SixtyUp

Discards

2012-02-15T11:43:00.001-08:00

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.

2012-02-14T08:12:00.001-08:00

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.

Pluck! Pluck! Pluck!

2012-01-31T11:53:00.000-08:00

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.

Falling behind... more and more.

2012-01-15T09:40:00.000-08:00

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".

Charlie My Boy!

2012-01-11T10:58:00.000-08:00

This is a portrait of my grandson on his new unicycle. He didn't get his coordination and fearlessness from MY side of the family. Well, maybe a bit of the coordination, but not a shred of his full-tilt-boogie, damn-the-torpedoes-full-steam-ahead style.

Let's talk about the weather…

2012-01-05T10:26:00.000-08:00

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!

Again, and again, and still again...

2012-01-04T09:43:00.001-08:00

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.

New Year?

2011-12-31T07:40:00.001-08:00

I believe I said this last year - and I'll say it again: What is the big deal with New Year? Drunken alcohol consumption and fervent partying that leave folks at best, exhausted and physically ill, and at worst dead on a highway somewhere, hardly seem like any way to begin something auspicious. Tomorrow the sun will rise, in the east, as it did this morning. People will live lives much the same as they did before, despite resolutions to change.

Get a clue. Watch the drunken revels from the safety of your home TV set and get to bed at a reasonable hour. Wake tomorrow without a hangover and if you must make a resolution let it be to try to live each coming day as just a bit of a better person.

May 2012 bring that true for us all.

2011-12-28T09:43:00.000-08:00

I made two more KIVA loans today - using money that had been repaid from previous loans. This makes a total of twenty loans made since I began. An initial "investment" of less than $100 has gone out to do 5 times that much work in the world. Currently I have loans in Rwanda, Kenya, Senegal, Nicaragua, and Lebanon.

Himself and I are retired, living on a combination of Social Security and savings. It means so much to me to be able to reach out into the world in this small way. All of us try to share the bounty of our lives. What do YOU do to extend yourself out of your community?

Tradition?

2011-12-22T11:10:00.001-08:00

One of our "empty-nester" holiday traditions is to eschew the purchase of a cut tree and instead to harvest a few boughs from the plentiful fir trees on our property and arrange them in a vase made years ago by a friend who is a potter. Our old ornaments being too large we have gradually scrounged small bits and pieces with which to decorate it. Some years we add a small string of lights, others (like this one) we skip the lights and get the sparkle from a lighted star we place in the front window.

This year the holiday blues had me captive but yesterday Himself shook me out of it and we created our "tree" together.

2011-12-21T09:28:00.001-08:00

Is it the holidays or is it aging? Either way I seem to feel more and more overwhelmed and less and and capable of keeping up with the world around me. In my 30s and 40s there was a relative self-confidence. It wasn't as if nothing in life could shake me but my inner sense was that I could cope. Sometime in the past couple of years that sense has evaporated and left me staring at anxiety, sure that I'm sliding slowly backward, losing touch with the world, slowly becoming lost and frightened. My whorl is smaller and I reach out to pull it closer around me.

As I see this change I begin to understand the fluttering hands and sad, lost eyes of my grandmother when I last saw her. The world moves faster as some of us slow down and it is not a comfortable sensation.

(I hope some of the power of this feeling will fade after the holidays… Spring will come and it is ever my favorite season!)

Mrs. Claus's Blog:

2011-12-19T13:56:00.000-08:00

12/1

The arrival of December signals the start of the high expectation, rush around, and get it done season. Life around my house goes into overdrive. It isn't easy being married to someone who insists on cheer and goodwill toward man as he fusses and plans and dashes around like a bee in a florist shop.

12/2

There are lights to be hung, trees to be decorated. The entire neighborhood must be tinseled and garlanded while echoes of carols ring out. I swear if I hear one more "Santa Baby" purred by a velvet-voiced nubile wench I will head her direction with my tree-trimming axe!

12/6

That list of his… checking it twice? Whoever thought that glancing at the enormous list of "I want" and "please send" and "gotta have" could be handled with a couple of hasty glances? I've been alphabetizing and collating for weeks. Couldn't jolly old you-know-who learn to handle a spreadsheet?

12/7

Who left holly on the library floor? And where are the band-aids?

12/10

The logistics of making everybody on the list happy would tax the spirit of the hardiest elf. The usual crew is hard at work but I get so tired of the pounding and hammering. Don't think I can't hear those barely suppressed little cuss-words either. Elves have volatile tempers. And who cleans up after them? Who is fixing sandwiches and soup to feed all those little mouths? Mr. Ho-Ho-Ho gets all the credit and I spend my time slaving over a hot stove!

12/20

What am I up to as the days shorten toward December 24th? Cranberry stringing. Holly wreathing. BAKING! Oh dear, the baking! Fruitcakes. Gingerbread. Sugared nuts and sugared plums and peppermint this, that, and the other thing. The calorie count is beyond imagining but will you-know-who even consider Stevia or Splenda? He just gets rounder and folks admire his girth. Just how much jolly can one old man handle before his arteries completely harden?

12/21

Who left holly on the kitchen floor? I ran out of band-aids and had to resort to Duct tape.

12/23

Somebody left the front door open last night and eight tiny reindeer made themselves quite merry in my pantry. I'm considering venison stew for dinner tomorrow.

12/24

He's out the house at last. He forgot his mittens and after that last warm-up of Schnapps his nose is brighter than Rudolph's. I'm kicking off my boots and settling in with hot cocoa and a double-dip of marshmallow…

Who left holly on the bedroom floor?

