Scoo, bee, doo, be, dooo, bee, dooo.

I'm stuck in nostalgia this morning.

I was fortunate to grow up in an era where beautiful songs were written, lyrics told a story, generally love stories.  They were slow, and I swayed back and forth as I hummed them in my head.  Song writers were magicians, their words and music weaved a spell, we walked through a room of smoke and mirrors until we became the song.

This morning a particular song has been weaving in and out of the smoke filled recesses of my brain. At this moment I don't even recall its name, but here are the words I recall so far..."just a passing glance, just a brief romance,...might have ended.....da, da, da.

Dang it!

It was probably written for a Broadway play, maybe back in the '30's or 40's.  Maybe by Gershwin, or maybe Berlin.  I know I'm not going to be able to move on to something else today until I find this song on the Net, read it, find out who wrote it and sing it either in my head or out loud (which won't be pretty...that's for sure).

I've always appreciated the songs from the '30's, 40's and even several from the '50's...then something happened, we started listening to songs about blueberry hills, hound dogs and heartbreak hotels.  Oh, they were clever, and we were still able to memorize the words and sing along, it was still okay.  But, over the decades since I have to confess I find songs written today for the most part are repetitious and not really even sung...but shouted...very, very loudly.  Sigh, I don't even turn on my radio to listen to music, but play old tapes and CD's.  I know, I know I'm old...and nostalgic.

Dang it!

I'm good with letting the 'young folk' have their music, I'm thankful I don't have to listen to it, and who knows, maybe somebody in their late teens and early twenties today in another five or so decades will be sitting at some kind of newfangled technology saying to themselves...'what was the name of that song...Scoo, bee, doo, be, dooo, bee, dooo?  I bet ya' fifty cents it didn't tell a beautiful story, like the one below.

Nat King Cole – Fascination Lyrics

It was fascination

I know

And it might have ended

Right then, at the start

Just a passing glance

Just a brief romance

And I might have gone

On my way

Empty hearted

It was fascination

I know

Seeing you alone

With the moonlight above

Then I touch your hand

And next moment

I kiss you

Fascination turned to love

It was fascination

I know

Seeing you alone

With the moonlight above

Then I touch your hand

And next moment

I kiss you

Fascination turned - to - love

Songwriters: OAKEY, PHILIP/CALLIS, JO /

Fascination lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, 

Peerrmusic Publishing, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group

Oh, how I wish something like that had happened to me.  A balcony, crickets singing, slight summer breeze, gardenias in the air...a silhouette standing in the open French doors...a gentle tap on my bare shoulder..."then he touched my hand and next moment he kissed me, fascination turned to love."

Sigh! 

This blog is...

...about the Bible, so, if this subject offends you, this is the place to stop reading.  That's your right and I respect that.

Over the years, and on my own I've studied the Bible a lot.  I've read it cover to cover twice.  Both times I learned many things but I always felt something was missing.  So, I mentioned that to my Bible Study mentor, saying "I know what happens in the Bible, but I don't really know the 'people' in the Bible, I wish I could learn about the people."

To my absolute delight the next week she showed up with one of their publications called "Imitate Their Faith".  And, over the year we learned about the Bible figures Abel, Noah, Abram, Ruth, Hannah, Samuel, Abigail, Elijah, Jonah (my favorite), Esther, Mary and Joseph (Jesus earthly mother and father), Martha an finally Peter (my second favorite). Oh, I can't wait to meet them in paradise...the questions I want to ask.

Sadly, last week we finished the book, we have the conclusion to go which we are going to try to stretch out to at least two or maybe three weeks.  Then we are hoping we might be privy to a miracle and a new book comes out with additional personalities in the Bible.  I hope, I hope.

I can't tell you just how much I've learned from these historical people, and how much I want to spent the rest of my life imitating their faith.  For instance I learned from Peter when he asked Jesus how many times he was required to forgive someone who sinned against him...the law of at the day said "only three", Peter wanting to sound generous asked Jesus, "Up to seven?"  Imagine his surprise when his Lord replied, "Not up to seven, but up to seventy-seven times."  See how we've strayed from what is expected of us?  We can barely admit we've made a mistake much less forgive even once.

Oh, I'm the most guilty of all.  How long did I hold a grudge against Bird Lady?  And, who was I really hurting by doing so?  Certainly not her. And, surprisingly once I let go of the grudge and forgave her the weight was lifted from my heart and life was good again.

So, you see, I have learned a great deal from all the people in the Bible, they were human, they had frailties, some were reluctant to do the job God set forth for them to do. Some had to endure hardship, some acted totally out of love for their fellow man. I want to spend the rest of my life becoming a better Christian and imitate the faith of my Bible brothers and sisters...I don't think the road will be easy, I don't think it's supposed to..I don't think I want it to...I think I will learn to be a better person by making some mistakes along the way.

