Hammocks

It was a perfectly good, normal morning when Frankie entered the room and announced...

"We need a hammock."

I'm taken aback.  Where the heck did that come from?

I confess a hammock was not something I gave much thought to because mostly I've just seen people being 'tossed' out of them as thought the hammock didn't want them there in the first place. Also, I've seen videos of dogs getting stuck in them, kids desperately trying to get into/out of them, couples uncomfortably cuddling in them, and as I've said mostly people being 'tossed' out of them.  But mostly we certainly didn't need one.

I suspected I was going to have a battle on my hands because Frankie had that look she was not going to 'give in' easily...she wanted a hammock.

Shoot!!!!!!!

My main argument against a hammock was that we had no room for one.

Frankie immediately went to the tool box and extracted the tape measure.  She went out onto the patio and began to measure off the area she suspected a hammock might fit.

Uh,oh.

I followed her outside and began to make my case against this purchase.  "Frankie, they're dangerous, especially for (grimace) 'old people'.  I could break an arm, a leg, a hip trying to get in and out of it."

She ignored me and kept measuring.  

Over the next couple of days the discussion over a hammock continued.  Soon a catalog was (literally) shoved under my nose and double chin.  There in 'living color' was a hammock.  This girl had done her homework!  Not only was it NOT macramé, it was stationary.  The hammock itself has a twill washable fabric that firmly anchored to each end of a sturdy metal frame.  It even came with a matching carrying case should you want to dismantle it and spend a day at the beach.  Then circled in a broad permanent marker was the price, and last but not least the dimensions; a perfect fit for the area Frankie had so carefully measured off.

The price was reasonable, and after examining the picture to establish there was little likelihood this contraption would 'spit' my body out I agreed to make the purchase.  

With the speed that an item can be shipped the hammock arrived within a few days and Frankie and I proceeded to put the thing together.  That was a piece of cake, great instructions, and with the exception of 'human error' (we had attached the hammock itself up-side down to the frame) it was ready for occupation within a half hour.

Of course Frankie went first and gave a glowing review; Muse, coming out of a good long sulk came next.  She also approved.  Finally it was my turn, Surprise!  The hammock accepted me, I wiggled and squiggled myself into a perfect comfort spot and settled in.  I wish you could have seen the looks on their faces when I refused to budge from the comfort of MY new outdoor bed.

On the down side, I've tried reading in it, playing I-pod games in it, enjoying the breeze, clouds and chirping birds in it all to no avail.  I LOVE IT because, within minutes I am sound asleep.  Do I share with the girls...no, not really. However, if they happen to get up early I do let them argue over whose turn it is to use it.

Frankie...get out of there!

Every Old Woman Should Have a Pig.

Once upon a time there was a Boutique (that’s a fancy name for a store) in a quaint little town.  In the Boutique there were quaint handmade items from countries and nations around the world.  One day an Old Woman ventured into the Boutique.  She was delighted and fascinated with the colorful scarves and fans.  She spent time applying finger puppet animals and birds to her fingers, making them dance up and down.  Then she spied some bracelets, that sparkled in the morning sun and she thought about buying one, but walked by instead.

Old Woman took her time walking up and down each aisle marveling at the imagination of the folks around the world who spent their days making these marvelous items.  She tried to be very careful when she picked something up for close inspection, because the sign clearly stated “You broke it, you bought it”.

As she meandered about she spied a bucket filled with small black objects.  Gathered together in a mish-mash Old Woman was not even sure what they were.  Spying a wrinkled sign sticking out of the middle of the bucket she took it out and read it.

                                                          LUCKY THREE LEGGED PIGS

Well, she thought, what Old Woman could not use a little good luck.  So she began to sort through the pigs, looking for the ‘just right’ one.  Some had eyes slightly cockeyed while others had snouts slightly out of kilter one nostril quite larger than the other.  Sadly, none of these pigs seemed to ‘speak to her’ and Old Woman was about to turn and leave when a lopsided smile caught her attention, carefully she dug the smiling pig out from under the others and held it carefully in the palm of her hand.

“Cash or Card?”  The Boutique clerk inquired.

“Cash.”  Replied Old Woman as she handed the clerk some money.

“Would you like this in a box, or will a bag be okay?”, asked the clerk.

Knowing Pig would be going home to live, Old Woman settled for a bag.

The clerk carefully wrapped Pig in paper and placed him in a brown paper sack.

Pig’s world went dark, little did he know what was about to happen.

After quite some time and a lot of jostling around Pig came to realize he was at last on a solid surface.

Soon Old Woman picked up the bag, opened it and started to un-wrap pig. Something small and dark tumbled out of the paper and fell onto the table.  What in the world is that pondered Old Woman?

She finished unwrapping Pig and found…Lucky Pig was not so lucky after all, one of his three legs was missing.  Uh, oh.  It was a clean break, and there was no bleeding, but poor pig… simply could not stand on just two legs.  Old woman was beside herself, and absolutely inconsolable.  The accident must have happened when she had dropped the bag while trying to unlock her door.

Old Woman closely inspected Pig, and the broken leg; she felt with a little first aid from her super-duper heal-all glue she just might be able to make Pig stand on his own again.  Patience…it turns out…is a virtue!  Before long Pig was mended and almost as good as new; well except for the shiny glue scar on his back leg, permanent evidence of his terrible accident.

Next morning Old Woman gave Pig’s back leg a good jiggle and tug she was pleased to see super-duper heal-all glue had done its job.  Later that day Old Woman and Grand-daughter wondered if Pig should be lacquered to be shiny all over, but they both rejected that idea.  In the end they felt that Lucky Pig should be proud of his shiny scar as a symbol of just…exactly…how lucky he is to live with Old Woman.

My Way

I've mentioned before I have a cousin that writes a column for her local paper.  It's always heartwarming and usually about what's going on in her and her family's life. I frequently post a note back to her.

Today she talked about her mom and how busy she always was, and how often times nobody knew where she was, but never worried about her. I got to thinking about that and realized I (for a long time) was much like her.  I would think nothing about hopping the local public transportation and going downtown to window shop, take in a movie or go into my favorite cheap jewelry stores and pick up a few bobbles, bangles and beads. I would encourage my friends to call me and give me 20 minutes to touch up my makeup and I'd be ready to go anywhere, anytime. They frequently did call and we would have some pretty grand adventures; over time we became a group known as the local La La Ladies and we had good times people...very good times.

Now, not so much...I always told my kids, go where you want to go, see what you want to see, do what you want to do and you will never look back on your life and have regrets.  I guess I must have taken my own advice because now I'm happy, content and love being a homebody, my front and back patios suit me just fine, thank you very much.  I've even started to tell folks I could easily become a recluse and I actually have to 'make myself' go places and do things.  And, seriously, I don't think that's a bad thing. I've realized I've gone where I've wanted to go, seen what I wanted to see and done what I have wanted to do. Are there still things on my Bucket List, yes, but do I really need to complete it...no?  Things are complicated now, sadly danger looms just about everywhere, travel isn't fun anymore.  Just thinking about going to an airport makes me want to hyperventilate.