Re-re-re-rememory

2011-12-17T10:47:00.000-08:00

Memories are interesting things. Every morning as I shower the same one bubbles to the surface. It has been doing that for the past 18+ years. It never fails. Yes, I'm going to share…

I was on a ski trip with a bunch of friends and we'd all booked rooms in an older motel near the ski area in the California mountains. Since I'm not a skier, and hot water was limited, I'd wait for my morning shower until the rest had left for the lifts then spend my time hiking in the snow, reading by the fireplace, or enjoying the hot tub. On this particular morning, as was my bathing routine, I wet myself down, lathered my hair with shampoo, and began soaping up. Suddenly the shower went dry. Not a drop dripped from the tap. I waited a moment, my brain frantically trying to assess what had happened and certain that the water would start again but no, I was stuck, soap-covered, shampoo bedecked… high and dry.

??? What to do???

Luckily I'd brought a small electric water kettle for for early morning coffee. It was full, warm, and sitting - of all places - just outside the shower. And I realized I could also find water in the toilet tank. These two, carefully used, provided enough to rinse my hair and de-soap my epidermis. The water pump for the motel wasn't repaired until the next day but at least I didn't spend the waiting time in a lather!

My shower routine changed from that day. My hair is soaped and rinsed immediately - and never without the memory of those agonizing suspended seconds of "Oh dear… what do I do now?"

SCORE!!!

2011-11-29T11:32:00.001-08:00

The universe has a tendency to throw things at a person, a sort of "keeping us on our toes" sort of thing. Most of the time I experience it as a somewhat pleasant game, an exciting tennis match where the score is not critical and the energy involved is within reach. But there are other times when the game speeds up, the goals achieved seem few and rapidly retreating from possibility. The balls careen and veer madly, each inhabited by a drunken demon with a nasty sense of humor. A gentle game of lobbying turns into a cut-throat competition with me on the losing end, frantically dashing around returning shots that merely go further and further astray.

I'm in the midst of one of those now. There isn't any winning. There never was. And it isn't about winning anyway. At least I know that. It is about keeping the game going and maybe, just maybe, learning a few new moves along the way. Only the universe gets to holler "SCORE!!!"

2011-11-17T08:59:00.000-08:00

Something strange is happening. It is gray and rainy and depressingly winterish outside, one of those damp, drippy Oregon mornings that make one think of the 3 M's: mold, mildew, and mud. Normally I'd be adding another M - Moping. And maybe Moody. Instead I'm feeling Giddy and Giggley. Gee…

Am I going Mental?

2011-11-14T11:48:00.001-08:00

We left the suburbs over 15 years ago for life in the country. To folks who grew up in well-tamed neighborhoods near to decently large towns rural life seemed an idyllic change and for the most part it has been. I enjoy the vistas of hills and trees rather than fences and parked cars. Country living is slower paced and quieter than what we knew and we like it this way.

But… there is always a but, isn't there? Living in an old house on a dirt road brings certain embellishments to our world that were unanticipated. Some, like the ants invading through the walls, could easily be urban, and others, like the occasional mouse or the multitude of spiders, could also be suburban. Others are just part of living "out here". The constant wild turkey invasion comes under that heading. I grit my teeth daily in disgust at the idiot who imported this non-western bird to our area. They are just awful…

My morning began with the "Gawp! Gawp! Gawp!" call of turkeys outside the bedroom window. Every morning they gather in our front yards after roosting up in the fir trees around the neighborhood. "Gawp! Gawp! Gawp!" is translated as "Hey, let's get together and go harass the humans!" From 3 to 20+ stroll into my yard to wreak havoc under the feeder I keep for the little songbirds. They use their big old feet, like chickens on steroids, to scratch and defoliate the lawn searching for the few millet seeds that dropped to the ground. Others seeks a few last unpicked apples that may have fallen overnight while others leap the fence into our chicken yard to glean whatever bit of cracked corn might be left from the previous evening poultry dinner. All this activity is punctuated by "Gawp!' and "Gobble!" and various other squeaks, cries, and complaints.

I try to ignore the crowd. Chasing them isn't effective since they know exactly how fast I move and how far I will go and they return to the yard almost before I get inside the front door. Today while my toast browned I decided to give it a go. Erupting from the porch with a loud "Hey!" sent turkeys running and startled three deer grazing happily just beyond the driveway. Oops!

And did my foray do any good? Hah! I no sooner gained entry to the house and closed the door when I saw all the turkeys back to their pecking and scratching - and all three deer standing in the driveway staring at me through the window. I swear the consensus of opinion was "Stupid human!" and I must agree.

2011-10-31T12:23:00.000-07:00

Being Scary 2011

(by M. Schram)

It's hard being witchy these days

Acting scary is tough.

It isn't enough

To hang out with bats

And favor black cats

In this decade those things don't amaze.

It's difficult keeping tradition.

Big warts and green skin

Are now hipper than sin

The wearing of black

Is chic off the rack

And hardly a sign of perdition

So what's a gal do to be scary?

Puttin' toads in the soup

Don't throw kids for a loop,

A cauldron that bubbles

Will only cause troubles,

Black robe, pointy hat -

Who's impressed seein' that?

A graveyard? A ghost?

Gets a yawn at the most.

Have a broomstick to ride

Kids think Potter's astride!

Use the wickedest curse,

Or ride home in a hearse,

Shake some skeleton bones,

Folks just stare at iPhones.

Bring a werewolf to lunch?

(Or even a bunch)

Who would find it extraordinary?

In times such as these don't use screeches.

What citizens fear,

Makes them choke on their beer,

What brings shivers and groans

And terrified moans,

What makes the brows damp

And causes a cramp

Is the threat of political speeches!

