Well, that was a first!

I've mentioned on Facebook how weird this month has been.  Waaay too much sunshine, waaay too much warmth, and waaay too much early growth and return of my feathered friends.  What the heck is up with that anyway?

Yesterday afternoon I checked my willow and forsythia branches for signs of budding, and was disappointed there were no fuzzy grey kitties, or sunny yellow blossoms.  However, I was encouraged to see the yellow blossomed plum at the corner of my morning room is just about ready to BURST.

Since it was so lovely, I spent quite a bit of time moving each and every dormant potted plant on my tiny patio, sweeping up the last of autumn's leaves (the ones my gardener's blower could not dislodge).  The earthy smell of the rotting leaves and starting of new soil was wonderful.  It even crept into the house, boy, did I breathe deeply.

The sun felt delightfully warm on my cheeks, and I could imagine the vitamin D seeping through my pores.  I used my broom and hand as a make shift dust pan and spread the leaves and soil across the top of my potted plants.  I discovered there were earthworms in the mixture as well, and I was happy to see my sweeping had not harmed them.

I stood back, leaned against my broom handle, and inspected my work, I was quite pleased with myself.  I was about to put the broom away and move on to some other chore, and thought...what the heck. Instead, I put the broom away, grabbed one of my plastic lawn chairs from the garage and drug it to the patio, there I used my sweatshirt sleeve to remove the dust and a couple of spiderwebs from the seat, and plopped myself into the chair.

Zorro immediately jumped into my lap.  I felt like a kid playing hooky from school. Here was a Norman Rockwell scene.  Old woman, dog, lawn chair and sun.  Well, that was a first!  I've lived here over forty years and never, ever, not once have I been able to sit OUTSIDE, IN A SUMMER LAWN CHAIR, IN JANUARY.

What the heck is up with that anyway?

January

This month has been crazy.  Busy, too.

I'm gradually collecting all my paperwork so I can do my taxes next month, I'm putting together a folder of Senior Complexes, with the hope later this year (if I can sell my house) to move into one, and what with the weather having made January much like March I've been working outside, too.

I finally pulled down all the hops that grow around my garage door in the summer, trimmed my vine hydrangea and pulled out last year's dead annuals.  Oh...of course, weeds are already wanting to overtake the flower gardens so as I make my way to and from the mailbox every day I've been pulling a handful of them to plop into the yard debris container.

I tell, ya, I've been working my fanny off.

There are daily chores to be done as well, you know, empty-fill the dishwasher, prepare something to eat, work from 8 till noon, exercise for at least 30 minutes in the morning...there's always ALWAYS something to do.

I was watching a clip on Facebook this morning, it was an old guy who claims the best way to stay young is to "never leave the playground".  At first I thought 'this guy is nuts', but after watching the clip in its entirety I realized he was physically doing things to stay young what Lumosity does to keep us mentally young.  I started to wonder if I could somehow get better at keeping myself young in both departments. Could I find the time, and still do all the other 'stuff' I actually do in a day?

I've been exercising for almost five months now, and I have noticed I do have more energy.  For instance instead of allowing empty water bottles to accumulate on the kitchen counter until I finally make a trip to the garage to the recycle bin, I actually walk the extra 25-30 feet each time to plunk the plastic bottle into its receptacle, thereby adding steps to my day, and hopefully burning a few calories in the process.

Then, last week dragged out my dust covered,wicker basket that holds my exercise equipment (LOL), hoping to increase some muscle to my wrinkled old body.  I have two pound ankle weights, and three pound hand weights and have begun to integrate them into my program every day.  Sometimes I don't even take the ankle weights off right away.  I also (some time ago) bought one of those Pilates resistant tubing-with handles, and have started using that this week...the the tube with the least resistance (of course).  So far, so good.

Somewhere, (also covered in dust) I've got some five pound hand weighs, maybe I can work my way up to using them.  MAYBE...if I can find them.

Here's the thing.  I used to be able to stay up working till 3 AM, flop into bed, sleep till dawn and get up, thinking I had filled my days with all sorts of good, healthy activity.  Oh, brother!  What a joke. Basically I sat...at my computer all morning...on my sofa all afternoon...with short walks to and from the fridge, mailbox and trips to the door to let Zorro out and in.  Ah, yes, that was the good life. Now, I'm getting ready for bed around 10 PM and under the covers shortly thereafter.  I do my daily Bible reading, watch a little TV, and am shortly off to LaLa Land.  Boy, do I sleep!!!  Ah, yes, that is the good life.