So, as my adventuring life draws to a comfortable close I guess I have to say Frank Sinatra had the right idea when he sang....

"Regrets I've had a few
but then again, too few to mention
I did what I had to do
and saw it through without exemption

I planned each charted course
each careful step along the byway
and more, much more than this
I did it my way."

I'm happy to say I must have lived my life...."my way".  Thanks, Frank.

Oh, hum.

Talk about the doldrums, man, I've been in one heck of a slump.  I can't blame it on Frankie or even Muse, they've been great.  All I can say is "I'm at a loss for words."  They simply aren't coming, I tried to take some time off and contemplate this whole thing, but that didn't work either.  Then I simply decided "Phooey", and stop writing my blog altogether.  And for a while that worked, for a long while that worked.  

Then this evening as I was scrolling down my bookmarks list I happened to stop on Ramblings of an Old Woman and decide to see what was new.  To my surprise and delight I found some folks must be accidentally finding it and at least dropping by out of (perhaps) curiosity.  And, I also notice the one blog that seems to pique the most interest seems to be the blog I wrote about my favorite children's story called Pinky Marie.  Each time I see that someone has looked it up and perhaps actually read it I am even more puzzled.  It makes me wonder what people must think the blog is about.  Mostly I think they suspect is it an adult only web-site, if you get my drift.

Well, one thing hasn't changed I still go off on tangents. Anyway, I decided I would write a quick note to let all of you who stop by that I am still alive and kicking.  

Here are a few things I can report.  I went on a vacation to California with my daughter and two grand-daughters to visit family, and to do lots of sightseeing.  It was wonderful but exhausting; nine days on the road for a Rambling Old Woman, only proved that somebody pushing (mumble, mumble, mumble) is not an easy thing to do.

My sister passed away in November from perhaps the most rapid bout with cancer imaginable that threw us all into a time of....this can't be possible....to this has to be a bad dream....to the realization that cancer is perhaps the most insidious thing that can happen to a person. Especially for a woman as healthy my sister had always been.

Then, I got a horrible bug myself, on Christmas day (of all times to become ill)  And was down for the count for one whole week doing nothing but lie on the sofa and wish I'd just die.  But I didn't and it took another two weeks until I began to feel about 90% of my normal self.  I was talking with a friend today that I hadn't seen for a while and she apparently had the same thing and she commented she had not been that ill for at least twenty years.  I had to agree.  It was awful.

Then today, was a wonderful day.  The temperature was in the 50's, the sun was shining brightly (not filtered through clouds), my crocuses are blooming and I had the doors wide open for hours.  Perhaps my doldrums are about to pass.  I wish I could guarantee I will write more often...but Frankie and Muse (although they are delighted I'm typing) are taking bets this is just a fluke and marking the calendar with various dates I MIGHT write again.

Any....way, I hope you all are doing well, and thanks for keeping in touch.  You've all been good and faithful friends, I do think of you often.  Really, I truly do.  

Bye for now.

I'm reminded.

I have a cousin who writes a column for her hometown newspaper.  I try to remember to read it every week, sometimes I even leave a comment. Her column this week had to do with the weather and summer's heat in particular. As her column was winding down she happened to mention how as kids they would try to put ice cubes down each other's backs.

Boy, did that bring back memories.  Yep, we used to do that too.  In summer after our dinner meal was over, dad would retire to his chair in the corner of the room and bury his nose in his newspaper while the rest of us would sit around the table and play a game we called "hid the salt shaker"-or whatever article a person chose to hide. The object of the game was we would have to guess which article was gone from the table.  Sometimes someone got really tricky and it took a while to actually find what was missing.  We spent hours playing this game; of course not all at one time because we eventually had to clear the table and do the dishes. 

However, during summer mom frequently prepared iced tea for dinner and our “Hide the Salt Shaker” game frequently ended when someone would pretend to take one last sip of their iced tea, slip an ice cube into their hand; nonchalantly rise, walk behind a person and drop the cube down their shirt then...dash...for the nearest exit.  Said victim then chased the perpetrator round and round the house in an attempt to put an ice cube down their shirt. Generally the 'perp' was never caught.  I remember once in my haste to catch my 'perp' I got my ring caught in the screen door handle which bent the ring and bruised my finger very badly.  Such was life.  

It was great how we could find fun things to do that didn't cost any money yet filled us with hours of entertainment.  We played cards and games on the porch and hide and seek in the yard.  At dusk we caught fire-flies in jars and waved sparklers around when it got dark. 

Oh, yes, like my cousin said in her article, we too sweltered in the heat at bedtime and prayed for a breeze or ever better an electrical storm that would drop the temperature a good ten degrees, but that's not really what I remember about summer.  There were afternoon's lying on a blanket in the back yard in a bathing suit slathered in baby oil, sprinkling ourselves with salt water (okay it wasn't the ocean) we could dream couldn't we? There was hanging laundry in the early morning and retrieving it warm, dry and smelling delicious in the late afternoon.  There was the smell of freshly mown grass, and the joy of watching grasshoppers leap out of the way of the mower.  And, last but not least there was the fun of being the perpetrator when it came to slipping an ice cube down a sibling's shirt.

   

Coloring

Okay, I confess I'm addicted.  It's those dang adult coloring books.  I have a love/hate relationship with them

On the one hand I love them, they are relaxing, exhilarating, elating, inspiring, beautiful and perhaps the most creative coloring I have ever, ever done.

On the other hand I hate them, they are the most complicated, exasperating, annoying, intrinsic and frustrating coloring I have ever, ever done.

I tried using colored pencils, but found I could not stay within the itty, bitty lines and that told me I would never be able to use crayons either.  So I settled on fine tipped markers.  I love them.  However, when I first started using them I colored while the picture was still in the book, and immediately discovered the markers 'bled' through to the picture beneath.  Lesson learned?  Remove the picture from the book, oh, then I learned the ink also 'bled' onto my TV tray and I can't remove the markings.  Lesson learned?  Place cheap newspaper paper under the picture.

Oh, yeah, I'm getting the hang of this.

Here's something else I learned.  I must never, never color if I am in the least bit drowsy.  I've ruined many a picture by falling asleep, pen in hand, to awaken and find a long, crooked colorful line going across a perfectly beautiful work of art.

I've also learned I cannot color well once it gets dark and I have to turn on lights.  Oh, I do color but found I don't stay in the lines as well as when I work in natural light.  I do get exasperated.  Still, these coloring books present a challenge that (again) I both love and hate.  Frankie wants to know why I continue with this new hobby since she often finds me with my nose barely an inch from the picture.