2011-10-21T09:24:00.000-07:00

Being a post-menopausal woman can make sleep a major obstacle and a supreme topic for thought and discussion. Where women of this category gather the subject of warmth at night comes up. There is either usually either too much or not enough and the attempt to find a balance and thereby gain a full night of rest is a science in itself.

If you are not a post-menopausal woman you are not allowed an opinion. It is too complex an issue and one too close to our tenderest feelings to permit non-expert testimony. No, you have to have sweltered and soaked in sweat one moment only to shiver and grab for blankets the next. and then done it again. And again. And again during a single night. We will swear that a nasty little demon with a grim sense of humor is whirling the thermostat while cackling with unholy glee.

Sleep? Whatever happened to a full eight hours of unbroken sleep? Hot flashes are only one of the sleep-killers. How about the fact that a once capacious bladder has become a vessel of multiple refills? And of course, once awake for the blanket re-selection or the trek to and from the lavatory, there is the thunderous roar of spousal snoring. And a pet who sleeps nearby (or on/with you) and suddenly needs to leave the premises. I'm sure my friends can add their personal rest reducers to my list.

Tonight I plan a campaign of sleep inducement. Multiple blankets within arm's reach. (check!) No after 6pm coffee or tea. (check!) Earplugs? (check!) Trying to convince kitty to sleep next to instead on on top of me? (check! though I doubt I'll win that one) Anybody want to lay odds on my chance for success?

2011-10-18T10:21:00.001-07:00

Spring and Fall often bring on an urge to clean. It must be some sort of obscure virus that passes through since house-cleaning isn't something that would normally preoccupy my thoughts. I don't let it get away with me. The urge gets channeled into some basic "toss debris and dust shelves" and after a day or two it fades away.

Every once in a while that clean-it-up compulsion turns into a major sorting and scouring. I take stock of my life and use the knowledge gleaned to reassess what I possess. Life changes us and what we valued during one decade is no longer so important in another. Projects started are no longer projects that will be finished. It is time to shake out the dust and make room for whatever the future will bring. As I've aged I find "things" no longer have as firm a hold on me as they once did and items once precious or having meaning have turned into just things, as likely to hold me down as to support me with memories.

This Fall is one of those once in a whiles. Boxes of books and stacks of jigsaw puzzles have been donated to the local library. Files and papers have gone to the trash. Knick-knacks and other flotsam will be boxed for future rummage sale. I've taken bits and pieces off shelves and walls. It is a slow process as I sit and ponder: "Am I ready to let this go?" But each box that goes out the door leaves me feeling just a bit lighter, just a little more free.

2011-10-12T12:40:00.001-07:00

Some of us must be biologically predisposed toward guilt. Yes, today's blog will reveal another of my forays into that particular king, no, queendom.

I have a major problem with houseplants. I've always had a few. Well, for the decade I was into miniature orchids "a few" meant several hundred, but that is another subject altogether. My houseplants have never been the lush and tenderly tended kind. They are the tough, hang on despite continual neglect, refuse to die kind. Philodendrons. Pothos. Never-give-up, live-on-no-food and damned-little-water varieties. They droop and let go some leaves to get my attention. I pour them a glass of water, feeling somewhat like the evil matron at a prison in a B- movie.

Every once in a while I face the truth about my plant torture and decide it is time to go non-green around the house. But what does a person do with a barely surviving plant Have you ever tried to pass one to a friend? A roomful of chatting pals will empty in a heartbeat if you perkily ask "Would anybody here be willing to adopt a …" The ones remaining will share with you their own sad tales of houseplant history.

Today I got tough. Okay, I got as tough as I ever manage. The 8-foot tall whatever-it-was that began its life with me as a 6-inch terrarium plant on my desk 20 years ago went to the big greenhouse in the sky. I was almost in tears condemning it to death. It had been transplanted into ever bigger pots and become a ceiling scraper. It had been chopped down several times and each time had revived and regrown until it again bent at ceiling height and started growing horizontally toward the window. It was always dusty, always dropping leaves. Tiny, nearly invisible silken strands tied it to the surrounding furniture, compliments of the seldom seen (thank goodness!) spider population. I've wanted to retire it a number of times in the past and always chickened out. Even today I was unable to do the foul deed unaided. I cowered and covered my eyes as Himself volunteered to bear the burden. Or should I say he was begged to cart said plant out of the house while I wallowed in guilt and knew I was a craven murderer.

How long before I can bring the same fate to the Pothos hanging in the bathroom? Oh, the guilt!

2011-10-10T13:21:00.001-07:00

I'm feeling really guilty today. Why? Because I didn't brave the torrential rain and go to the Monday morning writers group meeting this morning.

The weekly workshop has been tottering along in barely-surviving mode since our resident poet moved away, and our venue was changed, several moths ago. The attendance has always varied from week to week, being from 4 or 5 to as many as a dozen plus. We share what we have written and give each other advice, from criticism to encouragement. Knowing Monday was on the way often pushed me to flex my fingers and attend to my keyboard. With the changes aforementioned the sessions were reduced to our Fearless Leader and just a couple of the old troops with the addition of a newbie. I was determined to hang tight and hoped the group could find new life.

Then… the saga with the non-healing sore on my leg began. I managed to stagger along and get to meetings until the weather turned colder - and wetter - but have missed the past three weeks. Conscience stricken? You betchaI. I feel traitorous. Stand me up against the citadel wall and summon the firing squad! Publish my name in the paper under the title: Defector! Brand me deserter.

(There is nothing quite like that inner voice of conscience, deserved or un, is there?)