Anyway, I think the old guy was right.  The secret to staying young is to "never leave the playground".  All morning I've been trying to think up ways to kind of sneak in ways to play.  Maybe I could make some kind of outline for playing Hop Scotch in my living room.  I used to love to play Jacks (you should have seen old guy play)...I think I have some, somewhere.  Maybe I could take a piece of clothes-line rope and jump rope for several minutes a day.

Holy Mackerel!  Is there going to be enough time in the day?

Tribune Democrat.

The name of my hometown newspaper is the Tribune Democrat.  When I was still living there, my work required me to visit the paper on a regular basis.  I loved going in that building, it was (is) the life blood of the community.  And, to me it seemed to audibly 'hummm'.

I didn't realize just how connected I was to my hometown until last year, when (for some unknown reason) I became extraordinarily attached to the place.  Oh, I still have friends and family there with whom I've stayed in contact all these years, but one day while snooping around the Internet, I discovered my hometown newspaper and a vision of the building and all the time I spent in it sprang to life.  I was delighted to find I could browse the site for free for a certain time frame.  Suddenly I was fascinated with the names of places once so familiar to me.  There were pictures, too, my, how my heart warmed.  I spent a lot of time perusing the pages of the newspaper.  I checked rentals and homes for sale, I checked the weekly advertisements, I read the daily news articles, I even checked the 'obits' and funeral notices.

Then one day I saw an ad for my hometown magazine, thought 'what the heck', and ordered a year's subscription.  I figured it would be printed on newsprint paper, and have maybe a dozen or so pages.  I was thrilled to find it is a beautifully produced magazine that rivals those you find in bookstores, and it is (monthly) filled with fantastic articles about the people who live there, and also what they are doing to keep the area vibrant and alive.

By now I was hooked.  I can't say I'm homesick for my hometown...it's more like nostalgia, but I did discover my roots for the place are still firmly planted there and they thirsted for the place.  Truly thirsted for the place, and so it was I also started to subscribe the Tribune Democrat as well.  I wrote in my blog late last year how my subscription didn't work well at first and how a very lovely person helped me get my account set up and how she even extended my subscription for the period of time I was unable to move through the site.

Recently I got the renewal notice for my subscription to the paper, and I contemplated not renewing, then I realized just how much I had reconnected with my hometown, how much I miss the place. There, I've said it, 'er written it I miss the place. Is that the same thing as being 'homesick'? Perhaps it is, all I can say for sure is...move over San Francisco ...Johnstown is where I've left my heart.

Fog

This morning I couldn't help but wonder why it took so long to get daylight.
I knew it was after 7 AM, because my bedside clock told me so, yet it seemed excessively dark. When I pulled the drapes I discovered my world was blanketed in quite a heavy fog.  It hung low, low into the trees.  I could make out the houses on the street behind me, but little else.

I turned on the TV and learned the entire valley was shrouded in the grey matter.  I was told depending on when the fog lifted, the temperature could rise to 60 degrees (possibly).  I decided today would be a good day for a hearty potato soup and I set about slicing and dicing vegetables, threw in a can of diced chicken breast and a can of cream of chicken soup.  Boy, this was going to be good.

However, by the time I got the soup cooking in the slow cooker, the fog was gone, the sky was a winter/spring blue, and I am hopeful it will indeed get up to 60 degrees, because I would love to open every window in my house and clear out the last of October's air.  Yes, that is a hyperbole.  Still, I would certainly like to clean out the air, at the very most it is a healthful thing to do, and at the very least it will boost my spirits...not that I need that at the moment.

Something does trouble me though, and that's the fact this has been one of a handful of weird winters since I've been living in the Pacific Northwest.  We are beginning to break records when it comes to high temperatures while clusters of sunny days require us to look for our sunglasses (seriously...in January?).  At the same time the snow base in the mountains is frighteningly low, the ski resorts are suffering badly.

I don't want to delve into what could be causing all this unusual weather, GW (Global Warming), but it seems to me this tired old earth is trying desperately to tell us something.  I hope it's not to late.

But I digress.  I started out talking about fog.  I don't know how you feel about a foggy morning, as for me, sometimes I like them, sometimes they strike me in a very different way.

                                                        Foggy Morning

                                                       SH April 15, 1988

There is something special about a morning when the fog nestles in the branches of the trees.  All the morning sounds are muted, even the freeway traffic can scarcely be heard.  The birds, eager for their breakfast, chirp, but their song seems melancholy. The trees hang full with moisture, and occasionally a large droplet lets go with a loud 'splat' that resounds as it hits the plastic covered woodpile. Some days you can almost see things grow, but on days such as this everything seems to be moving in slow motion.