I've no answer for her.

I know she wishes I'd quit mostly because I'm ignoring her a lot...Zorro doesn't much care for this time consuming hobby either.  I find myself telling him "Just a minute, I have to finish this one section, then we'll go out."  In the meantime he is prancing and dancing about eager to find out who's talking and walking by.  Or, perhaps his water bowl is empty and he paws it into my view to let me know...sadly, again I make him wait.

I suppose eventually I will tire of this new 'time consumer', I generally do...for a while it was word jumble, then cross-word puzzles, then sudoku, and for years I built miniatures for dioramas so I guess this too will pass.

In the meantime, I will continue getting ink stains on my hands, arms and TV trays till I move on to some new time consuming hobby. However, if you haven't tried these adult coloring books I can guarantee you will find them relaxing, exhilarating, elating, inspiring, beautiful, complicated, exasperating, annoying, intrinsic, and frustrating but you will discover you've created the most beautiful works of art you have ever done.

At the moment....

...I'm a non-person.

A couple of weeks ago I decided I wanted to get a new state ID and went on line to see what sort of identification I would need to get the job done.  I should have taken care of this as soon as I moved but didn't. It just didn't seem that important.

So, after learning what was required I put together a file folder including A. A utility bill. B. A bank statement.  C. My voter's registration card. D. My old ID card. E. My social security card.  F. The only copy I've ever had of my birth certificate.  Boy, I thought I was ready for everything.

The DMV guy looks at all my papers and announces to my daughter that he is quite impressed with how prepared I was.  Then....he looked at my wrinkled, folded, torn, old...very old...birth certificate. He excuses himself and walks to a woman sitting in the back of the room and they discuss my certificate. As the two of them are walking back to where I'm standing I whisper to my daughter "Uh-oh, this can't be good."

It wasn't.

They told me my certificate was not good because it did not have 'the state seal', and there was no writing on the back indicating it was good for anything...actually it was good for nothing.  I was told I need to send for a certified certificate from my home state and then come back when I had it in hand.

Always one to obey the law, I sat about to obtain said certificate.

I went to my home state's official website, vital records department and there in the upper right hand corner there was a box that said if I wanted to get my certificate quickly I should 'click here' and before the dust could settle they would see to it I would get my certificate 'post-haste'.  Of course I wanted my certificate as quickly as possible...at the moment I'm a non-entity.  So, I filled out the application and sent off my credit card information and sat back to let them do their magic.

Here's the thing!

They informed me they needed my photo ID, and it had to have the same address as the one they were going to send my certificate. What???????  I informed them I had moved and I was trying to get an ID with my new address on it, but could not because I didn't have the required birth certificate.

Next they told me to send other documents to prove I live where I live.  I immediately scanned them into my computer and shipped them off along with a copy of their form saying I am who I am and I have not had someone else filling out this form.

Zip...off they go.

I get an e-mail telling me the documents were not legible.  Please send a photo ID.

For two weeks, I went around and around and around with these folks. I was ready to scream. Finally a light bulb came on and I decide to go on line and check these folks out. Oooooooh brother, do they have a bad, bad, bad reputation.  But, now my dander is up. I e-mail my home state's governor's office and tell them about this company.  Then I write the Vital Records department and tell them the same thing.  Finally I e-mail the company (who is still insisting they want a photo ID, and that the documents I'm sending are not legible) and tell them I don't believe them (because many, many, many other customers have been getting the same messages) and further I had written the governor and the vital records department of my home state telling them all about their 'shady' practices.  And, I just might visit a lawyer and start a class action suit against them.

Next morning I get the same form e-mail from them telling me I need to resend my documents.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Once I regain my composure I reply to their e-mail asking if they are even reading my e-mails, and tell them I am going to send them hard copies of my documents via USPS Certified Mail.  And, I did that immediately.  The people at my substation took care of this in a few minutes and gave me a receipt so I could track my envelop, which I did, every day, several times a day.  When I saw it reached their post office box I was daring them to tell me there was something wrong with the documents.

Lo and behold, the every next morning they tell me my documents had been forward to my home state's vital records department.  Gotta' tell ya', I didn't even e-mail them a 'thank you'.

In the meantime, I went back to my state's website and thought there has got to be a better way to get a certificate, so I scrolled down, down, down the page and there close to the bottom I was informed I could order certificates...by mail...at five different offices throughout the state.  Yeah, Buddy!!!!!! So, I filled out the exact same form the outside vendor had required me to do (without the photo ID) and sent that package out Friday afternoon.  I got a tracking number and already know the package will be delivered first thing this morning.

What an ordeal this has been.  Here's the lesson I have for you.  If you go to your home state and up at the top of the page you see a box that says if you want your certificate quickly order on-line. DON'T DO IT. Keep looking til you see where you can either walk in or order by mail. It's a lot cheaper and certainly a lot quicker.

Anyway, with a little luck in four to six weeks I should receive six copies of certified certificates: one from the 'quick' vendor, and five from the state's vital records department.  When asked by a friend why I ordered so many I replied, "So when I die my kids can prove I actually lived." Oh, and when I return to the DMV to get my new ID you better believe I'm gonna' take all six copies.

Whew!

It's been one heck of a month.

The complex where I live decided it needed to replace the four overhead decks of my unit because of decay...let's face it...old age.  The demolition and remodeling was supposed to start months ago but unknown delays put the whole project off until August.

The first day a rather burly guy drug a four foot by four foot hunk of particle board and screwed it into the outer side of my screen door's jams and announced it would not be removed until the project was completed.  Okay, I could live with that...I didn't like it much...very inconvenient, but went through two remodeling jobs on my 'used to be' home and was used to what remodeling involved.

The first part of the remodeling was removing the concrete floors of the decks.  That required a lot of jack-hammering, and WAS A VERY NOISY MORNING.

Next came (uh-oh) unexpected water damage under my patio wall siding. Well, nobody expected that! Gross! The wall behind the siding of my patio was black with dry-rot, and could be flaked away with a fingernail.  They removed the plywood, and the insulation, and found the two-by-fours below needed to be removed as well. They actually went down to my next door neighbor's drywall...and almost sawed through it.  That was an amazing day.

Then a few days later they started to remove the rotted wooden, pressure treated, beam on the outer side of the deck above, that hunk of lumber was huge...I don't know the size.  Anyhoo, I'm sitting at my desk working and this thundering piece of rotted wood came crashing down. Fortunately the guy working below had just seconds before walked out of harm's way.  I went to my screen door I can't open and announced "Well that was pretty scary."  The construction workers agreed. Had that lumber hit anyone it would have been ug-ly.