Ooops

Sometimes things happen totally out of anybody's control.  All you can do is see the humor in it, and move on.  My next door neighbor's daughter is staying with them for a while.  She has two dogs. Their yard is very small, so I said they could use my back yard for a little more space for them to roam.  So far it's been working pretty well.  Sometimes they give Zorro a fright when I put him out not realizing they are out as well, and they come bounding over to my little garden fence to say hello. (I put the fence there to keep Zorro from making unexpected visits to her kitchen to munch her kitty's kibble.) Though the dogs are both friendly, they are quite a bit larger than my pooch, and mine being such a chicken around other dogs, high-tails it to my sliding door.

Anyway, as I say this routine has been working well, when they want to use my back yard they politely open and close my little garden gate each and every time.

Ooops, night before last something went a-miss. I have a little garden of shrubs running along the wall of my morning room and while my neighbor's daughter's dogs were out for their final 'business run', one of them saw some creature (probably a mole) tunneling in the garden.  Now, no dog in its right mind could overlook a temptation like that, and he worked, (dug) mightily to catch the creature. In the meantime, dirt and ground cover went helter-skelter.  Oh, that dog had a high old time!

Yesterday morning when I opened my drapes I noticed my neighbor had made alterations to her deck gate making it impossible for anybody or thing to get on or off the deck.  I was very curious.  It happened I saw her as she was getting ready to leave for work and inquired if there was a problem of some sort, as it was strange her deck gate was closed...it never is.

She proceeded to tell me about the 'dig', and said she couldn't really talk but that she had written me an e-mail to explain.  Overcome with curiosity I turned on my computer and read her note.  Oh my, she was so apologetic, and embarrassed that her dog had done damage to my garden.

Now I was even more curious and made a beeline to check out the garden. Oh...my...goodness. I started to laugh...her dog had had one heck of a good time digging.  He followed the creature's trail all along the outer edge of the garden for quite a distance.  It was a very neat dig...there weren't piles, the dirt was evenly distributed along the dig.  Seriously, there was no way I could have been angry or upset about what the dog had done, his work was as professional as though a construction worker had dug a trench. Matter of fact considering how hard he had worked at digging I wish he would have caught whatever it was, he should have enjoyed the fruits of his labor.

Also, on the up side of this ooops, that soil sure got a good aeration, since I never think of taking a hoe and loosening the soil in any of my gardens, ever.

So it was sometime yesterday afternoon my neighbor placed the dirt back where it belongs.  She did a darn good job, too.  I might lose a little of the ground cover, but it was overgrowing the garden anyway, so I don't much care about the loss.

I guess since I'm older things like a dog's dig, or a stupid, frail bamboo fence attached to my white vinyl one with 'floral wire' don't bother me a bit.  Heck, "...a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce, or a trouble is what you make it"...and a bit of dirt flung hither and yon by an exuberant pup, for me is not a trouble at all.

50 things!

Since I've been looking at retirement complexes for Rambling Old Women, I happened to check into a popular company that advertises they will help a person find 'a place for mom'.  I'm getting e-mail from them.  Don't get me wrong, so far every place I've checked into has been wonderful, and since I am a novice at this business I appreciate all the information I've been receiving by phone, e-mail and 'snail mail' as well.  Truth be told, I'm loving this experience.

But, I'm starting to digress...again.

Anyhoo!

This morning I got an e-mail from one of these places that suggests I read their article titled something like 50 things to do to stay young.  I thought, "what the heck", and clicked on the article. Yep, there it was a list of things to do.  I began to scroll down through the list.

I was surprised to see there are some I've already done, like try an unusual food, frog legs and escargot for instance.  Also, since I frequently work with paper while doing art work, I tend to color and doodle while waiting for inspiration to wop me upside the head.  I also tend to make paper airplanes from the scraps of doodled paper, some of which easily sail all the way across my living room.

Of course, there are more normal things I've done, and do as well, such as eat cookies with milk, watch sunrises and sunsets, and play hide and seek with Zorro...I got him good one day last week.

There was on the list a few things I know I won't do, like ride in a hot air balloon (I've seen what happens when a ride goes bad).  I also will not go on a boat ride (water terrifies me).

Surprisingly, there are some items on the list I want to do, like, write words to a song and make up a secret code.  I want to wear a funny hat in public...perhaps one of those I made a couple years ago.  I'd like to (actually) get out of my comfort zone and try something scary...perhaps climb a ladder and sit on the peak of my roof.

Then again, I guess I don't need a list.  I've got plenty going on in my daily routine what with Frankie, Zorro and CC living with me.  I never know what to expect day by day.  Or, like my daughter and I say "Age is just a number."  They come, they go. Today is the oldest I've ever been and I feel quite lucky because this morning I woke up on the up-side of the sod.

Tick-tock, tick-tock

It's 1 AM.