2011-09-16T08:45:00.000-07:00

On a morning when fall is aggressively bearing down, blowing a loud whistle and announcing imminent arrival, I'm in need of cheer. Nothing is so warming to a grandmother's cockles as sight of grandchildren so, Ta-Dah!!

Now you can imagine me here, cockles thoroughly toasted.

A Pain in the (ahem!) Calf

2011-09-15T15:36:00.000-07:00

I've recently had a chance to see the gouging of the consumer via of American medicine and thought I'd share it before I grind my teeth into powder - in anger and frustration.

The background to this story isn't important. The upshot is that I quit wound care through a local hospital when I discovered that my 15-20 minute treatments were costing over $450 each. Going twice a week, no end in sight and no insurance, made it impossible to continue. No, that isn't the upsetting part, although the charges were certainly a shock. What has me in a lather is seeing those costs itemized and then doing some minor research.

To wit:

$92.40 charged for an Aquecel 4x4 dressing that can be bought for $10.61 online

$90.70 charged for a Profore bandage kit that costs $28.77 online

$40.27 for a Mepilex dressing that costs $35 for 5 online

If these folks charged for the toilet tissue it would probably be $10.95 per visit to the bathroom. Oops! Shouldn't have said that. I can already hear the hospital administrators scurrying to put in a coin-op loo!

By the way they charged $142+ to use the treatment room. Himself says for that price he also wants dinner, a movie, and a blowjob.

What a pill!

2011-09-03T08:19:00.000-07:00

I've got an infected spot on my right calf and my doctor prescribes an antibiotic. Himself and I make a trip to the local pharmacy to fill the prescription and along with the pills we are provided with precautionary advice for the medication.

Oh my goodness!

A single read-through of the material - four complete pages of "Thou shalt not" - was enough to scare the bloomers off of me! Every possible side-effect is, well… possible, from hangnail to coronary thrombosis. If my nose itches it might be the medication. If I poop to often, or not enough, wet my bed, have strange dreams or want to kick the cat it might be the fault of those innocent-looking white tablets. I should consume them two hours before this activity and at least four hours after that one. While taking them I must not operate heavy machinery, play racquetball, or think about that gorgeous construction professional who just walked into the grocery store in front of me.

I graduated high-school and went to college. I read prolifically and know how to use a dictionary. I have a reasonable command of the English language. At the end of those pages I was completely baffled and had to summon expert technical support, Himself, to interpret and advise. The cheery words of the pharmacist as he handed over the pill bottle (and the accompanying literature) came to mind: Put one in your mouth and swallow. Sound counsel. He could have added: Read at your own risk!

Turkey Update

2011-08-29T07:32:00.000-07:00

(No, I'm not talking about politicians!)

If you've read my blog in the past you may have noticed my mentioning that we have a Wild Turkey infestation. Yeah, the wily (snort!) illusive (snicker!) rarely seen (Gack!) Wild American Turkey. It isn't native here but was another of those ecological errors made by some stupid (Oops, that isn't PC!) unaware "sportsman looking to import something to shoot and kill. Wish that fellow was here right now...

The turkeys thrive and invade and multiply. So far this morning I've hobbled out to discourage 2 hens with 2 poults and then, minutes later, a single hen with 4 poults. I'm betting by tomorrow these two groups will have joined together, as turkey moms "group parent".

That noise you hear around 7AM PDT will be me swearing and shaking my fist to chase the secretive wild birds off my porch. Judging by past events, I scare the s*** out of them, albeit briefly.

2011-08-28T14:41:00.000-07:00

Is there anybody else out there who gets as irritated as I do about having to fish blindly down the throat of a commercial pill bottle in an attempt to extract that cheerfully shredding hunk of cotton?

And while I'm at it how do YOU feel about buying that plastic bottle of pills and finding 3/4 of the container is that self-same wad of useless white gunk PLUS a little cylinder of anonymous "moisture reducing stuff"? Gee, until I looked inside I thought I was buying some pills!

2011-08-21T10:48:00.000-07:00

Is it lack of resolution, confusion, or something else entirely? From a person who could cheerfully juggle a multitude of activities I've evolved into someone who seems to have all the trouble she can stand trying to engage in a single pursuit. The inner sense if that of a Bumper Car who touches one chore then careens off to chase another which, once met sends it off chasing another.

My emotional state wobbles between overwhelmed and stunned.

Whatever happened to the woman who could throw laundry in the washer, tidy the kitchen, read half of a recent novel, and water the garden all after sending her child off to school, lunch in hand and writing several letters and setting the mail out? All this before lunch. I still make the attempt, mind you. Well, except for sending the child off to school. She's now the super-woman handling those things before work in the morning.

Where was I? Oh yes, whatever happened to the me that was? I think about accomplishing all those things and the thought is so daunting I require immediate resuscitation followed by a lengthy nap. Those times when a task is begun I am quickly sidelined. This needs my attention. That requires a decision. The other thing demands notice. I end up neither attending, deciding, or noticing.

Is my dilemma that of being stuck as tasks pile up? Or is it that of not acknowledging this phase of my reality?

2011-08-20T10:17:00.000-07:00

A few days ago a friend sent me an email with a list of changes for the US Congress that, especially in light of recent history, seem very appropriate. It goes like this:

Congressional Reform Act

1. No Tenure / No Pension.

A Congressman collects a salary while in office

And receives no pay when they are out of office.

2. Congress (past, present & future) participates

In Social Security.

All funds in the Congressional retirement fund

Move to the Social Security system immediately.

All future funds flow into the Social Security

System, and Congress participates with the

American people. It may not be used for any

Other purpose.

