Sunday, December 30, 2012
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Monday, December 17, 2012
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Monday, November 12, 2012
Friday, November 9, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
At the door!
a Demon host?
Old bones on a bathroom trip.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Monday, October 15, 2012
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
Friday, June 22, 2012
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
Friday, June 15, 2012
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Friday, April 20, 2012
Sleep has gone from being that welcome period at night where the body relaxes and the mind goes to play to a nightly game of "Will I or Won't I?" The odds seem increasingly stacked against me.
Take last night for example. After the usual hours of television I found myself dozing in my chair. "Ah!" I say, "Bedtime!" The usual bathroom items accomplished I climb into bed and savor the first few seconds of relaxation in a horizontal position. Sigh….
But the pillow isn't quite in the right place so I adjust it. And my arthritic left knee starts to throb and I twist and turn to find a more comfortable position. The knee is now happier but my left arm is pins and needles while I seem to have an extra right arm that refuses to settle down. My back starts to hurt. My neck is kinked. No sooner is one body part comforted than some other whines and complains. I abandon bed and move to a nearby armchair where the various joints can find a more welcome attitude but then kitty drapes herself over my arm and pins me down, I discover that I've left my favorite neck pillow back on the bed out of reach, and it is cold enough that another blanket would be nice. So I fetch the pillow, wrap myself in an extra blanket, re-position the cat, and realize I need to make another trip to the bathroom.
You're probably already a step ahead, aren't you. By the time I get back from the loo and re-adjust and re-assemble and re-align sleep has receded. Last night I listened to night noises. The countryside has an interesting assortment of those and it was Lonesome Cattle Calls at midnight.
Cow Number One: "You there?"
Cow Number Two: "I'm here. You there?"
Cow Number One: "I'm here. You there?"
Only slightly better than when the local dogs bark their version of "Me!", "Me!", "Me!" at Oh-Dark Thirty.
I listened to the occasional truck on the highway and the sound of the ocean surf. Sound carries in amazing fashion around here.
Eventually - a long time later - I fell asleep...
And woke up at the usual too-early hour this morning.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
A couple of friends have commented recently about my lack of blog entries. I resisted the impulse to tell them how lucky they are. From the outside my life looks serene, calm, and orderly. Looks. In here it is an aquarium in free-fall from the top a ten story building. There has got to be a bang and crash just about to happen. Or maybe not?
You see, the moment I think I know where I am and what I'm feeling… I'm no longer there. Think about the feelings and they change, shift, realign, or evaporate. Whoop-de-doo and Tra-La-La where am I? Who am I? Darned if I know.
Yes, there is a lack of focus. My brain is all fuzzy around the edges and somewhat soft in the middle.
So dear pals, if I get to a place in the time continuum, or a place in the time continuum, and can find my footing (and then assemble a coherent thought or two I will place them here. In the meantime just imagine that you are one of the gazillion motes of dust on the side table and can hear me during the nightly news.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Are you one of those folks who form attachments to inanimate objects that you use in daily life? A car you have named and talk to as if it was family? A comfy old sweater or pair of shoes? A book you haven't opened for years but still keep on the shelf?
Me too. Here is a favorite morning companion, my coffee mug. It is, for me, the perfect shape that holds the perfect amount. The handle fits my grip. The thickness of the lip pleases my mouth. I like the color, the design, the rightness about it.
It can the small things in life that prove most pleasing.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Our rooster, Brandon, pushed his luck a few steps beyond optimal yesterday when he escaped from the chicken yard - twice. My husband, a forgiving sort of guy, had excused previous escapades as "accidents".
"Brandon flapped his wings and the Oregon wind carried him over the fence, " he'd explain, "Brandon is very embarrassed by the mistake."
Yeah, right! Guys WILL stick together!
Yesterday when Brandon did the lift and flap a second time all bets were off. At chicken bedtime Himself strode forth sporting a determined look and carrying the kitchen shears. I knew Brandon was about to get a wing trimming.
A short time later Himself returned and Brandon's flightiness had been curtailed… but not without a battle. I tackled the job of Husband-repair with peroxide, antibiotic ointment, bandaids, and a thankful heart that I'd not been the one to do battle with a terrified rooster.
REST IN PEACE, SHERMAN
Friday, February 24, 2012
Perhaps I'm too focussed lately on the "wild" turkeys that live around here but they do make themselves a center of interest. Or maybe that is a center of loathing, disgust, repugnance, and aversion? Those nearly tennis-ball sized poops all over my front yard could do it by themselves. The defoliation of yard and garden certainly earns them a big "dislike" check of the list. I'd admire their persistence and survival instincts if I didn't hate them so much. It is hard to estimate how many consider our yard their territory since the flocks seem to ebb, flow, and commingle depending upon the season.
You should see the bunch dotting the lawn this morning. Ugh! And figure 8-10 birds in a group, several groups, each bunch strolling in a couple of times a day, and each bird pooping at least once per visit. No need to run to the store to buy fertilizer for the lawn though. Just hip-boots if we want to leave the house.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
From a window I watch as
A dude walking by tosses his lit butt into the gutter.
Do you suppose his house is carpeted in discarded filter tips
Dropped carelessly as he finished each last puff?
Is this sidewalk, this street any less his home?