Frankie is already  in bed, I've finished work on the computer and trying to play a game of Hearts. Things are not going well...stupid Queen of Spades.  I decide it's time I hit the sheets as well.

Me: "Mumble, mumble, mumble, gripe, sputter, mumble, mumble."

I'm walking through the house.  It was a beautiful day, I had the windows open as well as the sliding door, and (apparently) I forgot to close some of the windows when it got dark and the house had gotten quite cold. So, as I'm getting ready for bed, I'm heating up my rice socks to warm my cold tootsies. This time of year I keep the socks on top of my refrigerator 'just in case'.  I've already heated two of them, but when I reach for the third my fingertips hit nothing but the top of the fridge, I feel around....the third and fourth socks are not where they (dum, dum, dum) should be. I'll be dang, two of them are missing,

As I've mentioned before (frequently) I can't multi-task anymore, and I figure I must have put the missing two socks down (somewhere) as I went through the house closing windows hence:


Me:  "Mumble, gripe, sputter, mumble."

By now I'm not being quiet about this whole business, I'm slamming doors and kitchen drawers.

Me:  "Where the heck did I put those two socks?"

Zorro has joined the search.

Frankie:  (Scratching her butt and yawning.)  What's ya' doin'?"
Me:  "My socks, I can't find two of my rice socks.  I must have put them down somewhere and now I can't find them."

Frankie is full of useless questions, did I check here, did I check there?

Me:  "Yes, yes, yes, yes....yes."
Frankie:  "Do you really need all four? Can't we look for the other two tomorrow morning?"
Me:  "Of course we could, but I don't want to.  I want those socks and I want them NOW."

Ever practical Frankie suggests perhaps I absent mindlessly slipped the cold ones between the sheets along with the heated ones.  I look at her like she's nuts, but we head to the bed to look.  Nope, only the two heated ones were there, doing a dang good job too, I might add.

We're checking all the rooms (again), even the ones neither Frankie or I had visited during day. We got 'nuttin'...I confess I'm ready to give up and decide Frankie is right, in the morning with a clear head, I will find the missing socks.  I'm distressed, I hate leaving a job undone. But, I brush my teeth, turn off the bedroom heat and slip into bed.

Me:  "Sigh!"

I get comfortable, Zorro eases himself under the covers beside me and CC decided to join us.  She wants to settle on my chest, but since I'm working a crossword puzzle I need that space myself and straighten out my legs so she can lay there.

My foot touches some kind of a lump.  "What the heck is THAT?"  I say in a rather loud voice.

Frankie comes running into the room.

I secure the object between my feet and pull my legs up toward my chest till I can physically grab the lump.

It's one of the missing socks.  (Color me meek, flustered and very, very embarrassed.) Yes, apparently I had forgotten to remove them from the bed when I made it in the morning.

Frankie is darn near hysterical, rolling around on the bed hugging her sides.  I hate when she does that.  Not only do I have to fess up to pulling a stupid stunt, I have to endure the humiliation of Frankie's glee...yes, glee.  She loves it when something happens that I can't blame on her.

Eventually she gets done with her giggles and goes back to bed, while I trudge back out to the kitchen.  Oh, you bet ya'...I'm not going to throw those missing socks on top of the fridge...I'm warming those suckers up...they're going to bed with me.

It's 1:30 AM.

When all at once...



...I saw a crowd of golden daffodils.

I'm not sure why every year it comes as such a delightful surprise, but it does.  Those golden daffodils...starting as green sword shaped leaves pushing themselves through the earth.  When they do I know spring is getting close, and as they get taller and taller I scrutinize each patch looking for buds. It seems each year there are not going to be any. Then one morning I see bulges at the ends of some of them, and day by day they crook over and I know something wonderful is going to happen.

This morning, I can barely wait.  The bulges have grown and are turning yellow, there are dozens of them.  Come golden daffodils...hurry...fast.  I planted the bulbs years ago, and I've done nothing to encourage their growth, yet on their own they've multiplied, so that in a week or so my front yard flower garden will be filled with sunshine yellow. There are enough this year I'm even willing to share some of them so that slugs can have a picnic.

It's strange, no matter how cold, how warm, how wet or how dry the winter is those charming bulbs know exactly what to do and when to do it.  All I have to do is practice patience,  and impatiently wait for the miracle to happen.  Oh, and it will...it is.

I hope my golden blooms bring joy to my neighbors, too, as they walk or drive by. It's my gift to them, and here's a gift for you...I know you saw this coming....

Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed--and gazed--but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.  

William Wordsworth
1770-1850

Something weird...

has happened.

I've been exercising for about five and a half months now, it's been hard because basically...well...I'm a lazy person.  Physical activity is not something I take to easily. I kicked, I screamed, I tried to bribe my doctor.  Eventually we made a deal.  If I was still exercising after six months, she had to buy something from my store (of course I'm not going to hold her to that...and I'm sure she does not even remember the deal), anyhoo, here I am into my exercise program to the extent that if  I have a day I don't exercise I feel guilty.  Is that nuts or what?