3. Congress can purchase their own retirement

Plan, just as all Americans do.

4. Congress will no longer vote themselves a pay

Raise. Congressional pay will rise by the lower

Of CPI or 3%.

5. Congress loses their current health care system

And participates in the same health care system

As the American people.

6. Congress must equally abide by all laws they

Impose on the American people.

7. All contracts with past and present Congressmen

Are void effective 1/1/12.

The list has been circulating but it seems perhaps not to be getting to the right eyes. I've passed it along to my Senators and Representative. I'm not terribly well-informed on the political front but it does seem that these people should be in all respects PART OF and SUBJECT TO all the rules they impose on the voters. (See #6)

Lizard!

2011-08-12T10:56:00.000-07:00

I came in from the outside deck yesterday, where I'd been basking in the elusive bit of sunshine that had gotten through the fog and graced the Oregon coast, and as I crossed the service porch area I spotted a lizard. A lizard peering out from under the chest freezer.

Lizard and I exchanged stares as I considered the impossibility of capture/rescue/eviction. If approached it was certain to duck back under the freezer. Or dash under the nearby upright freezer. Or the washing machine. Or the dryer. Impossible to move hiding places were plentiful and the lizard was sure to mistake my helpful "you can't survive here you're gonna starve" approach and interpret it as "Ooooh, yummy meal for the taking!" A dusty cobweb filled dark place was bound to beckon more than a giant clumsy human hand.

My decision was to let lizard karma rule. I left the door wise open and sent a mental "Run! Hide out there!"

This morning there is no sign of my scaly guest and I hope it took advantage of the chance for freedom. If not it may be quite some time before we discover the small desiccated corpse let behind.

Sinking or swimming?

2011-08-10T13:19:00.000-07:00

It is time for a few small observations. I'm lucky that only a couple of tough pals read my blog since I'm sure my comments would irk any number of other less intrepid folk.

1) I'm as irritated by the most recent budget foolishness that the US Congress has fostered as anybody else I know but I also feel bound to notice that the citizens loudest in squawking are those who are fastest to avoid taxes, quickest to draw some sort of subsidy, and seem least inclined to do their public duties… i.e. jury duty, etc.

2) I wish I could justify running my household budget on deficit spending!

3) One look at the sort of television programs prevalent should be enough to explain why our citizens elected the idiots in Washington DC.

4) It is doubtful anyone with integrity would want to be an elected official - locally, statewide, or nationally.

5) It doesn't seem much better anywhere else on the planet.

I swear at the evening news. I twitch. I bite my lips. I despair. Thank goodness for those people I know personally who are thoughtful, caring, compassionate, and intelligent. Though they are greatly outnumbered by the cheaters, the liars, and the brutal of this world they provide some hope for a future. Bless you all.

Swimming upstream?

2011-07-04T12:56:00.000-07:00

Earworms. Infective little parasites. I've mentioned them before in this blog and I'll probably mention them again. One nasty little specimen snuck into my head yesterday and is noodling around trying to convince me it is a holiday song and therefore has every right to turn somersaults though my consciousness. After all, this IS the 4th of July!

It wouldn't be so bad if this was part of the Star-Spangled Banner or a bit of a John Philip Sousa march. Even one of the songs from the musical 1776 or a section of the 1812 Overture that seems to accompany so many fireworks shows. But no, what I have banging back and forth inside my skull is the beginning of the song "Eggbert the Easter Egg". Does anyone except me even recall this childhood (ahem) classic? Probably not. Even I am cursed with only the line:

Eggbert the Easter Egg

Sittin' under Daddy's chair

Dum-de-dum

While the boys and girls

Were looking for him everywhere…

Dum-de-dum? Yeah, even I can't quite remember the words. But this riveting piece of poetry is bopping along in my head and driving me crazy: a misplaced holiday un-classic, courtesy of The Earworm Brigade.

Swim, swim, swim!

2011-07-03T10:08:00.000-07:00

Winning SWIM Acronyms:

Deb - She was imbibing metaphors

The Bodhi Chicklet - Soft Wishes In Mozzarella

Swim. I checked my thesaurus and found "be covered in" as in "swimming in gravy." Of course that got me thinking of what I might like to be swimming in. Cash comes immediately to mind… and don't tell me YOU didn't think of that one pretty quickly too! Warm tropical water wouldn't be too awful. Love and admiration? Good ideas? Grandkid hugs? Chocolate? That one is sticky but might be briefly entertaining.

It is important to note that swimming in is quite different than drowning in. Too much cash could be a burden. Though what fun to have enough to be able to spread that burden around! The water sounds pleasant but there can be riptides, and sharks, and stinging jellyfish, and… well, even paradise has potential drawbacks. Love and admiration sound great but unless they are deserved they seem meaningless. Good ideas need the energy for using. Chocolate is messy and fattening.

I'm not sure I see any drawbacks to those grandkid hugs though!

SWIM (again)

2011-07-02T09:46:00.000-07:00

I used to be a rather decent swimmer and I loved being in the water. As a kid I splashed in Lake Michigan when it was hardly more than ice cube warm. (Or is that ice cube cold?) At camp and at lakes in the summer I was continually wet, paddling around happily regardless of what might lurk below the water's surface. As a teen I met Himself and spent happy hours in his family's often unheated pool.

The tough days are over. My body's sense of balance shifted and my prowess as a swimmer is now barely above "tread water" skill. I've gone from Plunge-right-in to Dip-toe-and-shudder. It is important to me these days to know exactly what wildlife might be sharing space in the murky wetness. Snorkeling face down in the clear WARM waters of Hawaii is my idea of swimming. My wallet doesn't allow for much of that. My senior sagging body isn't really swim-suit material either. Swim is mostly a historical word for me, composed of history and memories.