Poor flowers, heavy laden with yesterday's rain lie face down in the soil.

Windsocks hang limp, wet, barely moving.

Hanging chimes make no music.

The earth smells musky, sweetly pungent, slightly peppery.

The birds become impatient, adding a sense of urgency to their melancholy song.

I'll move slowly today, contemplative, I find not only are the birds melancholy,
so am I.

Hey!!!!!

As I was coming out of my sleepy time fog this morning, the news was on.  I was kind of listening, kind of not.  When I heard the reporter state that 'Tweets' have negative aspects to them, and can harm your health. Especially if they have the word "Hey!" in them.

Apparently posting angry Tweets can cause a person (over time) to have at least heart problems and at worst a heart attack.

It was at this point I began to pay attention.

Hmmm, I says to myself...are Tweets going to take the place of, let's say 'road rage'?  Surely that kind of anger can cause a heart attack, too.

And, really, I pondered, what does the word "Hey" have to do with this?

Let's face it if somebody yells "Hey" at you, you do have the tendency to stop, drop and roll. And, the first thing that goes through my mind is, "Uh oh, what the heck did I do now?"

Oh, sometimes "Hey" is not used in an angry manner, such as..."Hey, Dude, wazz' up?" However, in this instance you are actually looking at the Dude, and the sentence is generally followed with a 'high five', of fist bump.

On the other hand, an angry "Hey", can be followed with a punch to the face or stomach, or the worst case scenario a stab wound or gun shot to your tummy area.  Hey, it's crazy times, folks.  

At this point of the news clip, the reporter stated that the best way to handle your anger is not with an insulting, irrational, expletive laden, pent-up Tweet, but by letting loose with a good long, loud, scream, or by letting loose with a swing at something...(not body), like a pillow or punching bag.  I personally would not suggest a wall, door or other object that could break a bone in your hand.

Here's the thing.  I have for years suggested that every home should have a screaming room. One with pads on the walls, no windows, and soundproof doors. And, after hearing this mornings news clip I know I'm right.  However, now I think a life sized, feather filled mannequin would be an excellent addition to said room.  Hey, you know you want one in your house.

In the end though, I think the best way to handle anger, is the good old fashioned way.  The way they did it in old, black and white, silent films.  Yep, with a good old fashioned pie fight. Talk about releasing pent up emotions, ain't nothing better.  We had one once when the kids were little.  Nobody was angry with anyone, it simply was something I had always wanted to do.  So we filled paper plates with whipped cream, and chased each other all around the apartment building.  We were whipped cream messes.  In the end we hosed ourselves off, and went back in the apartments to shower and put on clean clothes.  Gotta' say it was a ball.

If it was good enough for Laurel and Hardy, it was good enough for Lucille Ball, it was good enough for us, it should be good enough for you.  Nobody ever got hurt, and how can you not laugh at somebody with whipped cream covering their face, hair and at least 50% of their body.

Hey!  You ought to give it a go.

Moments

I'm pretty sure I've written before how time sometimes plays tricks on me, and some days slowly move through each and every moment.  I can accomplish in two hours what normally takes eight. Then other days, no matter how hard I try to accomplish even the easiest, shortest chore, it seems to take eight hours.

Take for instance, emptying the dishwasher.  I will open the door, remove a few items, discover I have an urgent need to visit the bathroom, and leave the remaining dishes exactly where they were when I placed them in the washer. Then, on the way back to finish that chore, I stop to watch a few minutes of whatever show is being played on my TV, pull out the carpet sweeper, and take a few swipes across the living room carpet and totally forget I was on my way to empty the dishwasher.

The whole day is like that.  Eventually, I get hungry and have to start a new batch of dirty dishes, so that around two in the afternoon I actually finish putting the clean dishes away. But, do I at the same time put my dirty dishes in the washer...of course not...that's not accomplished until about 10:30 PM, when I'm contemplating going to bed.

Looking back on the day I can see I've accomplished very, very little.  I hate days like that.

Yesterday, I discovered I have days that are half and half...why I didn't realize this before, I've no clue. The morning went swimmingly.  I moved through my routine with ease, and had plenty of time to shower and get ready for Bible study.  It was great.