Anyway, I'm at the point that I've added ankle and hand weights to my program every day.  I can't believe I'm admitting this...I like it, I can feel my muscles coming back to life.  I hadn't realized just how much they have until a couple of nights ago when I happened (for what ever reason) to glance at my left forearm.  I saw this thing...this funny looking thing stretching from my wrist all the way up to the inner side of my elbow.  What the heck?

I pushed on it, it gave a little under the pressure of my fingers, but stayed in place, what was this?  I pulled up my sleeve and checked out my upper arm as I curled it up I discovered there was a bump there too.  Holy crap!

A jumble of emotions flowed through me.  I was getting muscle tone!

Here's the thing.  I didn't realize it was gone.  Boy...was it gone.  When did it go? Why hadn't I noticed it was gone?  How come I apparently didn't care that it was?
I felt a little sick to my stomach. I also felt ashamed, because as I inspected these odd looking new shapes, they seemed not to fit my body anymore, especially since old age flab still hung loosely along the bottom side of my arm.  I felt embarrassed as well that I had allowed my body to become in such deplorable condition...shame on me.

On the other hand, I felt surprise, delight and pride, in only five short months I can see the physical results that exercise works.  Don't get me wrong, is new program is not easy, there are days I want to say 'screw it' and go back to my normal, lazy, do nothing life style...ahhh, those were the good old days.  You've no idea how much I hope that doesn't happen because indeed something weird has happened.  I feel better.  I've more energy.  I breathe better.  I sleep better.  I've more strength in my arms and legs.  I don't want to stop this program.

Oh, I'm realistic enough to know the odds are nil to none against me doing this for the rest of my life, but I want to continue, I really, really do.  Lord willing and if the creek don't rise maybe, just maybe I will.

Improvisations

I sometimes have to improvise when I'm preparing something to eat.  Sometimes, the improvisation works well, sometimes not so much.

Over the weekend I had to improvise twice.  First I was hungry for homemade potato salad.  When I went to the potato storage bin, I discovered I did have potatoes, and they had not started to grow and look like octopuses.  Things were looking up!  I diced them so they would cook more quickly while I diced celery and onions to add to the salad.

When the potatoes were done, I added the rest of the salad ingredients and mixed them altogether. Time for the dressing.  Well, that's a bummer, I was sure I had purchased a bottle of vinegar, but none of the cupboards held a new bottle of the tart, sour stuff.  Maybe I just was not seeing an open bottle in the fridge, I looked again. There was no open bottle.  Then I saw it, one packet of balsamic vinegar left over from the time my daughter had purchased several pre-packaged lettuce salads.  Dare I use this vinegar in my potato salad dressing.  Sigh...did I have a choice?

So, I did open the packet and add it to the dressing, the purple color quickly changed its normal look. Uh-oh.  To late now.  As I stirred the mixture lightened, eventually I gave it a taste. By golly, it tasted quite good.  I poured it over the salad, and gave another good stir.  The potatoes got a light purple, more mauve I think.  I took a table spoon and filled it with the salad, then popped the salad into my mouth.  Oh, my goodness! Best potato salad I ever made.  Delicious.  Not having Apple Cider Vinegar turned out to be a good thing.

Now, you'd think one improvisation a weekend would be enough but, come Sunday evening I got a hankering for a peanut butter-jelly sandwich and spread a healthy amount of the stuff on a piece of whole wheat bread.  However, when I went to fetch a jar of jam from the fridge...there was none. Again, I searched the cupboards for a fresh jar of jam or jelly...again, there was none.  Dang it!

I suppose I could have settled for simple peanut butter bread, or perhaps I could have sprinkled some sugar-cinnamon on it but I knew that would not satisfy my hankering for an actual peanut butter-jelly sandwich.  Shoot!  Surely I had something in the house that would be a good substitute for jelly.  I pulled the refrigerator door open, and stared longingly at the items within. I got nuttin!  As I was about to close the door I spied several bottles of various flavored pancake syrups.  Wait a minute!  I grabbed the blueberry one, opened it and allowed it to ooze across the bread.  I thought it would run off but to my surprise, it sank into the bread.  Holy Mackerel!  I slapped the two pieces of bread together, and took a bite.  I couldn't believe it, my second improvisation worked.  Not one drop of syrup dripped off the bread onto the plate or my hand.  Well I'll be darn.

Considering how awful some of my improvisations have turned out to have two be successful in a matter of days is positively amazing...picture me walking around the place patting myself on the back.

HMMM! What happens next.

This one is for your imagination.

The elevator lurched, fell rapidly then violently jerked to a stop.

