Monday, December 21, 2015

Christmas Poem

Christmas is almost here - 2015

Christmas is coming when folks act so jolly
They decorate houses with lights and with holly

They cut down fir trees or they buy them in lots
They scarf up poinsettias in foil-covered pots

They rush off to buy gifts for family members
Desperate not to hate all Decembers

They shop some online then they shop more in town
They weep as they watch their bank balance go down

The list of “must haves” is dreadfully long
And each head is dulled by that Jingle Bell song

Some guy who is dressed like a gigantic elf
Will be touting the merchandise on the store shelf

Santa will Ho! Ho! as tots tell the tale
Of the presents they want that the store has for sale

Parents will rush out to spend every dime
In hopes that their kiddies will have a good time

If you think that this year I’m not digging the scene
It’s not that I’m grumpy or my wallet is lean

I can’t join the frenzy and spend all my money
At least not just yet ‘cause you know what is funny

The Holiday Spirit laughs up his sleeve
And waits to strike me until Christmas Eve

So that glaze-eyed bedraggled soul standing in line
Is me and I’m having a wonderful time

Martha Schram - 12/15

Thursday, December 17, 2015


From midnight to 9:30AM today and still pouring:

Wednesday, December 16, 2015


Another doggoned presidential race is underway. Various folk are posturing and practicing their rhetoric as they try to appear worthy. It is all quite indigestion inducing.

I’m becoming convinced that the mere fact that one wants to be elected into office is proof that one is morally unfit for the job. There have been very few exceptions to this during my lifetime. The current slate of candidates, with perhaps a single exception, seems to prove my point.

I’m trying to ignore it all. I will wait until some one buys the office with the loudest and most simplistic platform crafted for voters to swallow and then watch as everyone settles down to the usual bad-mouthing. The losing party, following elephantine examples from past elections will immediately rev up for blatant obstructionism and nothing will change in the steady slide downward of America’s reputation in the world.

Monday, December 14, 2015

Bearable Winter

This time of year brings forward my essential ursine nature. The cold, the damp, the dark gloomy Pacific Northwet days set my brain into a stupor. I may as well hibernate and give way to my need to nap.

Once upon a time, a season or two, or more ago, I was awake before dawn and yawning as the sun dipped below the horizon. In summer here that means about 4:30 Am to 10PM. My aging baby and the winter season has changed all that. I sleep until 7 or 8AM, wake groggy, stumble out of bed to coffee,toast and my computer, and am ready for a nap by 10 at the latest. And a nap would be nice, perhaps reviving, but daytime naps seldom happen. Instead I bumble about bleary and numb-headed all day wishing for the nap that tries to overtake me but is sabotaged by the need for trips to the bathroom. Thank you diuretics.

And what happened to that early bedtime? If I am lucky I fall asleep in front of the TV but usually I find myself wide awake, surfing 250 channels of hopeless metal pablum until I stagger to bed at 1 or 2 in the morning.

I fantasize about a warm cave, a long blissful sleep, and waking to a glorious sunny spring having magically lost 50 pounds and probably being no grouchier than I am today. Where do I sign up?

Friday, October 30, 2015

Happy Halloween

I used to love dressing up for Halloween. Putting on the costume gave my younger self permission to be somebody other than myself, at least for a while. The candy was nice but it was the garb that made me love the whole spooky routine.

As an adult it was fun seeing the little kids come to the door, especially the tiny ones who hadn’t quite got the knack of Trick or Treat. Then there was a period where the innocence of door to door went away and kids too old and too aggressive muscled in on the fun.

We’ve moved away from suburbia and where we live there is no ringing of doorbells, no costumed children. My memories of what once was are the ghosts of Halloween that visit here.

Whatever you do for the holiday I wish you fun… and perhaps a return to the way it was once upon a time?

Monday, October 12, 2015

The F(L)ight of the Flicker

This morning began, as many of mornings do, with my almost-daily argument with one of the local Red-Shafted Flickers. He/She arrives around sunrise to bangety-bang on the wall at the corner of the house. I know what sort of damage these wood pecking critters can do so I’m less than thrilled.