Then, after my study was over, things went to heck in a hand basket.  Dirty dishes accumulated in the sink.  All the books and papers from my Bible study were still piled on my TV tray/desk or the hearth, and although I tried to work a bit, I accomplished absolutely nothing.  Even getting ready for bed I got sidetracked.  Seriously, how hard is it to get into your 'jammies', brush your teeth, pull down the covers and slip between the sheets. Obviously, some nights it's not easy.  I see my pets' water bowl is empty and I take time to refill it.  I have to double check the doors and windows to make sure they are locked (even thought I know they are), that I've turned off all the lights (I know I did), and have to decide do I or don't I want to heat up my rice socks.  Sigh!

And, there you have it.  The morning was terrific...the afternoon and evening...not so much. What the heck happened?  Did my 'sign' suddenly fall under a different star?  Did some kind of supernatural phenomenal cross my path?  Did the barometric pressure change?  I certainly didn't walk under a ladder and no black cat crossed my path, so what the heck changed my day?  I don't think I will ever know.

Maybe, it was my Pixie.  I guess that's a good excuse as any.

Book Stores

Okay, I know the age of technology has made it possible to easily visit Chain Book Stores and purchase books without leaving the comfort of your home.  A few clicks of your computer mouse will have your books at your front door in a matter of days.  I buy books on line all the time.  I used to belong to three book clubs, too, but gave them up when I learned how easy it was to buy them (cheaply) sitting where I am at the moment.

Click!

Click!

Click!

However, here in the Pacific Northwest, we have something amazing and tangible.  It is an honest to goodness Book Store.  It covers a whole city block, and you navigate through it with a color coded map.  It is amazing.  I try to include this store as part of my "Guided Tour of Portland", if my tourists have the time.  Oh, I don't mean a half hour or so...I'm talking at least a morning.  Seriously...at LEAST a morning. Yep, it's that kind of a place.

The first time I went there I was agog.  For a person who loves books, THIS was better than the Chocolate Factory, Hogwarts, and the Emerald City, all mushed together.  So, when I got a posting on my Facebook page this morning about this store, I realized I was not the only person who felt this was indeed a store extraordinaire.

The name of this store?  Powell's Books.  And this morning...this very morning, I discovered it had been named by "Yahoo! Travel" as a must see/do in their "State by State Guide to the 50 Coolest Things in America."  Seriously...this is fantastic.  My book store, my personal, magical, leather bound/paper-backed castle, made it onto the list.  Can you even fathom what an honor that is, and can you imagine the thousands of places that didn't make the list? Wow!

Now, I know I've written about this store before, and I can't guarantee I will not write about it again in the future.  I'm simply a bookworm to the nth degree, and when Powell's Books hits the 'big time' I simply have to shout, 'er, at least write about it.  I hope you will check it out for yourselves.  Take a few minutes to, at the very least, visit their web-site.

www.powells.com/portland

And, if you ever come to my neck of the woods, remember to allow yourself the luxury of spending at least a morning...a whole morning browsing this magical, fantastical, extraordinary-ical, place.

Oh, and congrats, Powell's Books...way to go!!!!!!

This will be short and sweet...

...like kissing your brother.

I was up late last night correcting my stupidity of my morning blunder.  So, I sat at my computer scanning, saving, scanning, saving, scanning, saving.  I'm pleased to report the scanner worked great, all the snowflakes and snowmen are properly saved to their proper file.

Today....TAKIN' THE DAY OFF.  WHEW!

Well....that was a big waste of time

I knew it was going to be a busy Saturday, and since I know I can't do more than one thing at a time........(anymore); I also knew today was going to present challenges.  I thought I was prepared.

I'm not.

First and foremost I have groceries being delivered sometime between 11 AM and 3 PM, so I have to be ready to stop one project at a moment's notice and begin to put my delivery away.

In the meantime I've started my laundry.  I noticed my detergent container was getting low, and figured this would be a good morning to open and mix in the detergents I ordered some time ago.  I buy a famous name brand and a house brand and mix them together, with whatever is remaining in the 'leftover' container.  I do this using a wooden spoon.  I've noticed the stores now carry powdered 'concentrated' varieties, and that is what I purchased last.  The directions stated that one scoop equals six loads, so I rummaged through my plastic containers trying to find one 'just right' that would fill the old scoop six times to the top.  I eventually found one that came close and I started my first load.

Being a nonbeliever, I checked the water as the tub was filling just to make sure I actually saw some semblance of suds.  I did and was a happy camper.

Next, I decided to go to work.  I've been creating return address labels for my store, and spent the rest of the morning scanning in snowflakes and snowmen.  Crap.  Suddenly my scanner went bonkers, and would give me an error message.  Did I panic, yes...and I began to back myself out of my programs, trying to undo whatever error I had made...NOT REALIZING I HAD NOT 'SAVED' ALL MY HOURS OF WORK ALREADY DONE.  CRAP, CRAP, CRAP.