Everything went black.

It seemed like an eternity until the lights dimly flickered and finally came back on.

The old nun, in traditional habit, stood in the corner, hands folded under her scapular.  I think she was praying. A young woman knelt to hug and reassure her whimpering little boy.  The tall young man in a black, hand tailored suit looked angry and annoyed.  He glanced nervously at his watch.

But, it was the tattooed boy with the half bald head and an earring in his nose that piqued my interest. It was hard to tell if he was amused, or concerned.

Oh shoot, I thought, isn't this a fine kettle of fish.

What happens next?

Nobody ever tells you...

...how much you will change when you get old.

Oh, you think you will be able to do all the things you used to, and I guess you always will, except you will do them slower a lot slower.  Take walking up steps.  I hate steps.  I've never been tall enough to take them two at a time, but I was always able to keep up with those who did.  Now I avoid them, they make me huff and puff.  At first I thought I must be ill with some horrid disease that I couldn't do steps any more, but since I'm not dead and still around to take steps apparently that is not the case. I'm just too old to take steps.  I worry I'll stub the toe of my shoe against the edge of one and nick my shins to heck and back.  I also worry, if I don't spend the whole time looking down at the steps I'll lose my balance and tumble down, down, down.  Look out broken hip, here I come!  As a result I avoid steps at all costs.

By the way, I not just talking about flights of steps, there can be as few as two or three, every dang step presents a hazard.  There are two flights of steps around my house, one has two the other has three.  Boy, am I careful.  I don't wear one of those necklaces that I could push and help would come, so I'm careful when it comes to my steps, especially if I've got an arm load of laundry, or a handful of mail.

I never worried about or used handrails either, assuming they were for old people. And banisters? Weren't they made for sliding?  They were in every movie I've ever seen.  Now, I grasp them as though my very life depended on them....hmmm, I guess they do. It is safe to say my step-climbing confidence is gone, gone, gone.

Of course, there's the getting in and out of the tub thing, too.  I used to do it with such ease, one foot and leg over the edge, followed by the other.  NOW, I have a short list I repeat over in my head each and every time.

1. Firmly grasp side of shower door.
2  Lift leg high and over edge of tub.
3. Plant foot firmly on bath mat.
4. Repeat for leg, two.
5. Exit tub by...firmly grasping side of shower door.
6. Lift leg high and over.
7. Plant foot firmly on floor.
8. Repeat for leg, two.

Seriously!  This is what my life has come to.  I've even thought about buying and installing one of those walk in tubs.  Two things stop me...their price tag, and the fact I believe you have to be actually sitting in it as it fills, and you have to stay in it until the water drains out.  That's a long time for an old wrinkled, always cold body to be sitting naked.  Not a pretty picture to be sure.  Oh, the people in the commercials seem absolutely delighted with their tubs, warm seats and all...I guess I must be missing something...because they seem quite a bother to me.

Finally, there's walking.  I used to love to walk.  I did it with great confidence, admiring my surroundings, taking in the smallest details of trees, clouds, people and animals.  I overheard some authority say old people should not look down when they walk, because that's what causes us to fall. I don't exactly remember his theory on this, but I think it had something to do with balance.  Young, stupid whippersnapper!  There is no way this old person can do that, I have to look down...especially if it is dark.  After years, and years, and years of being told one in three old person will fall each year, and the number of broken hips are involved in these falls, there is no way I'm not going to look down when I walk.

Last time I didn't look down, a root of a tree reached out, grabbed my shoe and I went down in a perfect 'belly flop'.  So, authoritarian, mind your own 'bees wax'. That's also the last time I went on a leisurely walk.  What if I'd been alone, what if I had broken something, I could have lain there for hours.  Scary thought, right?

And, there you have it, just a few more instances of things nobody will tell you about getting old.  It can be ugly.  My theory is, I can adjust and accept my infirmities and even laugh about them or spend my days sitting in a safe, well padded corner sucking my thumb.  I think I prefer to spend my days doing the things I used to do in my youth except, more slowly, more carefully, more safely.  I'm (hopefully) years away from the necklace with the button.  That's for old people.

Skies

                                                    

Winter Blue, soft and muted,

Almost transparent.

Take time……Enjoy,

‘Tis precious, like rare crystal.

Spring Blue, warm and soothing,

Like good friend,

Take brush……Paint,

Pastel hues over winter’s landscape.

Summer Blue, sharp and piercing,

Image of reflecting pond.

Take eyes……close,

Preserve memory for winter’s gloom.

Autumn Blue, pale and melancholy,

Breeze warm and comfortable.

Take moment……ponder

Life, like sky is a swirling see of blues

Ash tree

I think, long, long time ago I wrote about the ash tree in my neighbor's back yard. When we move here a bazillion years ago, the tree was a sapling, and the house was vacant at the time, so I took it upon myself to shape and trim the ash giving it a chance to grow in a more healthy manner.  I took pity one the tree, because, like our house, that house was a rental, and the management company didn't seem to give a hoot about the property.  While the owners of the property (a construction company) didn't seem to give a hoot either.

