck have they come from in the first place?)

September 2000

When I first thought about putting this nature book together, it seemed to be a simple enough project, beginning and ending with edible plants.  However, once it got underway, it took on a life of its own.  I found myself engulfed in an overwhelmingly, delightful, adventure into nature I never would have believed possible.

Inspired by Henry David Thoreau, I chose to mimic his directions, looking carefully at things I generally took for granted, seeing as though I were looking through his eyes.  Instead of a tree, I now wanted to examine each leave, dissect each fruit, and discover new things about each and every object.

When Thoreau wrote, "A man receives only what he is ready to receive, whether physically or intellectually, or morally...we hear and apprehend only what we already HALF KNOW...every man thus TRACKS HIMSELF THROUGH LIFE in all his hearing and reading and observation and traveling.  His observations make a chain.  The phenomenon or fact that cannot in anywise be linked with the rest which he has observed, he does not observe."  (Quote from Faith in the Seed Henry David Thoreau).

I now wanted to become his observer, and somehow carry on his work 150 years later.  Had things changed?  Had things stayed the same?  Had we learned anything at all, or were we still on a path to self-destruction?  I felt an obligation to find out.

June 8, 2014

I hope you will join me, as I occasional write about my observations.  There will be ponderings, surprises, hand drawn illustrations, and dried specimens pictured as well.  Our adventure will begin this week.

Know what I hate?

For starters, getting old.  Man, had I known how ugly it was going to be, I'd have had uplifts, tummy tucks, pushes and pulls, and l-o-o-o-n-g leisurely vacations in exotic places so that every time I looked in the mirror I see somebody that looks 40 instead of (OMG I can't even bring myself to write it down).

Normally I don't look directly at myself when I look in the mirror.  If I'm brushing my teeth I concentrate on looking at them.  If I'm brushing my hair, I concentrate on that.  New eyebrows, eyebrows;  Mascara, what is left of my eye lashes.  Do I ever glance lower than my first and original chin....ARE YOU KIDDING ME. I haven't looked beyond there for a long time.   Makes me shudder just thinking about that...also makes me feel a little nauseated.

So, this morning I made a terrible mistake.

Me:  "Frankie, how do you think I look?"
Frankie:  "It's seven o'clock in the morning, how the heck do you think you look?"
Me:  "I'm serious.  Do I look my age?"
Frankie:  "Baaaaaaaaa, hhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaaaaa!"
Me:  "Stop that!"

Frankie seems to have taken great delight in my question.  She does not seem to know I'm in crisis here.  I need a confidence booster.  Instead I've got Frankie practically rolling on the floor.  I stand there in silence, arms akimbo waiting for her giggles to subside.

Frankie: (Holding herself tightly.) "Oh you made my sides hurt, you are so funny.  Of course you look your age.  You're going bald, have several chins, wrinkles, and rolls and bumps in places nobody should have."
Me: (More dejected than when this conversation started.) "Really? You're joshin' with me right?"

This brought on a second fit of laughter.  Frankie dragged me to the full length mirror on the wall, behind the door of my office.  She tried to force me to look.  The last time I did this was when my beige suit arrived that I wore to my grandson's wedding.  If you remember that incident, you will recall I looked exactly like an uncooked turkey, ready to be shoved into an oven for a several hour roast.

I swear I have not looked into that mirror since, and I certainly did not intend to now.  I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and refused to look at my refection.  Let's just say Frankie and I engaged in a bit of a tussle.  I managed to escape her grasp.

I felt like Jonah, who found himself at the 'bottom of the mountains', wrapped in seaweed.  Just let me drown.  I slumped onto the sofa to sulk.

Frankie:  "I'm sorry, is there any comfort that I look just like you?"
Me:  "No, go away."

Frankie turned on the television, beginning to click through channels.  She stopped at a commercial for one of those adult panties.

Frankie:  "How old does she look?"
I shrug my shoulders.

CLICK, new channel, new commercial, two old women are discussing whether they should purchase additional insurance.

Frankie: "And, them?"

CLICK, new channel, new commercial, women discuss yogurt that will clear out your bowels, if you eat the stuff twice a day.

Frankie:  "And, them?"

Me:  (Still dejected)  "What's your point?"
Frankie:  "All these ladies have been fixed up to look great.  They've been pampered, made-up, coiffured, fashion-plated to 'not' look their age.  Think about how they look at seven o'clock in the morning, just getting out of bed?  They look just like you.  Every one of them, probably has lumps and bumps just like you.  They probably have thinning hair, and a couple of chins, too.  Who knows what the magic of Hollywood can do."
Me:  So, you're saying?"
Frankie:  "Quit being so hard on yourself, maybe if you just looked at yourself in the mirror, toe to head, head to toe you would see you're not as bad looking as you think.  Come on, let's give it a go."

We walk back to the mirror.  I can't do this, I really, r-e-a-l-l-y don't want to do this. Frankie gives me a good shake.  Slowly I open one eye...then the other...I look only into them in the mirror.  Then, I take in a deep breath and look.