The remodeling moved down the building.  When they finally got back to my end, we were in the midst of a heat wave, temperatures in the high nineties. They spread clear plastic over the ground and all the plants...including my wonderful vegetables.  The plastic cooked them, and the workers stomped them to death.  Poor, poor plants.

Rumors started to spread...when was the work going to be done? Was the work going to be done? How long were we not going to be able use our doors?

Little by little things got done, after the workers left each day I would go out, sneak under the yellow caution tape and water what remained of my plants, hoping by morning any evidence of my indiscretion would have evaporated away.

Then, Friday I came home from a luncheon engagement and found the particle board blocking my screen door was gone and a letter from management was attached to my door knob.  The letter announced that "the completion of deck replacements and some siding repair" was "almost finished." I was a happy camper.

However, and, coming back to rumors.  We began to speculate when the job would actually be finished.  You see, painting still needs to be done with regard to that dang siding that needed repair. Word went around that the contractors that rebuilt the decks, will not be the contractors who will be doing the painting.  Hmmmmmmm!  So, although I now have access to my screen door and patio, I don't think I can actually use the patio until the 'the repair is finished up' or until the painting is done. Hmmmmmmm!

So, here's what I've done. I re-attached Zorro's 50' leash to my new support corner post, so he can lie in the sun, and put one of my patio chairs out there so I can keep watch over him while he snoozes and stays out of trouble.  It's not perfect...but it will do for the time being.

Also, there are a few things I've learned out of all of this, One...plastic will cook and/or burn plants. Two...a fallen cross beam can and/or will kill somebody.  Three...plant your vegetables in movable containers not in the ground.  Four...every remodeling job will have unexpected problems...a person either learns to live with them and/or....well...a person learns to live with them.  I know. I know walkin' through life...stuff happens....and generally speaking it's one grand adventure.

I'll keep you posted what happens next.

In search of the perfect peach

At our last happy hour it seemed no matter what the topic of conversation, the talk always came back to food.  Our favorites of course; which we subdivided into all the courses especially of an evening meal.

As the event wound down the topic of conversation came around to trees, which came around to fruit, which came around to food, and we mentioned which fruit was our personal favorite.  The peach came up a few times.

At this point I happened to mention I once wrote a “How-to” article about finding the perfect peach and said I should probably write about that for my blog sometime.

Today I had a little free time and I looked for and (believe it or not) actually found the article.  I wrote this as part of a course I took with The Institute of Children’s Literature. Hence, my ‘how to’ find the perfect peach.

                          In Search of the Perfect Peach

One’s quest for a perfect peach should start with a walk some afternoon in late August, with four o’clock being the peak time for you search to conclude.  While strolling by a nearby orchard, you will find the trees revealing an abundance of fruit, waiting for harvest.

Under ideal conditions your peach will be warmed by the summer sun.  Don’t hurry!  Spend a little time walking around the trees. Look for a peach that’s full and round, one that’s about 11 to 13 inches in circumference.

In color, it should be a delicate mingle of orange and pink, with a dark, warm, brownish-red bottom and a lighter yellow-orange top where the cheeks are attached to the branch on a squat brownish-black stem.

A ripe peach will not have to be pulled from the tree; it will fall from the branch as you cup your hands under it.  Care must be taken not to squash the fruit as its flesh will be slightly soft to the touch.

Do not wash the fruit!  Chances are the latest summer rain showered your peach with the “just Right” amount of moisture to make it acceptable for eating plucked directly from the tree.

Gently rub the fruit between your hands, just to feel its warmth and to enjoy the softness of the furry blanket nature has provided for it while it grew.

Now, hold the peach to your nose and inhale deeply. Savor the delicate aroma which will be sweet and flower like, yet pleasantly fruity.

Your peach can be eaten skin and all.  Although, there are some who find the skin uninviting due to the fact is covered with a soft, delicate fuzz; others, (myself included) find that too an enjoyable part of a perfect peach.  The skin adds to the uniqueness of the fruit and should be devoured.

A ripe peach will taste sweet, yet tangy.  The meat is soft and easy to chew, with nectar in every bite.  Like good wine, it pleases the palate.  The savory yellow juice will seep through your fingers and begin to run down your hand.  If the peach is plump enough you will have the pleasure of having the luscious syrup run all the way to your elbow.

As you devour your peach you will find as you near the center, the pulp has become a rich, robust red and the flavor turns slightly tart.  At the very center, the pulp is firmly clasped to the stone.  It clings as a result of the stone having deep, natural ridges.

With a little effort, the pulp can be removed from the stone.  The stone, or pit as it is sometimes called, will be on average an inch in length and shaped oblong.  It resembles a miniature football, being a rich, dark brown in color; however, with its unique ridges it also appears brain-like.

After allowing the stone to dry for a few days, the perfect peach will reveal one final, pleasant surprise.  This surprise requires slightly more effort than removing the pulp and you might sustain a few scraped knuckles; but you’ll find the fun outweighs the effort.

There is no greater pleasure than revealing this surprise to a group of children gathered round on a warm, sunny sidewalk.  While holding the stone firmly on its edge and scraping end to end on the concrete the stone will gradually wear away.  Eventually you will hit a chamber in the stone, inside is a semi-hard, off white seed. Pry the seed from the chamber.  Although the seed appears nut-like in texture it is not recommended to be eaten.  It is bitter to the taste, could make you ill, and should be discarded.

For it is the stone itself that contains the surprise; once the seed is removed you will discover you have created a miniature, sturdy, water-tight canoe; which will dance and bob about when placed in a bowl of water.  Children will marvel at your creativity and someday themselves perpetuate this ritual for another group of fascinated children.

Finally your quest is complete; you’ve unraveled the mysteries of and found there is little waste to one of nature’s miracles.  But even more, you’ve had the rare opportunity to discover the perfect peach.

Ya wanna' know...

...the best job I ever had?

It's being a grandparent.  Easy-peasy.

Not just because I get to spend fun time with my grandkids and the old joke...'When I'm done I can send them home'.  But because they are each unique, interesting, funny, quick, easy and....well I could probably go on for quite some time.

Let's see how many grandchildren do I have?  Two plus three, plus three, plus seven I think that adds up to fifteen.  What made this relatively easy is we are a blended family and children add up very quickly.  As for great grandchildren (yes, they are arriving) I've some of them, too. So far there are three plus three plus one.  Please don't ask me to tell you how old they are and when their birthdays are...I don't remember ages, and as for birth-dates I rely on facebook and my date calendar to remind me of those.

Shoot I'm lucky to remember all their names.

I've been on field trips, shopping trips, vacations, sleep-overs and eating out excursions.  I've bought school supplies, DVD's, clothes, presents and food, lots, and lots, and lots of foooooood.  I've been to museums, malls and craft supply stores.  There have been picnics, parties and times we've just hung out.