2011-07-01T17:40:00.001-07:00

SWIM

Is it an acronym? Shall we try and figure out what it stands for?

Single Woman Intensely Mature?

Sly Wild Insecure Male?

Silly With Insane Metaphysics?

Stupid When In Messes?

Your turn!

SWIM (1)

2011-06-30T10:12:00.001-07:00

The NABLOPOMO topic of the month arrived in my mailbox this morning - SWIM. I've not been very inspired to blog, life has been getting me down a bit, but this subject did bring a few stray thoughts swimming upstream to my brain so perhaps, just maybe, I'll share them over the next… day? Week? Month?

Starting with SWIM is what you could do outside in the yard. Oregon is doing wet this year and our area, moist most of the time, is outdoing everyplace else. For instance, in March we measured 21.46" of precipitation. I know this because my husband, the weather-spotter, keeps that sort of information. You can verify it on his site at - http://mysite.ncnetwork.net/frn89utdi/Langlois/VantageVue.html

Being near the coast we get almost daily fog which dampens walks and outdoor furniture each night. Woe to the person who thinks to enjoy the morning seated outside with a cup. The bottom of that person will soon be soggy. On a drizzlish night that moisture is multiplied. The morning, this being one of those, reveals wet everywhere. SWIM is what you could do in the tall grass of the pasture. The wait-high stalks, heavy already with seeds, are now bent hither and yon, touching their heads to the ground in quiet supplication, "Please? Enough wet already!"

The chickens are about as droopy with wetness as the grass. The rooster looks dejected with tail soaked and sagging under its compliment of wetness. Kitty comes in the house dusted with drops from her walk through the shrubbery. She is happy to roll around on my flannel pillowcase to dry off. The air is saturated. Humidity is well over 90%. Come visit. We can enjoy a leisurely SWIM on a stroll down the sidewalk!

Brrrrrrr!

2011-06-19T09:33:00.001-07:00

As a kid, when I used to go visit my grandmother, it felt like I was visiting the tropics. She lived in upstate New York and no matter the time of year the house was warm. No, HOT! Summer and winter her kitchen domain was sweat city. Granted, she was often cooking, but the heat was kept at nearly stifling and I wondered how anyone could stand it.

I am now about the age my grandmother was then and I understand why her domain was kept subtropical. The kid who once swam in Lake Michigan is long gone and in her place is a cranky lady who is almost always too cold. Here it is, past the middle of June, and I am huddled inside considering the merits of flannel versus polar fleece. I poke my nose outside just long enough to fill the bird feeder and toss some crumbs to the pond fish and then I dash inside to huddle in front of a space heater to defrost. Himself hikes to town in shirtsleeves to fetch the mail. I hunker down inside adding a sweatshirt and wool slippers to my daily wardrobe.

Getting older = getting colder.

Threads

2011-06-16T08:54:00.000-07:00

There is nothing like morning sunlight to give me some insight into the multitude of eight-legged beasties sharing my house. As the light slants into the front window huge arrays of complicated bridgework suddenly shine out, glimmering briefly only to disappear as the sunbeams change direction.

We don't have a people pathway through the front part of our living room. The daily-utilized television area is at the opposite end of the room and is where the foot traffic leads. The space between our two sofas and the table between them is generally used only for "company". The tiny invisible beasties that live here with us must be honored guests because they've certainly made themselves at home. Nearly invisible threads stretch from place to place, a network of vaulted spans rivaled only by the complexity of the Los Angeles freeway system.

We never see the constructionists, thank goodness. I imagine them zooming around in the dark of night and wonder if there is ever serious gridlock as somebody goes left while somebody else opts for right. I hope instead that is is merely one or two overly-ambitious (and tiny, and defenseless) spiderettes that will tire of the work and move out.

Today will be a good day to scale back their enterprises and demolish some of the formidable construction. Please, please don't let them summon the MotherShip!

Is it the Weather?

2011-06-12T14:46:00.001-07:00

I've been alternating between restlessness and a sense of immobility that feels somewhat like being buried up to my neck in quicksand. Is it the weather? Around here it is difficult to tell what season we are in. The sun can be out, promising summer and then the clouds reassert themselves and it feels like winter is on the way again.

We aren't the only region with odd weather these days though, and at least ours isn't blowing us across the country line or totally rearranging our living space. I've seen pictures of the destruction left by recent tornadoes and it is horrifying to think of huddling inside, scared for my life, and then climbing from debris to find complete chaos. We live close enough to the Pacific Ocean to get a sense of the power of weather and I've been through earthquakes, notably the Loma Prieta in1989, but nothing seems as terrible as the speed and fury of an F-5 tornado.

Is it the weather? I include earthquakes and tsunamis in that category since our national weather blokes seems to cover all those phenomena. So many folks seem twitchy and on edge as Earth shakes herself and sneezes. Maybe she is allergic to the critters crawling around on her skin. Perhaps we've grown to be too much of an irritant to be ignored.

Is it the weather… or maybe just me? Am I going into some further phase, some extension of the Terrible-Twos, the Rebellious Teens, the frustrated Forties? Is there a mid-Sixties stage of development in women, besides the ominous and never-ending Menopausal Miseries we all know and love?

That Darned Cat!