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.  Oh the horror! Oh the humanity! OMG!

Never again, never....ever...ever again.

Did I mention, I hate getting old?

Oh, and the full length mirror, it's going to be going, going, GONE.

Eating humble pie.

Okay, Frankie pulled me aside yesterday, as did a few others, pointing out that my blog was rather unkind to the homeless, the illegal aliens, and freeloaders.  And I'm sorry I lumped what seemed to some folks all the homeless and illegal aliens into an all rotten barrel of apples.  As for the freeloaders who have corrupted and taken advantage of the Federal and State Government agencies designed for help the down trodden...well, I'm still not sorry for any of them.

Anyway, to the homeless who are mentally challenged, physically or emotionally unable to hold a job and have no family to help support them, I do understand they need our help and we should at the very least provide some sort of shelter for them. The same holds true for some of the illegal aliens who have come here to provide a better life for their families, and who work (off the books, for cash) doing jobs most folk find to 'beneath them and tedious' to want to do, and are living like I do, just trying to make ends meet the best we can.  I'm good with them, we should at the very least provide shelter for them and their families.  It's my wish they would be able to be here legally, and perhaps, some day they will.

After all Lady Liberty standing in the New York harbor, clearly welcomes all.

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
"The New Colossus" is a sonnet by American poet Emma Lazarus 

I still like to believe we would never turn those homeless, tempest-tost away from our golden door. However, I also (sadly believe) the world has changed drastically since that sonnet was written, and in this era there is a group of people who I call the 'professional homeless, and illegal aliens' and of course those ever present freeloaders who have taken advantage of our 'good nature' and have run amok with federal and state funds they are not entitled to, and have not just bent but broken our welfare system.  It was to these folks I vented my anger at yesterday.

And, if indeed, the facility I wrote about yesterday is made into a place of comfort for the downtrodden, let's make sure it is for those who legitimately need the help. That's all I ask.  But, and this is important...I also still want the following to apply:

1.  Whatever monthly government subsidies you receive, 95% will go to support the facility, taking the burden off the tax payers to pay staff salaries.
2.  There will be no smoking, alcoholic beverages or drugs allowed on the premises. Use of them will be cause for immediate expulsion from the facility.
3.  You will work, in the kitchen, in the maintenance of the building, in keeping the grounds in immaculate condition.
4.  You will commit to random drug testing.
5.  You will surrender your animals to qualified shelters so they can spend the remainder of their years in loving, caring homes.
6.  You will endeavor to reconnect with family.
7.  You will look for permanent employment...McDonald's is better than nothing.
8.  You will shower, shave, shampoo, wear clean clothes daily.
(Readers: Feel free to add to this list.)

Yes, if you follow the rules, you will be entitled to participate in whatever this new facility is going to be called. But, also remember, this is not a free ride, it is your opportunity to turn your life around, through hard work and dedication.  America used to be all about the stories of the guy who pulled himself up by his own boot straps.  I still love those kinds of stories.  

There you have it...I'm eating humble pie.  I hope you all accept my apology for my outrageous rant yesterday.  Sigh.  Frankie said  "Get over it."

Sc-rrr-aaape, shuffle, dddd-rrrr-ag.

Screeeeech, push, sc-rrr-aaappp-eee,  ddddddrag, pull.

Okay, I try not to do this, but now that I've dragged my soap box out of its dark corner,

here I go again.

Many years ago, it was thought our community needed a new jail, and lo, the powers that be made that happen.  Oh, it was (is) a fine, beautiful, state of the art, building.  It has everything...except the money to operate it.  So, it was that after a community Open House, it has remained...empty...not one single person has been incarcerated there.  It's as bright and shiny new today as it was when it was built. The only thing operating there is maintenance, especially the plumbing.

Occasionally, some local television news program will do a short 'update' on the facility.  Yes, there they stand microphone in hand, talking about what the local government's next 'bright idea' is to turn this facility into something useful. They are at it again.  NOW THEY WANT TO TURN IT INTO A FACILITY FOR THE HOMELESS.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME!

Yes, they are now saying with modest funding (LOL), this facility can be remodeled into a wonderful place for the homeless to stay/live.  Safe.  Warm.  Secure.  I'm sure these remodeling funds will eventually climb into millions, which, EVENTUALLY I'm sure we tax payers will pay for.

Here's the thing.  I'm sick and tired of supplying 'freebees' for the homeless.  Here I am, hanging on to the ledge of middle class living by my fingernails trying to survive on a limited income, while the homeless, (illegal aliens, and a heck of a lot of free-loaders) seem to be better off than I.

And, yes, I know this sounds like a lot of sour grapes, and it is.  Frankly, I'm seriously p***ed off.  I'm barely managing to keep a roof over my head, pay my bills, buy groceries, afford health care and my medications, without ever getting so much as a pat on the back or a 'well done'.  Again, while the homeless, (illegal aliens, and a heck of a lot of free-loaders) seem to be better off than I.