We play games, rent movies and sometimes we're just plain silly.  Of late we play miniature golf on my patio and hide and seek with my Oregon Duck and Beaver.  One granddaughter helps me clean house; and a grandson who helps out with my 'land' and plants. I tell ya' there is no end in sight.

Before I moved to my new place, when the seven grandkids showed up we took turns on where and what we would have for lunch.  The two favorites were a taco place and a pizza place.  Now, with a lot of the young-ins' grown eating out does not cost as much as it used to. Still there are a few burger places close by and there is also pizza that magically shows up at my door from time to time.  Mostly though, now we like the sit down, waiter /waitress places to eat.

I think what I like the most about being a grand parent is that all these kids keep me young, laughing and full of fun.  I love surprising them by saying something colorful or slightly naughty just to keep them on their toes and get that Grandmaaaaa response.  Oh, and they teach me stuff, lots of stuff. I'm learning about their professions, their families, their educations, their plans and dreams for the future. They have principles, know politics, can discuss current events and have concerns about the future not just the United States but the World. They are wonderful, each and every one.

But, and here's the best part, when at the end of the day I get tired...well, heavens to Betsy...look at that...the clock says it's time for a certain somebody, or somebodies to go home.  HERE COMES MOM. I don't have to bathe anybody...well, except for me, get anybody ready for bed...well, except for me or have to think about getting up in the morning and getting somebody ready for school.  I'm telling ya, if you're not a grandparent yet when that time comes, you're gonna' love it.

It's the best job I ever had.

This is July?

Last summer July came in sweltering.  I was still in my old place and had fans going 'around the clock'.  I had wet hand towels on my forehead and stomach every time I sat or lie down; and wore as few pieces of clothing as possible so I would not get arrested when I walked outside.  That's the thing about heat, once you are naked, you're naked. However, in the cold you can bundle up and bundle up until all you can do is roll yourself around the house like one of those big exercise balls.

This July (so far) is just the opposite.  There have been morning clouds and a chill in the air.  I even considered putting on my 'thermals' this morning.  Now, ain't that just redickullous?  I confess I like this July better.  The older I get the less I like the extremes in temperatures and I tend to envy everyone who has winter and summer homes.  If I could have my druthers I would travel to somewhere 'tropical' every six or so months.  I envision seeing myself wintering in places like Hawaii, Australia or perhaps some exotic Pacific Island where I can munch local fruit and eat lots of fish.  Then in the summer I would return to home base and grow my own vegetables, sip Jim Beam on my patio and watch the world go by.

Yep, my muu-muus would really get a work out.  And, speaking of them I wore one to Happy Hour last Friday, unfortunately, I discovered I'm going to have to wear a slip under them because, the fabric 'stuck' to the back of my legs every time I stood up...which was a bit embarrassing.  It sure was comfortable though and that made up for those 'uncomfortable' moments, guess it's true sometimes you have to make adjustments when trying something new.  Shoot, I wear dresses and skirts so infrequently I'm lucky I discovered I still own a slip.  I actually found two, one white and one black. Hmmm, I wonder how old they are?

But, I digress.

This morning when I first awoke the sky was blue and sunny; I decided to do my morning devotions and Bible study on the patio.  As I sat, the sun disappeared and clouds rolled in, lots and lots of clouds.  The temperature dropped. Dang it!  It got so chilly I had to go back into the house.  What the heck is going on?  Stupid weather. Or, maybe it's me.  I keep expecting summer to be summer, winter to be winter and all the other parts of the year to be what they are also supposed to be.  Instead it seems each year gets more and more peculiar.  I suspect it all has something to do with Global Warming.  There, I actually said those dreaded words.  And, yes I do believe in Global Warming. Have you recently checked the rate at which the ice is melting at both poles?  Poor polar bears, poor, poor polar bears....and penguins, too.  If I get discombobulated with the weather fluctuations, imagine how the animals must feel.  Geeze.

Now, here's the thing.  When I first sat down to write it was my intention to be flowery and poetic about July, but it appears my fingers have run a-muck and have gone in the whole other direction. And, that is how it goes when an Old Woman Rambles. Let me try again.

July is gentle breezes, butterfly wings, bbq dinners, long twilight evenings July is........
......
......
I've not a clue.

Class Reunions

I have a cousin who writes a weekly column for her local paper.  This week she wrote about a friend who came back into town with her husband to attend his class reunion.  She, (the out of town-er) and my cousin got of group of their classmates together and went to lunch. While chatting they decided since their classmates were...were... 'passing-on' perhaps they should have an unscheduled reunion of their own. I guess whether they will or not was left up in the air.

My cousin mentioned in her article that their high school was no longer in existence so really "all they have left" is indeed their memories, (and hopefully their yearbooks, although today I think they are called annuals).

Anyhoooo, that got me to thinking that my old high school is also no longer a school.  I've forgotten what occupies the space today; I think it is some kind of office complex.  Here's what I do know. When the remodeling took place somebody from one of the graduating classes managed to get their hands on one of the teacher's classroom door and drug it home.  From what I understand she hung on to it until the year of her class reunion and then (of all things) she took the door along. Everyone was told to put their name on a slip of paper, there would be a door prize. As the evening progressed there was quite a bit of conversation about the door and the teacher to whom the door belonged and at the end of the evening there was a random drawing for the door prize and the prize was (of course)..the door. The winner became known as the  'keeper of the door' until the next reunion.

The number on the door is 210, and it's heavy oak.  It belonged to teacher Miss Sue Green, she was invited to the reunion to attend the 'keeper or the door' presentation.  According to the newspaper article, "Green expressed surprise to learn that the door from her class room was preserved."  The article goes on to say..."We told her that it was because all her students liked her so much and respected the things she did for us."  Apparently Miss Green "... gazed at us, and gave us a look that we'd seen many times. That look said...'oh, sure you did'."

However. Miss Green was indeed a teacher over and above other teachers.  She spoke softly but with great authority and she had the respect of each and every student.  She would stand outside her 150 pound oak door between every change of class, and never shut it until every student was no longer in the hall and where he/she was supposed to be when a new class began.  There was never misbehavior with Miss Green looking on.  My sister was the first in my family to have her as a teacher, I followed the next year, the first thing she asked was if I was Nancy's sister.  Uh-oh I thought, I've got some mighty big shoes to fill. Eventually the rest of my siblings attended one of her World Cultures Classes as well.  She taught for almost 50 years, had I not left my hometown my children probably would have attended her class as well.

Funny how life is, after I graduated I sent her a card and note every Christmas, and she responded in kind every year until I learned from a classmate she had passed away.  I'm sure she had a lot of students who did the same.  As the newspaper article ends, David Lester who had 'won the door' stated he was honored to keep the door because it represented more than just a door prize.  "It's amazing that it takes a person so long to appreciate what a teacher like Miss Green has done for her students.  I just wish we could have realized that fact when we were going to school."