It goes like this: Sound of quiet tentative rapping on the outside wall of the room where the family computers reside. I grit my teeth and hope it will stop. Rapping repeats, louder, more intense and directed. I rise and head toward the front door, my teeth grinding and various unladylike epithets beginning to spew from between the aforementioned teeth. Out the door I go, volume increasing, whereupon the offending bird gives a burst of avian invective (or maybe a snort of birdy derisive laughter?) and flies away. Unscathed. Darn! I was sure I was totally scathing.

Usually one go-round is enough for a morning but today I’ve been privy to a repeat. And a repeat of the repeat.

I love birds and have been a casual bird-watcher for decades but had I a gun and a decent aim there would be at least one less Red-Shafted Flicker in the neighborhood. Lucky for said bird(s) I don’t and probably couldn’t.

But in my imagination…….

Monday, October 5, 2015


Autumn is certainly in the air. Recent days have been summer-warm but they cool quickly toward evening and the air lays down a heavy blanket of dew to coat the grass, drip from the barbed-wire fence, and bespangle the cobwebs hanging heavy with the moisture each morning. The sun is later now to peer over the eastern hills, earlier to hide itself over the western horizon.

There is such a sense of nostalgia for me in each breeze and each stirring of the trees that brings down the first leaves. The alders are losing their green and edging toward yellow. The dry grass in the pasture droops back toward the ground as if eager to rest after all that growing and seeding that kept it busy all summer. Birds that migrate are gathering together for their trip to warmer places. Some have left already and I watch for the return of those that winter here.

The larger animals that live around us, the deer and wild turkeys, are active in their search for calories to fatten themselves up in preparation for winter’s diet time. The apples remaining on our trees are welcome calories and they are quickly eaten as the drop to the ground.

Inside my home there hasn’t yet been a need for the heater but early mornings and late evenings have me eyeing my long-sleeved flannel shirts. My summer bare-feet are wiggling their toes in wool slippers. Shorts have given way to long pants and at night I consider pulling the warmer blanket over me though as yet that hasn’t happened.

So many autumns have passed for me and each one now is savored a bit more than the one previous. How many more will there be for me to taste?

Saturday, September 26, 2015

Sky Watching

It is lovely living as close to the coast as Himself and I do. Temperatures soar inland during the summer and we seldom top 70 degrees. It always cools down at night. At this time of year the weather is perfect.

But Himself is a sky watcher. He enjoys looking at the stars and seeing meteor showers. He notes the seasonal changes in the viewable stars, recognized constellations, watches for the rare auroras that might be visible this far south, notes the monthly phases of the moon. All this is casual and these are things he has done for years… when he can.

Here at the coast the night sky is regularly obscured by fog. More often than not the sky phenomena are hidden by a thick gray blanket that seems to come and go randomly. Sunset may be clear only to have the offshore fog dash in and hang over us until the middle of the next day. Or the fog will barrel in sometime in the late afternoon then lift and leave stars glimmering by midnight. If there is any way to predict the behavior we have yet to discover it. Roll the dice and see what comes up? In the past we’ve tried field trips north, south, and east but again it is the old dice roll. Which direction? When? It is anybody’s guess what the fog will have done.

So we wait and hope for tomorrow’s lunar eclipse. Maybe we’ll see it. Maybe we won’t. But we will at least give it a shot.

Sunday, September 13, 2015

Social Event

Last night was the “social event of the season” in our tiny town, the Blueberry Bash. It concludes the annual Library Silent Auction and includes a dessert auction. I always attend and always have a great time.

I didn’t win the items I’d bid on in the auction though I did bring home several “last minute” things not really needed. Hey! The money benefits the library, right? Everyone enjoyed wine and cheese donated by local organizations and later we were served blueberry cobbler and ice cream. Delicious!

The most fun is the dessert auction. Our town is graced with many, many fine cooks and bakers, and the items donated were mouth-watering to say the least. I no longer bake if I can avoid it so I happily bid (the money goes to the library, remember?) and bring home wonderful goodies. This year there was a scrumptious cinnamon-streusel coffeecake, a chocolate zucchini loaf cake, cupcakes, and chocolate chip cookies.

No, we don’t eat them all the next day and end up in a dessert induced coma! I portion out the cakes and individually wrap the portions in plastic wrap then group the portions in bags for the freezer. We seldom eat dessert but in the gray and dark days of winter, once every week or two, I remember the frozen goodies and pull out a portion to defrost as we eat dinner. We have a wonderful home-baked treat that was made by loving hands. Super!

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

Pajama Worm?