Since I had time on my hands, LOL, and I had a love of all growing things I figured, what the heck, if in the future they whack the tree down, at least for a while I'm giving it a fighting chance.  Over the years, the property sold and changed hands several times, but each new owner spared the tree which has now reached maturity.

Over the years, wind and weather has damaged and changed the appearance of the tree, so that some of the branches make the tree look as though it is being 'held up' or about to be 'mugged'.  Some of the branches have been removed, and the scarring has formed an "O" mouth, and two sad looking eyes.  I can't tell you how much enjoyment this tree has given me over the years.

We all get old, and although the spacing between the mouth and the eyes as spread apart, it still looks like a face, the arms still extended in fright.  But, this winter something new has been added, an odd shaped eyebrow as well as a peculiar beard and mustache of bright green moss.  He's turned out to be quiet a peculiar looking gentleman.

Still, I'm thrilled nobody has ever tried to bring this fellow down to a stump, because aside from becoming a good friend, in the summer he provides wonderful, cooling shade that protects my home from the hot August sun.  I would miss him terribly.

I guess it's strange such things as an ash tree, or an eagle , or a wolf  affect us in a tender, loving way, but I think they all help to shape us to become the people we are. Nature is a wondrous thing, hmmm...I think I'm going to go out today and hug a tree.

There's always a surprise...

...when I get my monthly hometown magazine.  I've had my subscription to this magazine for about a year now and I've become very fond of it.  I thought I knew a great deal about my hometown, but each month there is always a surprise.  I learn something new, something fascinating, something intriguing.

This month is no exception.  On the very last page there is a department called Looking Back, generally the article written here is the one in which I learn something new about my hometown. This month the article title is African-American History Month.  And, the author, Kaytlin Sumner, a curator at Johnstown Area Heritage Association taught me some pretty shocking things about the town in which I grew up.

It seems it had its share of racial tension and discrimination.  She talks about an incident in the 1920's when the mayor at the time "ordered all African-Americans who lived in Johnstown less than seven years to 'pack up his belongings and get out'. The order also called for a ban on any future African-American or Mexican workers (from coming) into Johnstown and, that visitors were required to register with the mayor or the chief of police."

In addition, All social gatherings, except for church were prohibited until further notice...and..."the mayor also ordered police to search homes of African-Americans for weapons, guns, hammers and kitchen knives."

How deplorable!  I never knew!  Oh, I wasn't even born at the time, but I had no idea my sweet, rustic, so culturally diverse hometown could have behaved in such a despicable a manner.

To make matters even worse, Ms. Sumner's article goes on to state "On the evening
of September 6, the Ku Klux Klan displayed 12 lighted crosses in and around Johnstown",  coupled with a picture of Klansmen standing on Bedford street in the mid 1920's. I had no idea the Klan was active in my hometown.  This whole thing sends shivers down my spine.

However, according to the article the mayor's outburst received national attention and did not sit well with the majority that "largely condemning his actions."  Well, hallelujah!

In the end, I confess I appreciate Sumner's article, and the effort she put in to help set straight the view I have of my hometown. I guess every town has some sort of skeletons in the basement of their City Hall.  Thank goodness there are written records of these events, because "we must never be allowed to forget".

(Ms Kaytlin Sumner concluded her article giving credit to Randy Whittle's Johnstown, Pennsylvania, Part One, 1895--1936 for some of the information in her article.  I thank both of them for the information provided in mine.) 

Saturday

I don't have much to write about today. Same old, same old Saturday.

Chores of course will fill the hours, in particular, the loads of weekly laundry. How can one person and one imaginary friend possibly have three loads of it.  I suppose I could cut it back to two, but having been brought up to divide loads, white (hot water), colored (warm water), and dark (cold water), my conscience will not allow me to do that.  Fortunately I can regulate the amount of water each load takes, that helps.  Anyway, today will be a lot of jumping up and down, changing loads.

However, that's not my problem today, what is, is having something to write about. I wonder how in the world famous columnists manage to keep their writings fresh day after day.  I'm thinking about those of Erma Bombeck and Bill Bryson status. They've always been my favorites, and have brought me many a smile, and sometimes many a tear.  It always amazed me they could take the most simple subject and delight millions of people every day.  I wish I could do that...maybe some day (I hope).

Writing has always been a mystery to me. I start with a blank page, and hope a word, something will inspire me, and maybe that word, that something inspire somebody else as well.

As a novice, I tried to get published, but learned long ago how hard that is, and since I hate rejection eventually gave up trying to be so. As a result I threw away all my rejection letters and decided to write for and satisfy myself. That way I could be joyful, sorrowful, angry, melancholy, fearful, playful and write about whatever feeling possessed me any particular day.