He doesn't think;
His awareness of the world is too dim.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
I made the mistake of watching TV last night without DVRing the show so I could FF through commercials. It isn't that I mind commercials - if they are interesting and clever. The problem comes when they are neither AND they replay at each and every break. Is the irritation factor really what the product advertisers are after? It may be important to have your product on the consumer's mind but when it is accompanied with the urge to upchuck that hardly seems a good selling strategy.
Last night it was some service that was going to rescue/protect my online reputation from hostile comments and postings. Yeah, right.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Hey girlfriends, have you reached "Check My Chin" age? Do you pause at a mirror to stare at your face in a search for hairs that would rival the beard on Grizzley Adams? Are those tweezers your most used and cherished tool?
Join the club! We spend our teen years watching for zits, get a brief respite during mid-life, and suddenly find ourselves in the post-menopausal hair-pulling stage. Yeah, we had one of those when the kids were around the house too. Maybe that is practice.
Just like Himself I seem to be watching the hair slide from the top of my head downward to my chinny-chin-chin. The part above is ever wider and my coiffure, never abundant, is thinner and thinner. Unlike my waistline. Dark hairs sprout on cheek, lip, and on one or another of my chins. Why dark? That stuff at the top was always dishwater blonde-brown. It is now rapidly turning gray. Not the new beard. It can be anything from gold to coal-black. Worse yet it seems multi-hued, starting out barely visible but turning darker as it reaches incredible length. I examine those jowls almost daily yet still am surprised to spot some errant whisker that escaped notice until it is… well seems anyway, a foot long.
Hey, Ho - the joys of being a mature (?) woman.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
The first of the year has traditionally been the time I sort through receipts and make sure bank statements and such are filed, ready for tax time. Himself and I usually do our taxes as soon as all the financial forms are in,,, those 10whatever things that get clipped to the wad of IRS forms. Our forms have always been relatively simple. Only the very wealthy seem to need a mega-zillion pages to report and track their mega-zillion bucks.
But that isn't what I was going to observe. As I waded through the debris on my desk it came to me how lax I've become about those statements and receipts since my husband retired and was able to more fully embrace his computerhood. It was my idea that he involve himself in the monthly process of tracking our income. Or maybe that would be better referred to as outgo. Up until retirement, while he did do the yearly taxes, I kept track of every other financial matters. I paid bills, balanced the checkbook, tended to savings accounts… all the in-between day-to-day stuff.
The responsibility shifted slowly from me to him. I still write checks for monthly bills but some are now paid on-line and Himself handles that. We still do taxes as a tag-team but I'm increasingly resistant. He has a app for tracking the banking and for a while we did that as a tandem activity but, as the stack of monthly statements he'd printed out last year and left on my desk indicates, I've resigned my duties.
I sat down and made an attempt to "catch up". It took only a few minutes to convince me that it simply wasn't something I am willing to tackle. The statements as now neatly filed in our finances binder uses an imaginary header reading "Failed to Comply".
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Thursday, January 5, 2012
As one of my Fr's said: Let's talk about the weather…
We talk a lot about it here on the Oregon coast. The Pacific currents and the Arctic air masses give us a mild but slightly schizophrenic climate.
In the southeast portion of the state it is all about cold and rain, or lack of it. In the middle of the state it is about heat, cold, and rain, or lack of it. Here on the coast it is about wind, and rain. Usually we are short of neither.
I used to talk about, okay- complain about, the cold. Himself and I moved here from California and the more northern tamps plus my aging bones resistance to chilly breezes brought forth mutters and a certain sense of indignation. After my wailing and complaining was answered by climate comparisons with some of my friends I muted my noise. The Oregon coast can't compete with Fairbanks, Alaska in the Cold department!
But our coast can do rain. And wind. At least we could until this winter. It has been drier than usual this season. And the wind has been, shall I say, less than enthusiastic? Weather stories on the nightly news are focussing on potential drought. Climate experts are being interviewed. Past seasons statistics are being trotted forth. The lack of rain is a topic everywhere.
I don't mind though. As a conversation theme it beats politics!
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
I spent a few minutes this morning checking my calendar and jotting down the birthdays of friends and relations, the ones coming up in the first half of this year. It was startling to note how many of us have reached our sixties. Intellectually it is something I know. Emotionally it still hits me with the Whoosh! of my breath being taken away.
We're getting old, my friends and I? Whose idea was this? When did it happen?
Many of the friendships were formed when we were in our thirties. We were grown-ups. or at least thought we were, and age wasn't an issue as it was in school - when a year or two made a big difference among us. In my thoughts we are still those active people, charging around in life with our futures still mostly "out there." Reality is different. We've slowed down. Health is an issue we discuss much more than kids or politics. Several friends have dealt with cancer. Nearly all of us have arthritic joints and aches in places we once didn't know we had. We think about Medicare and Social Security. We worry about making what we have last as long as we do. We find ourselves shaking our heads, wondering if the emerging generation is "going to hell in a hand basket."
It wasn't in our minds to get old. It snuck up on us. I keep tripping over the idea, surprised to find it new each time I stumble on it. "Oh, that's right!" I exclaim - and promptly forget it again, much more comfortable with that previous vision of adult/forever.