No, not what you are thinking. Shame on you!

On a recent night my husband discovered that some obscure channel we get on television was showing The Pajama Game, an old musical starring Doris Day and John Raitt. Knowing that I’d been in that show, it was my high school musical in 1963, he dialed it up and we watched it together.

Corny plot, what there is of it. The show is mostly a series of song and dance loosely strung together over a plot of romance and a factory strike for a 7-1/2cent pay raise. Mostly harmless, right?

Except that it has launched a series of earworms that have been burrowing through my head with all the determination of mega-termites devouring a particularly tasty log.

This is the one I’ve had for the past two days:

Monday, September 7, 2015


I don’t think it is just my eagerness to have some winter rain, rain that can knock the forest fire danger out completely, that makes me sense autumn in the morning air. The way sunlight slants through the living room windows in the morning is different from summer. The look of the clouds in the daytime sky has changed. There are fewer birds at the feeder and those that arrive seem to gather and chatter as if discussing their migration travel plans.

I’ll be watching now for the Juncos to arrive. Just as I watched and waited for the Swallows last Spring. We’ve had first rain and now are due for at least a week of return-of-summer. In past years that pattern has been later and bigger so perhaps this one is deceptive, but my hopes soaring.

Wishing the entire west coast a long, gentle, drought-busting, winter! 

Monday, August 31, 2015


After over two decades of living along the coast in Oregon I didn’t think I could get happily excited about rain, but the small storm that arrived had me blissfully grinning. The change in climate over the past few years has Mexican weather moving into California, California weather shifting north to dry up Oregon, and continues the pattern to reach and melt the Arctic. This has reduced our usual winter rain and left our inland mountains, always vulnerable to lightning-caused blazes, dry and fire-plagued.

Rain is welcome and the ground has slurpped it up.

If the climate experts are right it is but a respite. The ocean currents are predicted to bring a winter of rain and then drought conditions resume. I only hope people will continue their attention to treating water as a limited resource and not some infinite thing to squander. Being conscious, or at least more conscious, of our personal effect upon the world must be an imperative.

Saturday, August 29, 2015

Another ear worm! 8/29/15

They keep coming and playing in my head.

Today the song is:

Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go

Wham! - Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go - YouTube

I saw WHAM! in concert - accompanying my daughter 3+ decades ago to, as I recall, the SF Cow Palace.

Thursday, August 27, 2015

Thursday, August 20, 2015

Social Media

Facebook has always been a time waster but I used to see actual posts from friends and was able to keep a distant but constant idea of what was happening in their lives. Then it became re-posts of posts from people I don't know. And then I was seeing posts of all the posts "liked" by people I knew. Now Facebook has added commercial after commercial - none of them having anything to do with either my friends or anything I'd ever use or care about.

Visiting Facebook is now like reading a magazine. In magazines there were once interesting articles with ads, then there were ads with interesting articles... and the articles got smaller and fewer until the magazines were essentially catalogs of stuff I didn't want.

There may be ways to turn off some of the dross in Facebook but all the switches are buried and hidden. I know it is a "free" service and the bills must be paid but I feel like I'm more and more footing the bill and getting less and less back for my time.

Is the end of my time there near? Don't know how much more I can stand!

(I see little indication that other such sites operate differently)

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Ear worm Tuesday August 11, 2015

What a Difference a Day Makes - Dinah Washington

(great song but it is driving me crazy playing over, and over, and over, and...)

Sunday, August 9, 2015


This fine bunch of family came to visit this weekend. Wonderful folks - each and every one - not that I'd be prejudiced in their favor, mind you!

Saturday, August 1, 2015

Seniors and Meds

I have to admit that my memory isn’t as good as it used to be. It hasn’t failed me completely, in fact it can be amazing the way random memories, some from well over fifty years ago, pop into my head. Unfortunately those are the unbidden ones, The ones I’m aiming for, a telephone number, an impending appointment, a friend’s name, often are elusive and show up when they darned well get around to it.

This phenomenon is basis for my current frustration with medical prescriptions. As we age we end up taking more prescribed drugs to regulate and support our various health issues. the problem is that as memory declines or chooses to be erratic those pills and potions become more complicated in administration. At present I have a rather simple regime and a rather okay memory but it is still a struggle to take my pills at proper intervals. There is the once-each-day pill. That one I take in the morning with the various self-prescribed vitamins I consume. But then there are the twice-daily and thrice-daily pills. They complicate things. I end up needing a pill mid-afternoon, another just past dinnertime, and two more at bedtime. My remind-myself works (mostly) when I am at home but goes to hell if I venture forth. How long will I be gone? Which pills do I need to take with me? And if I take them with me will I remember to take them?