I began to take writing classes to 'hone my craft', I learned some writers acquire what they call a muse.  I chose to be a little different and have an imaginary friend named Frankie, and a shoulders sitting angel and devil who help me stay on 'the right track'.  Recently all the above have been joined by a pixie, and I'm not exactly sure how she's going to work out...I must confess, she skirts on the edge of danger.  They've all come in handy when that blank page is staring back at me mocking, intimidating, snickering, wanting me to fail.

What makes a writer endure in moments of despair?  Perhaps the fact the words we write might brighten a reader's day, give them words of encouragement when they are most needed, or perhaps let them know they are not alone in some dark hour.  I confess writing brightens my day, encourages me when I need encouragement most, and lets me know I'm not alone in my darkest hour, as word after word fills the blank page, and spills out the moments of my life.

Losing control

Oh, yeah, I've completely lost control.  I like to think I'm a pretty organized person. My house is reasonably tidy, as are my cupboards and closets, though there might be dust covering the furniture and there are a few spiderwebs in the corners of the door frames, I will get to them eventually.

Here's the thing.  This morning I was looking for two hand drawn pictures, they were both of butterflies.  I wanted to find them in order to start a new project for an item in my store.  I thought I knew exactly where they were, and went to that spot.  Guess what...neither picture was where they were supposed to be.  So, I began to search the next best places I thought they might be.

You guessed it, I couldn't find those two butterfly pictures, anywhere...I'm talking anywhere.  The more I looked, the more ridiculous this particular mystery became.   I began to giggle.  I went back to the place I knew they should be, I must have overlooked them in the file.  Nope, they simply are not there.  Then I thought perhaps I had already made a file of them on my computer, labeled "Butterflies" yeah, that's the ticket; I was sure I would find them.  AHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Okay, I have to stay calm, the office is small, there aren't that many places to look. Every binder has a label, every box (though not labeled) is committed to memory, I know exactly what is in each one. As a result I know for instance pictures will not be in art supplies, or the boxes filled with 'stuff' I've purchased from my favorite craft stores so I need not waste time looking in them.  And, I begin a methodical search of the binders and boxes I might have accidentally misfiled the missing pictures. After two hours of searching, I've given up.  Sigh!

When I started my little company, everything had a place, and everything was properly in it. However, over the years binders have been added, additional boxes have been bought, 100 file folders have filled the boxes. Truth be told, I've not a clue where half the stuff I've bought, made, or even thought about could be in the jumble of what as become my office.

As a result, if ever find those missing butterfly pictures (there's a 50/50 chance I never will) I'm sure I won't even remember why I was looking for them in the first place.  Sigh!

Oh, yeah, I've completely lost control.

Oh, I meant to...

write yesterday, but it was Bible Study day and I had to do my obligatory house cleaning.  I didn't exercise yesterday either.  As it was, by the time I had showered, shaved, primped and primed I didn't even have time to grab a bite to eat.

I managed to set up our TV tray desks, and give a quick glance at what we were going to study as my study companion walked up to my front door.

I think I've mentioned the book we are studying, It's called "Imitate Their Faith", and each chapter, or so is about a particular personality in the Bible.  We've Studied such people as Abel, Noah, Ruth, Samuel, Elijah, and Mary.  I feel like I know these people, oh, there are so many questions I want to ask them some day.

However, my most favorite person of all we've studied, and the one I'm most like, is Jonah.  I simply don't want to do things that are unpleasant, especially if I'm not given a choice and 'told' to do them. Hey, ask me, and 99% of the time I will do my best to fulfill whatever chore you would like done. But, make me do it, and I will (probably, 99% of the time) eventually get the job done...but I won't like it.

And, so it is I'm exactly like Jonah.  When God gave him an unpleasant job to do, what did he do?     Why, of course, he ran away...as far as he could go.  As we all know...he ended up in the belly of a fish.  Now, there's a punishment for ya'.  All I'm sayin' is if God gives you a job to do you dang well better do it.

So, Jonah eventually did as God requested, he went to the awful, evil city of Nineveh to give them a message that they were going to be destroyed.  He needed great courage and faith to spread this news, and being a stranger in a strange land, he had no idea how this message would be received.  These folks could become an angry mob and...well, let's not go there.

To his surprise, the folks of Nineveh took his message to heart and repented, and God in His mercy spared the evil city.

Spare the city! This was not what Jonah thought God would do.

Did Jonah take this well, nope, he went off in a huff, somewhere in the mountains that over looked the city, where he sat down and  pouted.  He built himself a shelter, and hunkered down in a snit.  It was hot, dry, and there was very little shade to protect Jonah from the sun.  God provided Jonah with a quick growing bottle gourd plant that provided shade for this angry, disappointed man.  However God then sent a worm to attack the bottle gourd, and the plant died.