Sigh, everything was gone.

GONE, GONE, GONE.  CRAP, CRAP, CRAP.

So, I think it's time to 'step away', turn off this blankity, blank lecronical gadget and concentrate on my laundry, and waiting for my groceries to arrive.

So far today has been a big waste of time.

CRAP, CRAP, CRAP.

Sleepless in Seattle....'er, Portland

Dang!  I hate sleepless nights!

Especially when indigestion is involved.  Frankie says it's my own fault.  Yeah, Yeah, I know it is. Yesterday I fixed myself a cheese/tuna sandwich for linner (late lunch/early dinner). Big mistake, I like tuna, and I sure had a hankering for it yesterday, so I opened a can and dumped the whole can on one of the slices of bread, plopped cheese on top of it, added condiments, threw a handful of crackers on the plate and sat down to eat.  The sandwich tasted really good.

I was hoping I would not suffer later on from over indulging on tuna, but (sigh) I did.  How come nobody ever tells you when you get old some of your most favorite youthful foods will not 'sit' well as you age.  Oh, I suffered...I suffered.

Not thinking, later in the evening, I decided maybe a bit of something 'bubbly' might help with the icky feeling, and constant burping and opened a can of soda.  Yeah, buddy....this will certainly help.

Haaaaaa, haaaaaaa, haaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaa, haaaaaaa.

Wait a minute, I've got to catch my breath.

Baaaaaa, hhhhhhaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaa.

Oh, brother, not only did the bubbly not help, it made matters worse.  I finally told Frankie I was going to bed, and to lock up and turn out the lights when she was ready to do the same.  I didn't want her to see how much I was suffering.

Needless to say, I spent the night devouring antacid tablets, and resetting my TV at 90 minute intervals to turn itself off.  I did this, ALL night.  This morning I was exhausted...I managed to heave myself out of bed around 7:30, fed my furry friends and flopped on the sofa.  I told myself I would get up and dressed as soon as the house warmed.

Enter Frankie:

Frankie: "Well, well, well, don't you look awful."
Me:  "Shut up."
Frankie:  "I told you, I told you...don't eat tuna."
Me:  "I've no idea what you're talking about."
Frankie:  "Sure you do.  I heard you, shuffling around your room, up and down, up and down.  I also heard you channel surfing.  I also heard an occasional snore.  You...(picture her poking me on the chest with a bony index finger) should never, never, ever eat tuna.  AND never, never, ever buy it anymore either."

Frankie is getting herself into a dither.  She plops down, squishing me against Zorro and Zorro against the back of the sofa.  I sense I'm in for a lecture.  And, I get one about knowing how some foods do not 'sit' well with me anymore, and how come I don't have the sense to avoid them, and imagine how much money we could save if I didn't buy them and then have them sit in the cupboard for months, and months, and MONTHS.

Me: (Properly chastised) "I know, but it was so delicious at the time."
Frankie:  (Having run out of steam and running a hand through my bed-head hair) "Get up, you really do look awful."

She could have stopped with that, but no, not Frankie.  She rose, and as a parting shot she tells me the remaining cans of tuna will be devoured by CC, not me.

Frankie headed to the kitchen.  "You want something to eat?"

I contemplate that for a minute or two, then my mummy gave a familiar and friendly growl. "Yes, please, I think a cup of tea and some soda crackers would really hit the spot."

Sometimes that girl comes in pretty handy.

I'm constantly amazed.

I know a lot of people have different ideas about what happens when a person passes away. Some believe we simply return to dust, some believe we go to a special place to wait for us to join them. Some believe parts of us remain among the living.  I believe the latter.  For several reasons.

First, when my dear mother passed away, we split up her clown collection.  Frankly, I didn't really want any of it until I saw a cute little one that looked more like a little hobo laying on his tummy, fish pole in hand with a sunflower dangling on the end of his fishing line.  I adored him, and asked if I could have just that one.  So, I brought him home.  Now, bear in mind, he is built to sit on a narrow ledge, because his left leg is positioned to hang down over the ledge.  I discovered he fit nicely over the vanity mirror in the bedroom and that's exactly where I placed him.

This mirror is tall and narrow and almost give me a full body view, I honestly thought he would be very happy there and I could see and talk to him every day.  He was a perfect reminder of my mom.

Well, it wasn't long before the clown fell down onto the vanity...it made quite a clamor and I figured it would be badly damaged.  However, not so much as a tiny chip had broken off.  I returned it to the top of the mirror.  The thought my mother might have pushed it off, passed through my mind, but left that notion go.