If I had won that door, I'm not sure I would have given it up...I just hope the class that has the door is continuing the tradition and does so for as long as possible; but eventually I hope it is returned to the new high school with the door prize story attached and it is preserved for generations to come.  I think it would be a great honor for the school to be the final 'keeper of the door'.

Father's Day

Yesterday my Facebook age was loaded with all kinds of well wishes for all kinds of fathers, new ones, middle-aged ones and grandfather ones. They were all lovely and heart felt, I felt good for all those dads.

Later in the day one of my sisters called with an observation about our dad.  And, she asked a very profound question...what would I write about dad on Facebook? That got us to talking about dad and what we could remember about him.  Honestly, at first it didn't seem like much.

However, after we got talking turns out he was a great man, husband, father and provider.  He never lifted so much at a finger to us, never raised his voice or even come close to yelling at us and was ever present.  We recalled how he would sit after dinner in the dining-nook nose buried in the evening paper, Saturday Evening Post or the Reader's Digest.  He never joined in our 'after dinner chats' but we knew, HE KNEW exactly what we were talking about.

He was a great provider, even though his salary for the time was substantial, we were barely keeping up with 'the middle class'.  We had no credit cards...everything was paid by cash.  We kids would occasionally walk our house payment out to the private party that held our 'loan'.  We never even had so much as a checking account.  We didn't have a car until (if memory serves) I was in high school.  It was a big maroon Buick if I recall.

I'm not even sure dad took all the vacations that were allotted him, and he never....I mean never...took a sick day....EVER.  Although, I do remember we did drive all the way out to Indiana to visit his sister, my Aunt Cora one year.  Mostly he worked, and continued to build onto our house.  Did I mention he built it from the ground up?

However, as most dads were from my generation, they were mostly figure heads, we weren't pals, we didn't hang out, and we didn't talk.  He didn't teach us to ride a bicycle or throw a ball.  But he built us one heck of a swing and allowed us to take a stick and put our initials in the concrete holding the posts in place.  He planted a garden every year so we had fresh vegetable all summer, and the rows of corn were great to hide in when we spent hours playing hide and seek til dusk.

My sister and I got quite melancholy talking about dad, and we both wish he had been more hands-on with us...although we both know that was not his fault.  Times have changed for the better of course, dads today change diapers, do laundry, wash dishes, coach sports teams, bring home pizza for dinner and much, much more.  I applaud and praise them.

However, now that I'm thinking about it, dad was really a fantastic guy.  He never cheated on my mom, never swore, seldom drank and worked hard...right up to the time he got Carcinoma of the Lungs.  Even to the end, he hung in.  My older sister and I were living in California at the time, and we made the journey cross country to be with family.  I remember when we finally arrived my sister and I went to the hospital to see him.  It was bad, he was in an oxygen tent and very weak, but he knew and recognized us.  We didn't stay long; he was in no condition for visitors.

We went to mom's and had dinner and were making plans to go back to the hospital when the phone rang.  It was the hospital saying dad had passed.  See what a good dad he was...he hung on until he knew we were all together...I think that's the best proof my dad was the greatest.

Happy belated Father's day.  Herbert Paul  1905-1962.

Writing exercise-unlikeable character

I went to visit Melissa yesterday; I took a present for the baby.  It had been a while since I'd seen her what with her having the baby and all. Oh, I had sooo much to tell her. But she pushed me out of the house before I had a chance to give the gift to her.

God, she angry.

She said I was egocentric.  Can you believe that?  She said without a doubt I'm the most self-centered person she had ever met.  Is it my fault I've always got sooo much going on in my life?  I thought she'd be thrilled when I told her about my new fitness and weight-loss program and mentioned she could afford to take off a few pounds herself since she had the baby.  We could share my membership and could get into shape together.

That's when she hit the ceiling, and started to cry.

I told her not to feel bad, most women have a weight problem after having a baby and that her weight gain was tiny, weenie compared to some women; she could get her figure back in 'no time'.  Now, wouldn't you think she'd been happy when I told her that?

She just kept sobbing, so I changed the subject and said I was thinking about moving downtown and had been looking into the recently constructed high rise called "The Elite on Front Street".  It would be perfect and within walking distance of my fantastic new job.  I was explaining the floor lay out, and telling about the security measures the complex had and how reasonable the rent was...when, POW, she hit me...actually slugged me right in the stomach.  She knocked the wind right out of me.

I asked her why she did that.

All she said was she didn't want to be friends anymore, that I was an
egotistical (insert expletives); which surprised me because Melissa never swears.  As she continued to push me toward the door I asked what the heck was wrong with her.

She just shook her head and said I would never understand.  Melissa said it was never about what I said, but rather what I didn't say.  Then she went on and on about how a real friend would have seen right away how upset she was, and would have asked what was wrong...but that the minute I walked in I started blabbering about me, me, me and never thinking to ask how she was, or what was new in her life or that she might have something important to say.

I laughed and told her that was because she never did have anything important to say, but there was ALWAYS something new going on in my life, and, frankly she was just an old 'stick in the mud' wife and mother.

Melissa turned ashen and looked as though she was going to slug me again, so I backed all the way to the door.  That's when she asked me to leave...she actually opened the door and pushed me out; mumbling something under her breath then loudly, slammed the door shut. I couldn't believe it she left me standing there on the porch with the baby present still in my hand.

I found out this morning through a mutual friend that Melissa's baby had died a week ago Tuesday.

Seriously, I can't believe she didn't tell me when I took the baby present over to her yesterday.

Shame on me!

For a couple of years I was quite diligent at going to the website called Lumosity and playing their mental/agility games to keep my grey matter moving forward.  When I first started my LPI (Lumosity Performance Index) was terrible, under a thousand if memory serves. My memory was terrible, my hand/eye coordination was worse, and some games I could not get 'a handle on' to save my soul.  So, for about two years I went to the site just about every day and played at least the required five games determined to get better mentally.

I gotta' tell ya' I got dang good at some of the games and by the time I had hit my two year milestone my LPI had shot up to 1188 and that I was at the 90% level for people my age group.  I occasionally let folks know how I was doing on Facebook without (I hope) sounding boastful, but wanted them to know I was increasing my mental capacity 'leaps and bounds' and they needn't worry I was ready for some kind of a home.

Then, I kind of had a financial setback and I had to start doing without 'luxuries', and felt the hundred dollar annual fee was something I couldn't afford and gave up playing when the fee came due.  I also gave up brand name TP and other essentials.  Having money to pay taxes seemed much more important.  Heck, I knew how to be frugal...I grew up in a family that was 'aces' when it came to being frugal.  And so it went, until last year and I came into a little spending money.  Whoop, whoop.