I doubt it is going to get easier and I understand why errors in medication must be a major problem for an aging populace. It is confusing and should be something addressed by doctors and drug companies alike. 

Thursday, July 30, 2015


Ah, I love this time of year. All the folks I know who are avid gardeners are casting about looking for folks who will take in their extra produce. I don’t garden but I love the fresh fruit and veggies. Lately it has been plums and I just got a call about yellow squash. Oh boy!

I’m crazy about zucchini and actually any of the summer squash varieties. Keep this in mind folks!

Wednesday, July 29, 2015


I am a person who has spent a lifetime trying hard to find, to create, ORDER in the world around her.

It is a world gleefully, energetically, willfully cleaving to disorder and chaos.

I go through my day straightening pictures that seem to prefer hanging slightly lopsided.

I dust tables that instantly sprout new patinas of dust… complete with fingerprints.

I tidy drawers. They beome disarranged.

I fold and hang things that return to being flopped and fallen.

I file and correlate. Documents move and disappear.

And then there is the willful and sudden appearance of dirty dishes where once there were clean.

I think I'll surrender. I will dwell in a house amidst this whirlwind and attempt calm acceptance of the inevitable.

But first let me adjust that frame and hang up those towels.

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Story Telling

This morning I listened to myself recount a family anecdote to a friend. It was one of the well-worn sort of stories that we all tell, like how your sister once locked you out of the house when you were in your pajamas, or about the year your parents took you on vacation to a dude ranch that turned out to only be for folks over 65. Those stories become part of the mythos of our lives, stories we tell over and over and sometimes embroider to entertain our listeners.

As I told this particular tale a favorite one about my mother, I was suddenly aware of the many times I’ve recited it and how impossible it is to remember who among my friends had heard it.

Was I telling this story to a patient friend who’d heard it before? Maybe.  And heard it before that? Possibly. Was I being boring and repetitious? Oh dear. Was she suppressing a yawn or a groan? Oh dear again. Was she simply too polite to cut me off? Could be, although my friends are made of tough stuff. They have practice in the (in)delicate art of anecdotus interruptus, that finely timed art of breaking into an on-going monologue with “Oh, I remember that story! Funny!” also heard as “Get to the point! Cut to the chase! Don’t make me listen to this again!" and the teller gets the hint and curtails the memory.


Perhaps this is why so many of us learn not to listen as we speak. We’ve already had the thought and we can set our mouths to flapping as our brains retreat to gather more material. 

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Celebrate the Fourth?

Himself and I crewed for a fireworks professional back in the days when city fireworks could still be hand-loaded. The experience taught me a great deal of respect and caution around those explosives. Our boss trained us to be safe and made sure we understood the danger of the materials we were handling.

As the Fourth of July approaches every year I’m reminded of that training and the lack of it in so many small towns across the country.

But worse, much worse, than the danger of fireworks in a professional setting is the danger of the fireworks sold to the general public at roadside stands. Here in Oregon those stands are legal, a multitude of them are about to open, and I am horrified.

Even on a “normal” year people using these ‘safe and sane’ fireworks manage to set off grass fires. In this drought, this year when the environment is tinder-dry everywhere, the possibilities are horrendously magnified. Shame on those organizations who maintain and operate those stands! Surely they could find more responsible ways to raise funds. And double shame on the folks who buy and use that merchandise, putting themselves, their neighbors, and their community in danger.

Friday, June 19, 2015

Life was a whole lot more complicated when I was young but despite that somehow I managed to deal with it in a more graceful and competent manner. I could sail through my day and leave behind a swathe of accomplishments. I could rise and get laundry started, set out the sprinkler in the garden, clean up the kitchen, and while doing so make plans for a trip to the supermarket. Laundry made it to the dryer (unforgotten), the thirsty plants were saved from death by dehydration, the kitchen was tidy (every day!) and I made it to the grocery store and back sans list and with all needed items bought. I remembered birthdays and anniversaries, sent gifts and cards that arrived in time. I could read a book in a single day AND remember the title, author, and storyline the next day.