Boy, this did not sit well with Jonah...He was even more angry with God and said "I have rightly become hot with anger, to the point of death."

Don't you think by now God would have been saying..."Okay, Jonah, I give up...you are a hopeless individual...sit out here in the sun...I'm done with you."  And, don't I think sometimes He says to me, "Okay Sandra, I give up...you are a hopeless individual...I'm trying to teach you a lesson...you simply refuse to listen...I'm done with you."? Thank goodness, God's not like that.

Yes, sometimes it takes a whop upside the head for me to finally get the message,
but just like Jonah, God in his infinite mercy, quietly repeats the message.

What Jonah failed to understand was that by giving the people of Nineveh God's message, he was able to save many, many souls.  So, patiently, (again) God explained that just as he (Jonah) was angry, disappointed and feeling sorry for himself over the loss of the gourd plant, He (God) could have remained angry and disappointed with the city of Nineveh and destroyed it even though they repented.

Instead He told Jonah..."You felt sorry for the bottle gourd plant, which you did not work for, nor did you make it grow; it grew in one night and perished in one night.  For my part, ought I not to feel sorry for Nineveh the great city, in which there exist more than one hundred and twenty thousand men who do not at all know the difference between their right hand and their left, besides many domestic animals."

In other words, It was God who was in control of not only the gourd plant, but also the city of Nineveh, Jonah was just the vessel by which the city was saved.  It was God's mercy that saved the city, and Jonah as well.

I have to ask myself why I always want to be in control, when my life is already written in God's book.  Oh, I'm so much like Jonah, I stomp my foot, and snort, and pout unwilling to accept God is in control, and he knows what's best for me.

I hope I learn my lesson before I end up in the dank, dark and probably very smelly belly of a fish.

What's on my mind

Every day Facebook asks me what's on my mind.  Sometimes I respond with something silly, sometimes something I think is profound.  Sometimes I just write 'whatever'.

This morning I simply wrote I have concern on my mind.  I guess that sounds pretty stupid on the surface, but I am concerned, in particular about my beloved eagles nesting in Decorah, Iowa.  A couple of years ago they built a new nest, and the first year the eaglets thrived, and went on to live independent lives.

Last year the babes did not fare as well.  First one of them was attacked by an owl, and almost didn't make it, then the nest was infested with some sort of gnats that nearly ate the eaglets alive.  As the days went by I could tell they were thinking they had to get out of there in order to survive, and (personally) I think they fledged too soon.  Before long two of the eaglets were gone.  The third, I think probably the one who had been attacked, was left alone, still fighting off the horror of the gnats.

Oh, the parents still came to bring food, so the eaglet was not totally abandoned, but it wanted out of there very, VERY badly, and soon it fled.  However, it didn't do well, stayed close to the nest, and the parents were always close by.

Then one day it was reported one of the eaglets had been electrocuted coming in contact with a local power line.  It was a devastating loss.   Soon after, one of the eaglets had to be rescued, and sent to a rehab center.  It appeared to be the one that had been attacked by the owl.  After weeks and weeks of care it was established it would never survive in the wild and is being trained to be part of a program to teach us about the magnificent eagle.

The third eaglet was tagged, and being monitored daily as it becomes more and more independent and familiar with Iowa's terrain.

As I write, the eagle nest, known as N2, is being prepared for this years aerie. However, (and here is my concern) while the parents are preparing the bowl, a pair of owls is also trying to 'take over' the nest.  They are by no means trying to work on the nest to make it a home, they are simply invading, causing the eagles much distress.  Still, they seem to think the owls will eventually give up and go away.  As for me, I don't think so.  Soon it will be time for mama eagle to lay her eggs.  I have great concern for her, if night time attacks take place.  And, I have exceptional concern for the eggs once they are laid, as they will make one delicious meal for the owls. Then, my concern will be for the babies, so vulnerable, naked, blind, innocent and totally unable to defend themselves.  Oh, the parents will do their level best to protect and defend their offspring, still I fear there will be many battles over the nest, eggs and babies.

Considering all the time the owls are 'wasting' over the eagle's nest, I have to wonder if they are working on a nest of their own.  It seems to me they are not.

Therefore, what's on my mind today is concern.  N2 so far, has not been a great success for the Decorah eagles, I secretly wish they had continued to use N1 for their home.  However, we can't go back in time, and we will have to hope this year's aerie in N2 will thrive; trust me, if things do not go well it will not be because of the lack of good parenting.  Mom and dad will work their wings off to provide for the eaglets. There is, of course, natures 'survival of the fittest' over which we have no control...unforeseen, unexpected things happen. I for one, will worry, fret, fret and worry until this year's babies leave the nest and eventually begin families of their own.

I wish you well, Decorah eagles, stay safe, stay strong.