So I was quite surprised last week, when out of the blue, I got an e-mail from Lumosity.  How nice they remembered me. Was this come kind of a sign?  On a whim I went to their website and they encouraged me to play some games for free. I did. I had forgotten how much fun they were.  They even allowed me to check my scores from ever so long ago. OOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH MYYYYYYYYYY!

My new scores were deplorable, in the almost two years I had not played my agility to play the games had plummeted almost 100 points. That was berry, berry skerry!  I worried, I fretted, I was working myself into a state; had I had a stroke?  Was there something wrong with me?  Was I OOOLLLDDD! Too old to play these games that at one time gave me so much pleasure...and how awful was it that there were some games I could not even remember how to play?

I've got to be honest...I really did get kind of scared.  I knew then and there I was going to rejoin Lumosity. And, I did. When I first started to play last week my scores were terrible...and they still are, but day by day the scores are inching upward one and two points a day.  At the end of my play Lumosity is very encouraging, telling me I was doing great and that playing every day was doing me good and...to keep at it and...to play at least three days a week. I intend to do better than that.

I'm keeping a good attitude with my daily improvement, and laugh at the stupid mistakes and errors I make.  I get to giggling pretty good sometimes, for instance one game gives you word prefixes and then gives you a time frame to build words...the prefix was phys...I could think of two words, then sat there like an idiot, giggling, as I watched the clock count down.  Shame on me.  Boy was I embarrassed and glad Muse and Frankie were already in bed and will never know that happened.

So, there you have it, I'm determined to take the mental 'mush' my grey matter is in at the moment and....start where I am, with what I have and make something of it...and not be satisfied.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

OH, MAN!

This morning I was sitting on the patio doing some studying when I began to hear mumbling in the living room.  The sounds were barely about whispers; of course I was curious and went to see what was going on.

Gasp!!!!!  Oh, the horror! I began to cough and sputter.

There was Muse standing in the center of the room surrounded by mismatched suitcases.

Me: (In great alarm.)  "Just where do you think you're going?"
Muse:  " 'I'm leaving on a Jet Plane.' " 'don't know when' " (or if) ' I'll be back again...' ", was her sing-song response.  "It seems you no long want or need me around."

I'm so shocked I swoon, almost fall, and then sink to my knees.

Me:  "Where's this coming from?"  I can't believe this is happening.  I find myself hugging her around her knees with what I hope is the most pitiful look I can muster.
Muse:  "May 25th."
Me: What?"
Muse:  May 25 is the last day you tried to write anything...well, except for quick blips on Facebook ...and how creative do those have to be?"

I'm having a hard time focusing, that date can't possibly be right. Surely I've written something since then.  I stand and head toward the office and my computer.

Muse:  "Don't bother to check, I know I'm right."

I don't know what to say. I'm in a state of panic. I hadn't deliberately been trying to ignore Muse and I had certainly had ideas and intended to write...where the heck had the time gone?  I realize the last week or so had been busy, but apparently in Muses mind any excuse I might use will certainly not be logical or important enough to justify I have not written something.  Yes, I had out of  town company for a long weekend, there was a holiday, and then my granddaughter came and spent the night but as far as Muse was concerned these excuses would not do; I could have, should have stayed up late at least once during that time to be creative.

"I was available at a moment's notice." Muse said with a hardy snort.

The thing was and is, there is even one more reason I seem not to have time to write, and to me this is a 'biggie'.  It's almost summer and I've no desire to be cooped up in the house...every...single...moment I can I want to be outside enjoying the birds, the warm air, the azure blue sky and the time spent with neighbors who happen to walk by.  Woe, woe, how can I get Muse to understand this?  I really, r-e-a-l-l-y fear if she leaves this time won't ever tappity tap on my window to let me know she has returned.

I can think of nothing more to do but plead for mercy and ask for a reprieve until yucky, bleak-y, cold, grey, damp, miserable weather returns.  I explain to her that as I grow older summers fly by more and more quickly and I don't want to waste one second of outdoor summer time.  It does not matter if it is early dawn and the golf course is getting its morning watering or midnight when I take the dog out for his final potty break.  "Summer is just too precious, as are you Muse, and I beg for your patience and understanding."

Muse, Frankie and I stand in silence for quite a while. Muse pondering, Frankie anticipating, me begging. Tick, tick, tick.  After what seems like hours Muse drags two of her suitcase back toward the bed room.

Me:  "Muse, I'll eventually make this up to you I promise.  Muse, thank you."
Muse:  "Yeah, yeah.......I know, I know."

I love that girl, and somehow, some way, I will gain back her trust.  I will, I promise-promise pinky swear.

I think I would like...

...to go around the world and just look at birds.

I have a friend who posts the most beautiful pictures of birds on Facebook...ever!  I've always thought the birds I've known since a child have been marvelously beautiful and have been happy with that. However, I now know there are some birds out there that I can't even begin to describe.

They are in shades of blues even Crayola can't come to design.  There are yellows of which even the sun is surely jealous.  Oh, and the reds range from creamy rose pedal to fire engine.  Then there are greens, orchids and oranges, too.  I imagine the Angels back in the day drawing up the designs for these creatures, then going to God and saying "Hey, Boss what do you think?"  Then God, working his magic deciding on the size, shape, final colors they should be and putting them exactly where in our world he thinks they will best survive.

Zap!

We have the Banded Broadbill, Black-faced Dacnis, Silver-eared Mesia, White-winged Fairy Wren, Motmot and the Laughing Thrush.  Seriously these birds live around the world and I've never seen a one of them.  I want to, thank goodness someone has, otherwise I would not even know these creatures existed.  Then think about their names...White winged Fairy Wren; Laughing Thrush; obviously somebody thought the Wren looked like a Fairy (it kind of does) and that the Thrush must make a sound like laughter, how cool is that?

Sadly I have to ponder our feathered friends we carelessly allowed to become extinct, certain pigeons, ducks, woodpeckers, quails and probably the most famous the Dodo bird.  And, what about the California Condor, at least we are making an effort to help this species survive, hopefully it is not too late. Thankfully now there are various dedicated organizations making great strides in the effort to keep species all kinds alive.  I applaud them all.

But, I digress.  The point is, I can kind of take a trip around the world to see and enjoy these feathered friends because (like my friend) I joined (liked) a group called BIRDS Community that posts pictures of birds on Facebook.  I started my trip this morning, first stop Malaysia. I got to view my very first bird, (oooooh, aaaaaa) it is the beautiful female Banded Broadbill.  I wonder where I will be tomorrow?

And, there it sat...

...on my lattice-work gate.