Now I have ascended to seniorhood and things have changed.

These days I need a detailed map to get from one end of the house to the other. Plus it is wise if I also take a written list of what I was going for. And why. Laundry gets forgotten and left in the dryer for days at a time. I bow to nature and don’t keep a garden requires watering, though I’m sure if I did set out a sprinkle there would soon be a moat around the house. No trip to the store is finished without arriving home short a few items I really needed. The kitchen gets cleaned (sort of) when the stacks of dishes totter and tonight’s dinner requires pans that are soaking in the sink. I do remember birthdays but only because of a list on my computer and even with electronic ecards I’m sometimes late with celebratory wishes. I read but seldom recall authors or titles when I want to tell a friend about the book. Give it a few days and I can’t remember the story. 

There is no use being depressed about these changes and worrying that brain-rot is encroaching. I’ve decided instead to chalk it up to the complexities of modern life, the years more of knowledge that must be crammed into my head, and a ho-hum attitude toward getting things done when I know full well they never do. Get done, that is.

Zen attitude under construction…

Monday, June 8, 2015

Getting Older

It is time for me to retire to my rocker with my teacup and embroidery, and to surrender to the inevitable changes, in my mind degradation, of our language. Reading the posts on Facebook gives me heartburn. I’m not a member of the grammar police or in any way a perfect speller - though I do know how to use a spell checker - but the thumb texters make me crazy. When they take the time to create a poster and then don’t bother to use decent English I shudder. In another twenty years, if it takes that long, a message like this will probably look like:

tim rckr teabroid n chng. Lang?repst FB brn. -grmrcop spll✔︎r …

You get the idea. 

Monday, June 1, 2015

Words for Rain


"Here in Oregon we have 100 words for rain. In Texas they have just one word and it’s one they can’t say on Network television."

Thursday, May 28, 2015


Two of my friends are embarking today upon trips, one to another state, one to another country. I wish each of them Bon Voyage, a happy time, and a safe return.

Me? I may make it to the next village past ours. These days I consider an excursion that requires more than a couple of hours in the car to be a major event that requires much planning and preparation. Himself has to bribe me even to venture out to that close-by village. My trekking days and adventurous spirit have been laid to rest.

I'm sending down roots?

Sunday, May 17, 2015

Final Season

And while I’m complaining about television…

Himself just informed me that three of the shows I watch are being cancelled: Battle Creek, Backstrom, and Forever. None of these has gotten a decent run but I suppose since they required just a bit of brain use by the viewer they were doomed from the beginning.

What will we be offered instead? More gore. More sex. More ghosts, ghouls, and dark shadowy runs through dark, shadowy forests populated by creatures from some scriptwriter’s feverish nightmares.

And for me? Probably a lot more time to read.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Season Finale

A number of my favorite television shows are coming to the end of their seasons. Some aren’t. It is sometimes hard to determine what the season is unlike the Good Old Days when the onset of summer meant everything would be in re-runs. With the revolving start anytime/end anytime scheduling, some sort of effort to get the jump on the competition perhaps, I can never tell anymore except by the ridiculous scripts revolving around cliffhanger endings.

It is just plain silly. Some major character has to be left bleeding, or kidnapped by a psycho, or in a coma - whatever major peril the writers fevered imaginations can devise, and this is supposed to keep the audience mesmerized and on the edge of their seats waiting for the next season to tell us how that person contrived to be healed, rescued, or miraculously wake up. Oh my, the anticipation, the nail-biting. Yawn.

I guess I’m different from the audience to which the writers think they are catering. I watch these shows because I like the ensemble of actors and the characters they portray. A good part of the time the plots are either ridiculous or inexplicable - or both. It is worth a headache to try and parse them out to make any sense. I view the shows to enjoy the dynamic between the kludged together family of cops, agents, and officers.

When the season concludes without tremendous angst, when the characters gather to schmooze and reminisce I’m guessing there was a fair chance the show might not be back for the next season. The writers were hedging their bets. I go scurrying to the internet to see where contract negotiations are stalled.

Now, if I can only figure out when the shows will resume. Gad but I miss those days when one read the TV Guide issue at the end of summer to see what shows would be new, what resumed, and what changes were announced. End of the ho-hum guessing game.