Several months later, the clown fell again...once more there was no damage, and I put the clown back where it belonged.  Mother, what are you trying to tell me?  It was not long after the clown fell again, and again not even a sliver of paint was scratched or scraped during the fall.

Okay, Mom, I'm slow, but I get it, you do not like sitting on top of the mirror...

So, I moved the clown to my office and set it on top of my computer modem. She has not pushed the clown off not...once...and she's been there now for years.

Then when my husband passed away, for a couple of years he hung around the house, I could feel him sit on the bed beside him.  I could smell his pipe, once he even touched me.  Since our final years were not terrific, I felt he was trying to tell me something.  I wanted to forgive his unbecoming behaviors, but it was hard.  However, when I finally did, I think he realized just how difficult the last years had been for me and finally said he was sorry and went away. I've not seen or felt his presence since.

Now, I suppose you are going to find this next part even more difficult to believe than the part I've already written here, however, hang in there.

Mom loved butterflies, and one summer day while I was walking my yard, there in one of my gardens was a perfect specimen of a monarch butterfly.  It had died, wings spread wide apart so I could see all the intricate designs the Creator had give it.  I knew immediately it was a gift from my mother.  I made a tiny box to hold the body, and I still have it today.  Along the same line, my sister is frequently visited by a particular white butterfly that flits and flies around her when she works outside, she too, knows it's mom coming to check on her and send the message she (mom) is well and happy.

Finally, just last week, I got the news a dear cousin had passed away.  I'd been sending her cards and enjoying long, sometimes silly conversations with her for several years.  As we were passing the word of her passing among family members, I was talking to my other sister about her and I happened to wander to my living room storm door, and there, in the morning sky was the most beautiful, big rainbow I had ever seen.  It was low in the sky, and arched just behind my across the street neighbor's house, and out of sight on my side of the street.  I knew it was my cousin telling me she was finally at rest, at peace, physically well again, and happy to be joined with long passed family once more.

It was about this time I got an e-mail from my cousin's daughter who reported...way back in Ohio, that she and her siblings had received messages from their mother as well.  Cousin Bruce had been given a miraculous sunny morning, while Cousins Gayle and Gary heard a 'thump' and discovered a cardinal had flown into a window, when they went to explore they were delightfully surprised to discover they were visited by a group of cardinals in their yard.  Guess what? Cardinals just happened to be their mother's favorite bird.

Now, I'm sure many, many, many of you will say the above were/are all just coincidences, and nothing more.  And perhaps they were/are.  But as for me and my family, we choose to believe, that even though our physical body dies, and indeed returns to dust, there is a part of us, that lives on and looks over us, prepares a place for us, and waits for us to join them.  What a comfort.  And every time I look at my little fishing clown I know in my heart of hearts, it is my mom's way of saying...I'm still here, and you are doing okay...keep your faith...we'll be together again some day.

Well, that was amazing.

Okay, this is not really what I was going to write about, but just a little while ago I was looking out my bay window as the yard and lawn debris truck pull up to my container and stopped.

First I was amazed that he came around so late in the day because normally the loudness of his truck wakes me long before dawn, as he rumbles first up and then down the street.  As a result, when I went to the mailbox (mid-morning) to bring in my newly delivered mail, I was quite surprised to see my recycle bin was still full.  Long deceased, Queen Anne's lace stems with seeds were still sticking out between the sides and the top of the bin.  My first thought was the truck probably had mechanical problems, and was running late.  That does happen sometimes.

Eventually I saw the truck go up the street and it took quite some time before I heard and then saw it come back into view.  Yes, I'm nosy, I could not help but go to the window to watch him take my yard debris away.

Hmmm, he stopped in front of my driveway, but didn't get out of the truck.  Okay, he was probably talking to somebody on his phone.

No...he was actually studying my bin.  Uh-oh, had I done something wrong?  Was he going to stick some kind of a note to my bin, and simply drive off leaving my yard debris behind? Well, wouldn't that just put a wrinkle in my brow.

Suddenly, the truck shuddered.  And, a bright yellow robot (kinda/sorta) extricated itself from the truck and although securely held to the side of the truck by an arm, it began to wriggle, and giggle itself toward my bin.  As it got closer, a huge pincher (kinda/sorta) reached out, spread apart, and like magic, grabbed my bin and began hoisting it up in the air, yep, my yard debris went up, over and into the back of the truck.

The robot, slowly descended and politely, gently, dropped my yard debris bin at the end of my driveway.