One day last week I was in my living room and glanced out one of the windows and saw a rather large, dark brown blob sitting on one of the posts of my lattice-work fencing closing off my patio.  "What the heck?" I thought.

I walked slowly, closer to the window and made out the shape of a rather large bird.  By now my curiosity had piqued and I walked up to the window.  There, about twenty feet away was a hawk.  He sat almost like a statue for quite a while, then began hopping about my lawn art and back again to the lattice-work post.  He made himself quite at home.  I watched in wonder, studying him closely, color, size, anything that might help me recognize what kind of hawk he was.

As I went to get one of my bird books I realized all the other birds that my neighbor feeds had become very quiet...not one single bird could be heard...'smart birdies' I think to myself.  By the time I got back to the window the hawk was sitting complacently on the post, turning its head ever alert for other bird activity...there was none.

I was glad the hawk felt so at home because it gave me the opportunity to study it quite closely.  I noticed it had bright yellow eyes, with black pupils.  Its chest was mottled white and sunny, warm tan and the tail was banded with broad dark brown stripes.  By comparing the bird with the pictures in my bird book I'm pretty sure this was a Cooper's Hawk, not just from the features, but also the size; the book stating the mature hawk is 14 to 20 inches in length.  This bird was definitely over the 14 inch size, but nowhere close to 20.  Therefore, because the coloring was so bright I figured this was probably a young male, more mature than a fledgling but by no means an adult.

As time went by I think once or twice it caught sight of me, but was not at all intimidated he simply sat or hopped about, patiently waiting for a meal...

...one finally showed up.

All the birds remained quiet, when suddenly something flew into my peripheral vision, uh-oh. That hawk flew so quickly the tiny bird hardly had a chance to land on the ground before the hawk was upon it, and flew away with lunch.  So much for the survival of the fittest and the circle of life.

Several days later I saw my neighbor who feeds the birds and told her about the hawk.  She frequently allows her cats to sun on her deck and although I'm sure the hawk was not large enough or strong enough to carry one of her kitties off, it sure could inflict some damage in an encounter. However, poor birdies...there's not much she and I can do about them.

This was a wonderful experience...well except for the lunch thingy...because I love all things nature and I'd never had the pleasure of seeing a hawk so 'up close and personal',  I'm thankful for the honor and privilege.  I can't help but wonder if the hawk will return, on one hand I would love that...on the other...poor birdie.

Something to ponder

This morning while I was reading I came across this sentence; "In an awe-inspiring way I am wonderfully made."  I found that statement to be quite profound and that got me to thinking in what way was I wonderfully made?  I had to go back to my beginning, a l-o-n-g time ago.  It was true, I was wonderfully made.  When I was born I had ten fingers and ten toes, each one had a tiny fingernail.  I've been told I had very little hair and that what I did have was blond and not easy to see. I'm sure my mother was reassured it would eventually be 'see-able'.  As I grew I was reasonably healthy, except for my tonsils which eventually had to come out, thereafter I seldom had much about which to complain.

As time moved on I found it was indeed awe-inspiring that I managed to escape any serious damage from injury I succeeded to inflicted upon myself...not that I didn't try.  Considering the flying leaps I used to take from the family swing and the bent fingers I permanently have from having mush balls bounce off the tips of my middle fingers. And, I've broken one of my little toes, have bits of gravel still embedded in my left knee from falling off a bicycle and scars from run-ins with blackberry brambles.

I've received bonks on my head from open cupboard doors and kitchen counters from leaning over to close to said counters.  I've sprained ankles and wrists and cracked a couple of ribs from a horrible cough that would simply not go away.  Oh, and occasionally, painfully, I've pinched fingers in various objects.  I think you'll agree I've definitely not been kind to my awe-inspiring body.

However, how great is it that it is wonderfully made?  I've actually survived all of the above with very little physical evidence of the havoc I have inflicted upon myself.  I think it is fantastic my body has been made to regenerate and heal itself, and except for a little first-aid, my body has done all the work all by itself...face it...that is wonderful.  And, yes I definitely find that to be awe-inspiring, although I didn't give that the respect I should have over the years simply because it took till this morning for a simple 'awe-inspiring' sentence to call that to my attention.

I've no idea what the future holds for my awe-inspiring, wonderfully made body, I just hope I treat it better than I have in the past.  I'm going to try to be more careful in physical activities and not try to do foolish things.  I'm going to try to keep off my excess weight and be more careful about what I eat (hopefully).  I'm going to try to get more sleep, keep my mind active and set aside time for myself.

In the end I want to be able to look back and ask, "Hey body, did I do you proud?"

"Oh, and thanks for an awe-inspiring, wonderful life."

Dutch Bros

Okay, I know I've been behind on many things, and Dutch Bros has been one of those things.  I've been a fan of and visitor to Starbucks for years and years so I'm not really THAT far behind the times. And, I'd heard of Dutch Bros and have seen their little kiosks around but never had the opportunity to go to one until several weeks back. I'd been told I would not be disappointed and believe me I was not.  I had a great coffee drink, and I was told their fruit smoothies were likewise fantastic.

Yesterday my granddaughter came to spend the day and she suggested we go to McDonald's for lunch because there is a Dutch Bros kiosk halfway between McDonald's and where I live.  Her thinking was, we could eat but not drink while having lunch and then stop at Dutch Bros on the way home for some smoothies. Now...you have to consider...we were walking...wanting to go through a drive-through which in itself a very unusual thing to do.  So, there we stood next to the building while a customer in a vehicle was being served; all the while I'm hoping another vehicle would not pull in behind us. One did not.

It was finally our turn, one of the girls asked what we wanted and I said six smoothies in different flavors. She seemed astounded, but the team worked together and in a jiffy our order was complete.  I could tell she was curious as to what I was going to do with all the smoothies so I explained I was going to attempt an experiment and freeze the smoothies then use them as 'desserts'.  I also told her if it worked I would be back to do this all over again.  I think we might have been the best sale of their day.

When we got home my granddaughter and I each had a smoothie as we watch a movie.

After my granddaughter left I went to the kitchen and pulled the remaining smoothies out of the refrigerator, pried off the tops, then took a spoon and mixed the whipped cream in with the rest of the fruity part of the smoothies. Finally, I sat them in the freezer and hoped for the best.

This morning I checked the freezer and discovered the smoothies froze without the cream separating and rising to the top.  Curious I took one out and scraped a spoon across the top of it. The consistency was harder than sherbet, but still very tasty, however, I think rather than treating it as an ice cream treat I'm simply going to set the smoothie on a counter for about half an hour, and slowly drink it as it was intended. I like this idea especially with summer on the way.

Oh, Frankie just had a terrific thought...she wonders what a shot of vodka or my favorite whiskey would do for this tasty treat...hmmm...oh yes, I'm...we're...going to like this summer treat.  Thanks Dutch Bros.