Monday, May 11, 2015


There seem to be several stories a week on the evening news about bullying. It has been the subject in just about every one of the police procedural television shows I watch and is mentioned time and again on the internet chat sites I frequent. I listen and grit my teeth, and can’t help thinking, “So what’s the big deal?”

Politically incorrect of me, I know. I should be gushing with sympathy and jumping to the defense of the frail teen who is suffering abuse from his or her peers.

I’m not.

Kids have always bullied, always ganged together to shun or verbally put down another kid. I’m guessing it happened in ancient Greece, “Agathon can’t rhyme a word!”, in Shakespeare’s time “Juliet does it for a few coppers”, and not much has changed except the method of delivery. I lived through it, through the taunts in the school hallway and the physical shoving out of my seat on the bus home. It was hurtful. I cried and felt humiliated and angry. But I was taught to consider the source and I was expected to suck it up and get over it.

Is society really helping when it rushes to soothe the hurt? Might it not be more useful to help a callous develop on the tender spots? Both sides can probably be argued but I’m thinking we’ve rushed to defend where we should instead have taught self-defense. Learning to overlook and to discount, to seek self-confidence instead of looking to get even in kind, is something individuals, and maybe even nations, might try.

Thursday, April 2, 2015


I am convinced that Dust begets Dust - in biblical proportions. I’ve always suspected that dust bunnies (hippos?) breed, engaging in mad bacchanalias at night when I am stuporous with sleep. Since coming to live in THE COUNTRY, and now unprotected by an urban landscape of concrete, it is obvious that Dust sports itself in abandoned fervor within my residence and multiplies like the pagan hoards of antiquity. If only it was worth mining and selling like gold or silver. I’d carve the layers under each piece of furniture into fanciful caverns, sell the excess, and lead tours through the remaining caves.

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

March Gladness

The month of March did not hold any records for rain but it was wetter than we’d expected. April appears to be offering the prospect of showers as well. The mountains didn’t get the snow that was wanted but here on the coast we are enjoying the non-frozen variety and I’m not even complaining. Yet.

Now if only the dripping was confined to outdoors and rain. Spring has also brought the blossoms that stimulate my allergies. My poor old graying head is more befuddled than usual and the schnozz is pouring forth a seasonal libation. Our car is liberally dusted with a layer of golden pollen courtesy of the fir trees hereabouts. Maybe the rain will wash some of that off?

Monday, March 16, 2015


Here is my official unauthorized biography for the curious among my readers, those who were not present at the official roast last night.


Saturday, March 14, 2015


Yes, we have rain! Real honest-to-goodness noisy in the downspout precipitation falleth from the sky and drencheth the land. It hasn't been the sort of deluge that is possible here but we are glad for any we can get. Our rain gauge shows .71" so far today so even though the barometer seems to be rising (Boo! Hiss!) we should be able to get an inch. And should the rain continue unabated maybe the clouds will squeeze out more.

Friday, March 13, 2015

Rain? Really??

After a couple of decades of enduring the rain Oregon coast winter weather, that weather that consists of rain, more rain, rain with wind, and rain with WAY TOO MUCH wind, the recent change to that pattern has been dramatic. Winter rains have been gentle and (gasp!) vertical with winds hardly noticeable. The 90” of wet stuff a year has sunk to 30” or a bit more and everybody wanders around shaking their heads and muttering the dread word “drought”.

I confess that I was sick of rainy winters. The lack of sun could get very depressing and the wind made me nervous as it pummeled the house and shook the windows. A little less of both rain and wind seemed like a pleasant thought. But it seems I’ve become more Oregonian that I thought. I miss “our” winter.

This year when the daffodils made their entrance a month early I shook my old gray head. Too early the onset of spring. As each prediction for rain has fizzled out and left us with a tenth of an inch where once we could easily measure 3-5” a day I have despaired. And it looks like another winter has passed us by.

But a glimmer of respite. This weekend holds promise of wetitude measureable. I implore the weather imps out there… LET IT POUR!

Thursday, March 12, 2015

Tuppence a Bag?

Himself and I went into town this morning to buy bird seed. The bag inside the front door from which we fill the feeder that hangs from the tree in our yard was just about empty. My husband worried that the birds would feel pangs of hunger.

I worried too. Worried that the Steller Jays who frequent the feeder would walk up the pathway, muscle their way to the door, and demand immediate service. They’d have to walk since they are so well fed they can barely get airborne. And the many finches, sparrows and juncos crowded around the food bowl every morning hardly seem to suffer. I imagine the song sparrows warbling the words “Come be my sweetie, the food is fine here!”