I was agog.  The driver never left the cab of the truck, the robot did all the lifting and heaving.  I'm still having a hard time believing what I saw.  However, I now know why he was late.  Obviously, he is in the process of learning how to use this robot, and it's taking a bit of time to accomplish this task. You go guy who drives the yard debris truck!!!!!!!! Whoop, whoop.

I gotta say, I was totally impressed...or, maybe I need to get a life.

Grrrrrrrr

I am not happy with myself this morning.  I broke my routine...this is the second time. Yesterday morning I broke my routine, too.

I hate to admit it but my days are for the most part the same...day....after day...after day. Seldom does something exciting alter my day's activities.  Oh, I might make a mad dash to my mailbox, in the dark, in my nightie, and then there was the afternoon one of my neighbor's chickens somehow got into my back yard and I had to chase it down, but for the most part every day is the same.

Then yesterday morning I broke my regular activities.  Normally I make my bed 'first thing', but since I've not been well lately, and my washing of linens schedule was behind I thought "what the heck", and I stripped the bed and dashed to the garage to run them through the longest, hottest, cycle my washer could offer.

Then, I decided to air out all the blankets, too.  Before I knew it the morning was shot, and I had not done one lick of exercise, much less the rest of the laundry.

Never did exercise.  Never finished the laundry either, after all I surmised, I can always 'do it tomorrow'.

So this morning, I arose and after making my freshly laundered bed I decided to finish the laundry left undone from yesterday's chores.  It will only take a moment to separate the clothing into piles and then I will do my exercises, and thereafter start the laundry.

Well, I kind of made a side trip, to open the garage door to allow 'in house' heat to seep out there before starting that chore.  Then, I was d-y-i-n-g for a cup of coffee, and decided while my microwave heated that sucker up, I would turn on my computer.  I did, (I should have walked away), did I noooooooooo.

I just had to check facebook, and my e-mail, and my store, and of course my favorite websites, and my I-Ching......

....and then my coffee cooled because I forgot it was still sitting in my microwave, and I had to reheat that.

So, here I am many, many moments later, still at my computer.

Have I exercised?  Of course not.

Have I started my laundry?  Ya' think?

Am I even dressed?  Nope.

There you have it, the reasons I am not happy with myself this morning.  My day is shot to heck, and it's only 9:33 AM.  I'm thinking about 'phoning in' the rest of the day and going back to bed...where there are lovely smelling fresh sheets and pillow cases, and air blown refreshed blankets.  Perhaps I'll start a new novel, or grab some VHS movies, bought long, long ago, and spend the day relaxing, drinking coffee and munching leftover Christmas cookies.

No...I'm going to start my laundry...and maybe, just maybe I'll start my exercise program, too.

Maybe, just maybe.

When all else fails...

...read the directions.

Several years ago I decided it was time to get rid of my decaying three season porch and I called my contractor telling him I wanted it torn down, and replaced with a room I could use year round...I refer to it as my morning room.

I suggested he remove the sliding door and kitchen window and open the room up in that 'simple manner', but he said he could 'do better'.  So, I left the construction in his capable hands (I always do), and as he cut, sawed, hammered and nailed, I retired to my office to work.

As a final addition to my new room, I asked him to find a free standing, electric, black, fireplace to supply the heat.  The one we chose is lovely, and for several years the artificial logs provided a lovely, soft glow to the room.

Then, last year, the logs went dark.  I searched out my instruction booklet, and discovered the logs lighting was provided by 'chandler style bulbs', which (of course) I did not have on hand.  However, on my next shopping trip I did buy a package of them to replace what I suspected to be a burned out bulb.

Again, I checked my instruction booklet and learned it was best to replace all the bulbs at the same time.  Thank goodness I purchased a four pack of bulbs.  I sat about unscrewing the proper screws to gain access to the old bulbs, removing and replacing them with the new ones.  I reassembled the fireplace and flipped the switch...nothing happened.  I spent the next hour or so trying this and that in attempts to make the fireplace logs light up, all to no avail.

Sigh.  I decided as long as the heater and fan worked I could live without the magical logs. Sigh.

Two days ago I had occasion to pull out the instruction book, determined to discover what I had done wrong ever so long ago when I tried to replace the bulbs.  This time, I not only looked at the pictures, but did read the instructions...word for word...line by line...

guess what?