My question is, what will happen to this beautiful facility after, let's say, a year? Hmmm, scratch that, let's say six months after the homeless have taken it over?  I suspect it will be like the public park a few years back when they took over one of our beautiful parks for a month and COMPLETELY RUINED IT.  Which, once they vacated it, the city, with tax payer money...(don't kid yourselves...no matter what they say, it is tax payers money that pays for the government..not the government's 'budget')...had to pay goodness knows how much to repair the damage.

Come on, I feel there are many other options for this facility, especially if tax dollars are going to be used to help maintain, fund, and otherwise keep it running.  How about a re-hab center for returning vets, good use of tax dollars don't you think?  Or a shelter for battered women, their/or at risk children.  Maybe, a care facility for senior citizens when a family member needs a rest from months or years of caring for their elderly parent/parents.  How about an alternate education and/or training in a trade facility for young adults who can't afford to go to college.  I would much rather my tax dollars go to these kinds of endeavors, wouldn't you?  

However, if you must...if you feel...this facility absolutely needs to go to the homeless, (illegal aliens, and free loaders), let's make sure there are some very strict rules in order to qualify for shelter.

1.  Whatever monthly government subsidies you receive, 95% will go to support the facility, taking the burden off the tax payers to pay staff salaries.
2.  There will be no smoking, alcoholic beverages or drugs allowed on the premises. Use of them will be cause for immediate expulsion from the facility.
3.  You will work, in the kitchen, in the maintenance of the building, in keeping the grounds in immaculate condition.
4.  You will commit to random drug testing.
5.  You will surrender your animals to qualified shelters so they can spend the remainder of their years in loving, caring homes.
6.  You will endeavor to reconnect with family.
7.  You will look for permanent employment...McDonald's is better than nothing.
8.  You will shower, shave, shampoo, wear clean clothes daily.
(Readers: Feel free to add to this list.)

You know what?  If restrictions like those above are required, not one single homeless, (illegal alien, or free loader) will stop by or show up.  Know why? Because, not a one of them wants to be responsible for their own actions.  Heaven forbid they should have to give, give, give.  For them it is all about get, get, get.

And, there you have it.  I'm going to put my soap box back into its corner.  Thanks for letting me get this off my chest.  Me thinks I should probably be ready for stray bullets and rock throwing.  Sigh.


Sc-rrr-aaape, shuffle, dddd-rrrr-ag, screeeeech, push, sc-rrr-aaappp-eee,  ddddddrag, pull.

So often, we look, but do not see.

Quite some time ago, I went through what I called my "Henry David Thoreau Period".  I was fascinated with his nature writings has how thorough and intimate they were.  And, I couldn't help but wonder what he would think about nature today, with species having gone extinct, and others on 'endangered' lists.  At that time, I thought he would probably be appalled at how badly we were treating our environment.

It was then I began to think in earnest about my own environment, and how my very own neighborhood had changed drastically since we moved here in the early '70s.  I had learned from long time residents that the exact spot where my home sits was once a marsh area, that was, through each season filled with wild flowers, frogs, chipmunks, salamanders, California quail, opossums and raccoon.

At the time we arrived and took up residence, the street was not paved, we would get together and collect money to fill the pot holes every couple of years.  There were no street lights, and when it got dark...it really got dark.  You could see the milky way, and the sound of frogs would lull us to sleep.  It was amazing. Even thought the freeway was close by, around ten o'clock each evening, the traffic lessened, and you were not even aware the fast paced thoroughfare was there.

But, over time, the street was paved, more houses were build, trees came down, wildlife habitat dwindled. The frogs were gone, as were the chipmunks, the opossums, and the quail.  A lot of the wild flowers and the tiny red salamanders disappeared as well.  Streetlights appeared, the starry sky disappeared.  Traffic increased, as did the noise of the freeway. We could hear the noise twenty four hours a day.  It sounds like the constant flow of waves rolling into the shore.

So it was the words of Thoreau stunned me.  I wanted to imitate him, I wanted to leave a legacy for my children and my children's children and I began to walk my 'nature path', to a world to discovery.  I knew I was looking, but not seeing and was bound and determined to learn to see, and learn about my environment.  My quest lasted for almost three years.  I filled six journals, drew pictures, collected specimens, researched just about everything with which I came in contact. I filled binders with leaves, flowers, seeds, and bird feathers.  I sensed Thoreau would have been proud of me.

This weekend, I was doing a little garden trimming, and a ladybug landed in my hair, then I saw tiny acorns starting to grow along the branches of my oak tree, dozens of forget my not seeds clung to my clothes.  It was then it occurred to me (again) the magic of nature.  How, seeds move around, how plants seem to (magically) appear in places I haven't planted them and I thought perhaps my blog might be a good place to share what I learned as I mimicked my favorite long ago naturalist.  As a result, I think from time to time I just might write a Rambling Old Woman's nature tidbit with you.  Perhaps I might even intrigue you enough that you will venture into your neighborhood, and not just look but see what's there...before it disappears forever.

Hey, this just might be fun...I hope.