The local avian population does well by us. Now, if only the news would fail to reach this year’s crop of “wild” turkeys.

Saturday, February 7, 2015


Here in the Great Northwet we have some pretty amazing winter storms. Along the coast where I live the storms seldom bring snow. They bring what the National Weather Service carefully christens “Wind Events”. A wind event can bring category 2 hurricane force winds that drive copious amounts of rain. Creeks and rivers flood. Trees are uprooted or broken and splintered. These storms aren’t once a decade as are hurricanes. They are several times a season nearly every year.

And today’s topic is wind. Wind that uses the trees and the rain as weapons of mass destruction. I should know better than to anthropomorphize but it is hard not to hear it freight-training up the field and slamming into the walls of the house without thinking it some sort of malevolent beast or at least a child in the midst of a screaming hissy-fit.

Last night in my bed I listened to it and found myself listing words and descriptions for the “near Cape Blanco” winds:

Live thing
Whirling, swirling, howling, growling, 
Screaming, yelling, muttering, moaning
Shivering around corners
Muscling through trees
Pummeling, pounding
Battering and bashing
Crashing, thrashing, and shoving
Shaking, breaking
Insomnia making

Thursday, February 5, 2015


Today’s subject is the biting of a lip. Specifically the repeated biting of a lip since my experience is that when you nip that flapping lower target it is seldom a solitary act.

Nip isn’t the right word though. That first bite is usually a super CHOMP. No delicate nibble, No dainty approach of the pearly-whites. Nope. It happens when you are intently chawing at a stubborn hunk of sandwich or taking a mega-bite into some hard crunchy snack. Those cutting incisors aim for the soft lips or slightly-slower-than-usual tongue and Whammo! And wouldn’t you think that lip and tongue would thereafter be wary and on guard? Instead they seem to dangle the damaged area even closer to dental disaster.

I speak, albeit somewhat carefully today, from recent, painful, and sequential experiences. 

Sunday, February 1, 2015

Super? Bowl

I’m having a grand time watching folks trying to distance themselves from the hype, and the actual events, of today’s game. Apparently if you refuse to watch you are a nobler and better person and somehow above the crass beer-guzzling low-lifes that watch competitive football? Or perhaps just a snobby panty-waist elitist?

Another group of folk step back and remind us that is is “Just a game!”

Where do I fall among these positions? As is my wont a little from column A, a little from column B, and yes, some of column C. I may even borrow a smidgen from other alphabetical orders.

I applaud those who don’t watch but hardly grant them particular credit for disparaging those who do. And the crowd antics at football games often makes me cringe and despair for the future of human endeavor. So much for A & B.

As for “Just a game”, none of us are that naive, are we? Professional football, and especially the Superbowl, is Big-Time Big-Business. There are nations on the planet whose gross national product is less than the price of a one minute Superbowl commercial. Think of the ticket outlay money, the salaries of the players, coaches, and support staff. Imagine all the cash involved both over and probably under the table. Convert it all to $100,000 bills and it’d fill a swimming pool - probably Olympic-sized.

All this for a bunch of heavily-muscled hunks of man-meat dashing up and down the lawn grabbing at a pigskin.

(And yes, I’ll be watching.)

Monday, January 12, 2015

Go Ducks!

All sorts of interesting thoughts cross my mind and many of them seem worth blogging about but somehow I just don’t seem to get to my keyboard when there is enough quiet time to gather the thoughts into something coherent to post. Writing, even the trivial fluff I usually concoct, takes some energy. Yes, it looks like a writer is sitting in a nap-like trance, staring into vacant space, but the brain inside her head is dashing around chasing words and running down rapidly scattering ideas. It is the equivalent of a mental marathon.

My marathons slowed to 5k runs, then to short morning jogs. They have now reached gentle strolls around the block and only on mild, sunny summer days. In my younger years I wrestled with universal ideas. These days I muse over random silliness or express my irritation at various nonsense.

Or just comment on “stuff”.

Today’s thoughts have devolved to the mundane level: football. Himself and I, like many Oregonites, are ready to cheer on our DUCKS as they vie for a big championship. Good luck to Mark Helfrich, Marcus Mariota and the team.