2011-06-07T09:00:00.000-07:00

I think cat owners are very patient people. We have to be since The Cat rules its world and by extension, the owner. Or is that - ownee? Himself and I have over 40 years of history and knowledge in this area. After our marriage and the birth of our daughter we bought a house. The first item we bought for our new home was a cat. Her name was Bruce (that is a story in itself!) and, though we'd both been part of families with cats before we were married, she set about training us as cat owners.

Or is that servants? Cats demand household amenities and basic rites of attendance. We were taught to respond to meows for door-opening, food-bowl filling, and frequent petting and scratching (within proscribed limits) - fawning optional but accepted. Bruce did an excellent job of shaping us into cat slaves. Yes, servant really is too mild a term.

Bruce was followed by a couple of neurotic strays who demanded every bit as much abject obedience. Like all cats they made us feel honored to supply their every need while they maintained an attitude that humans were marginally trustworthy at best. We could adore. We could provide. But we weren't allowed to take advantage of our position of servitude.

We were trained and passed along to Wow, who condescended to return our adoration, albeit within strictly feline-specified bounds. He watched our every move and supplied critiques in a loud voice. If we shirked our duties to pet on command he levitated into place and booked no refusal.

After Wow I thought no more cats, no more good-byes. But Flickie adopted us and rules us with a velvety iron paw. She will not be a housecat and refuses to consider a litter box. Her days are spent outside, which in Oregon means in the rain/damp/drizzle/wet, and which therefore means wet kitty. I worry. She ignores my concerns. We keep a litter box available on a dry service porch. She disappears into the dripping shrubbery. We have compromised at nights indoors where she sleeps at the head of my bed so I can savor the scent of moist kitty inches from my nose. And feel grateful to have her there. I write this having just skimmed a slick of rainwater off Ms. Flick as she headed for my pillow to finish drying out.

(Please share YOUR cat story. I could use reassurance that I'm just another cat-besotted wretch.)

2011-06-04T13:15:00.000-07:00

It is strange, quiet, sultry weather outside right now. In past places I've lived I've identified it as tornado weather, or earthquake weather - neither of which is accurate except that it is the kind of atmosphere that suggests that something is about to happen. Here on the Oregon coast we notice when it is warm. And we notice when there is no wind. Cool and breezy is the norm and the close quiet air outside is unusual.

Since it has been cool, breezy, and way too wet this spring I took advantage of the change and sat outside in the front yard watching the bird feeders. We have a large seed bowl frequented by all manner of sparrows, various migratory mid-sized seed-eaters, and the ubiquitous jays. At this time of year we also keep a "sock" filled with Niger seed for the goldfinches and their small sedating fellows. Those scattered as I settled nearby but quickly returned once I was deemed "large, scary, but probably harmless."

It was pleasant out for a while but I'm not much of a nature-lover when it comes to the smaller six-plus legged members of the community. A robust yellow-jacket buzzed by and decided I was worth a close examination. Next to arrive was some sort of winged ant-like critter, about 3/4" long. It lit on the walkway and proceeded to march intently toward my sandaled feet. I noticed various other winged beasties in a variety of sizes that flitted around, circled close, or zoomed past. It began to feel a bit crowded where I sat. When I felt a tickle on my leg and looked down to see a large survey party of ants gathering at my feet and starting the climb up my leg ("Hey look Merle, we found a really BIG one to take home!") I decided to betake myself back into the house where the wildlife was just a bit less encroaching.

2011-05-22T15:40:00.000-07:00

My next door NEIGHbor was just here for a visit. He brought his boss along with him. He really *IS* a NEIGHbor too. His name is Buddy and he is the horse who lives next door. He is the NEIGHborhood watch horse keeping tabs from his pasture on all comings and goings up our road from the highway.

Like most young girls I had a yearning for horses. In my day girls drew pictures of horses the way boys crayoned dinosaurs… big animals we fantasized about. My mother bowed to my passion by driving an hour away from our home in the suburbs to a ranch where I could learn to ride on trails my imagination could turn into boundless adventure. Eventually like many girls, my interest turned from horses to rock groups and boys.

Nowadays horses intimidate the heck out of me. They are big animals and unfamiliarity with them makes me happier when there is a sturdy fence separating us. But Buddy is a NEIGHbor. He is very gentle taking an apple or the occasional peppermint from my hand. He is just enough headstrong to be interesting but his owner has him well-trained and in control. When she walks him up the dirt road I'm delighted to see them, happy that she will share her best pal with me. Buddy is my UP thing for today.

Up Again

2011-05-21T11:47:00.000-07:00

My UP thing for today is an activity that allows me to be useful & creative while happily seated at my computer. It also falls under the heading of volunteering/community service. I design posters, brochures, bookmarks and such for our local library. I've also done some for friends in the community and for neighboring libraries.

Is is toe-curlingly fun! I'm like a kid with a big piece of paper, a new box of crayons, and an adoring parent nearby ready to praise. I choose graphic elements and sort through font styles and sizes, mixing and arranging as I sip my mug of coffee and listen to Mozart. It is the perfect activity for someone with the soul and eye of an artist, but not the skill or inspiration.

Books!

2011-05-20T09:06:00.000-07:00

Something wonderful… BOOKS! I find myself very happy in a library and next happiest in a bookstore. It is so wonderful being surrounded by a multitude of words and offered up all sorts of ideas and ways to think and things to think about. I like to wander around and discover something new, something I didn't even know would be of interest.

I must confess that, having a Kindle, I still prefer the paper and page turning kinds of books. Not that the Kindle isn't great - in fact I'm off in a few minutes to buy a new book to put on mine. But I shall always prefer the comfort of feeling the paper under my finders.

By the way, that Kindle book I'm about to fetch? It is a new novel by my friend Ginny, called Looping for Love. Check it out on Amazon!