I learned there are not two (2) light bulbs making the logs work, but three (3).  Yes, three!!! The third one secretly hidden away at the top, and under the inside lip of the fireplace.  I was instructed to pull down the little compartment, and there behind the metal was an old fashioned style, clear, Christmas Tree light bulb.  Son of a gun!  Oh, I had a devil of a time extracting the bulb. I could have used yesterday's tiny Pixie fingers to remove it. However, eventually I managed to unscrew it, and since I'm a saver (not hoarder) of everything, I happen to have a tiny box filled with old fashioned Christmas Tree bulbs. I chose an orange colored one, and screwed it into the socket.

Giddy with accomplishment I shoved the fireplace plug into an outlet...and...there was light. Yes sir, buddy, my little fireplace had three brand new bulbs, and glowed just like in the good old days.  I was one happy camper.  And, what did I learn?  It really does help, when all else fails, to (finally) read the instructions.

And, then this morning....

....I awoke with a kind of tickle all over my body.  As I posted of facebook, I had a very, very, very strong feeling I wanted to be naughty.

Not a bad naughty, but the kind the pixies want to do.  Oh, I soooo wanted to do something, anything, to get into trouble.  Yep, there was definitely a pixie pokin' me from the inside, here, there, everywhere, especially my addled brain.  I was wishing there was somebody I could pull a prank on. I considered doing it on facebook, but feared someone might take me seriously and have the guys in white coats come take me away before I could explain it was all just a joke.

Oh, my, I wish this feeling would go away.  It seems to be getting stronger rather than going away. I hoped doing my exercises would do the trick...that didn't work.  I tried working, at work...that didn't work.  I tried taking my mind off pranking by talking on the phone with friends and family...that didn't work.

Hey, I need help, serious suggestions to make this feeling go away, because, I feel like having a conversation with my imaginary friend in public, or scratching my butt...picking my nose, again in public...or, maybe mooning somebody...(Does anybody do that any more?).  If toilet paper weren't so dang expensive I'd go across the street and TP my neighbor's house...wouldn't that be a hoot?  Oh, oh, maybe I'll disguise my voice and call my best across town friend and ask her if her refrigerator is running and tell her to go stop it.

Maybe I'll call a smoke shop and see if Prince Albert is still in a can.

Wait!  I have even a better idea, I think all of us should let our pixies out to go berserk today. I think we should make this come kind of a holiday, like, International Set Your Pixie Free Day.  Yeah, that's the ticket.

Look out world...I'm out of control...my pixie just might be comin' after you.

Just when I think...

this Winter is going to be normal, things go a-muck.

Seriously, just when we have a plentiful supply of new snow fall on the mountains, the temperatures rise into the forties, and it rains causing the snow to melt.  The ski industry is suffering badly. Generally speaking in January most of the month has rainy days, with city temperature highs in the mid-forties. And that means the snow accumulates by the foot in the mountains.

I expect grey days and star/moonless nights, and the patter of rain lulling me to sleep. Very little rain is expected this week, and the temperatures are going to be above normal as well. The sky is NOT a threatening grey, and this morning I even see a blue canvas sky; while last evening at 5PM, twilight had just begun and I could still make out the paint colors of my neighbors homes.  What the heck is up with that?

And, yesterday afternoon as I was bringing my dog in, I saw my neighbor sitting on her deck steps petting one of her dogs...and she wasn't even wearing a jacket.  How odd for January 6.

I can see the tips of daffodils breaking ground, and was amazed to see a green sea of marsh marigold leaves covering the garden in my back yard as I gazed out my sun room windows. Thank goodness they are hardy, so if the temperatures do plummet, they will survive.  I ponder, will the delicate, soft, grey kittens soon appear on my willows?  And, what about my flowering plum that is also an early bloomer?

Don't get me wrong, these curiosities, are delightful and certainly boost my spirits and tickle my fancy as well.  I wonder if Bobby is going to reappear soon and ask to be allowed to go back outdoors.  Of course he/she will be welcome to go, though I suspect he/she will remain close to the door just in case temperatures plunge and my warm house again seems welcoming.

Hmmm, let's see, if January is more like early March, will March be more like May...and what will that mean for July...September....December?  Hey....where the heck did this year go??????????

I'm back,

a little worse for wear, but none the less back.

I've got to get my creative juices flowing again, I think my Muse must have taken an unscheduled, unexpected, unexplained vacation, but, I'm hopeful she will return in a couple of days.  She always talked about taking some of those European River Cruises, and I suspect that's where she is, because a new catalog for them arrived in the mail a few days ago,  maybe in a few days I'll get a postcard from her letting me know when she plans to return.

I appreciate your hanging in there with me, and I will be back again tomorrow.

Hope you had wonderful holidays with family and friends and that this new year, 2015 holds good things for all of us.

Frankie, Zorro, CC and Me.