(However do you get an author to autograph a Kindle version of their book?)

Spring, spring, SPRING!

2011-05-19T13:24:00.001-07:00

I didn't manage to get back with something more upbeat yesterday because I was out enjoying the beautiful weather. And THAT certainly is as upbeat as it gets! Not only was there no rain yesterday - today is even better. I was able to open the front door and allow some of that delicious pollen-laden air inside,

Give us a little sunshine here in the great NorthWet and we sparkle with gratitude. Our world goes from shades of gray and gray-green to incredible rainbow hues. You can see the planet smile with pleasure.

This is wild rhododendron season. All around the bushes have erupted in huge bouquets of bright pink blooms, every one worthy of showing off in a botanical garden. The deciduous azaleas are opening and sending waves of their perfume into the air. Perhaps it takes the long, dismal, dank winter months to make our spring so intensely SPRING! Impossible to feel gloomy when nature is just bursting with enthusiasm.

I wish it could be bottled and shared with you!

DayTwo

2011-05-18T10:13:00.000-07:00

It isn't raining outside!

Yeah, I know. Pretty puny in terms of an Upbeat observation - but considering the language and associative terms I might choose to describe the continuing cold and damp - do I get credit for restraint?

Give me half a point and let's see if the day brings me anything cheerier to note.

Hot Java!

2011-05-17T08:40:00.001-07:00

How I love my morning coffee! I'm not a gourmet fan. I don't drink some exotic Arabica blend or crave a Stabucks Arapacappafancicinno. My morning craving is simple and probably horribly peasant-like: Folger's Instant. In my big, just the right size & shape ceramic mug. With instant creamer.

I can drink fancy-schmancy coffee. In the morning any coffee is better than none at all. But what makes me smile loudest is my mug of creamer tainted instant… Folgers is the flavor I crave. No sugar please, and VERY hot! If you can provide it with a side of toasted onion bagel. Ecstasy!

Guess what I had for breakfast this morning? Yup! I'm starting my morning right!

Look on the Bright Side!

2011-05-16T08:52:00.000-07:00

I haven't been writing much lately because I've been depressed and writing takes energy and enthusiasm I simply haven't had. When you look up from what feels like a bottomless pit even a hoot and holler toward the outside seems like a really big deal.

So… in an effort to find a bright side in black velvet muddle I hereby pledge to find at least One (1) UP thing per day to blog/announce/observe and/or comment about. For One (1) week. Feel free to share One (1) UP thing back at me!

I'll start tomorrow. Though I could slip in today that it isn't raining. Is that a semi-UP? Okay, it isn't raining AND the sun made it through the clouds. Briefly. Not quite enough for me to run outside nude and dance for joy - nobody should exhibit goosebumps that numerous or large! Amazing though how a tiny bit of sunshine can bring a smile to the face of a coastal Oregonian!

See you tomorrow?

TV Rant

2011-05-11T11:29:00.000-07:00

I'll confess here and now that Himself and I are television watchers. We grew up in the early days of sitcoms, came of age in the years of one-hour dramas, and have survived into the era of reality TV. Our usual evening together begins with dinner and the evening news then progresses into a couple of hours of favorite cop shows. From there I watch a channel-surfing slew of house-hunting, cooking, or nature programs. After I go to bed, Himself returns to the tube to watch news reports or the odd slash&bash film.

Like much of America, we're addicted to our favorite shows, things like: CSI/Las Vegas, Castle, Bones, and The Closer. But I am finding it harder each season to stick with them. There are several reasons. I dislike heartily having the main characters in peril every thirty seconds. How many times per episode do the lab rats have to dash out, guns drawn, to personally accost criminals? And while I don't mind sexual tension between the principals, how totally clueless and unable to communicate can they be? Don't even get me started on serial killers stalking them from their pasts! I also despise the disconnected semi-seasons. Half a dozen episodes and then a long break just gives me plenty of time to forget to care about the show on hiatus.

But the worst is season finale cliffhanger endings. The writers think they simply must bring in some sort of major trauma to the cast and let it hang in suspension during the weeks or months of intermission. Several of the programs I watch are working up to this in the next week or two. I'll be lucky not to throw something through the TV screen in disgust, if I watch the episodes at all. Waiting to find out who died in the explosion, fell off the ledge, was tortured by a serial killer (i.e. whose contract wasn't renewed) just annoys me. I plan to spend the time deciding which of the programs to abandon!

Breathe

2011-05-10T09:13:00.000-07:00

Life is loaded with Ups and Downs and I'm stuck in a whirlpool of Downs right now. Spinning around and around, feeling like something you see in the morning when you flush the loo. The emotional ground under my feet is shaking like the Fukushima earth with me as the Daiichi plant, ready to go Boom! And in my usual, brilliant, wishy-washy way I'm aware, watching the process, which makes it all seem silly and pointless even as I cower in fear.

Ya gotta love it! All the years of self-observation, all the classes and meditation, the reading, the processing, hoping that serenity would be there at the end - that when things got tough(er) I'd face it with a calm and composed mien.

It doesn't seem to work that way. The fear and panic still surge up threatening to seize control. Serenity is as far away as ever it was. There is no cool, no collected, and calm is only a molecule deep.

And is that where it is? That molecule? The Boom! that hasn't? Do the wiseguys meditating in their caves have all this going on inside themselves while they sit and wait it out? Breathe. Wait. This too shall pass?

Ga-Bland-Hoot!!!

2011-05-03T16:31:00.001-07:00

I spend the cold wet winter longing for the warmer weather when the doors and windows can be open to the breeze.

What is wrong with me? Has the chill of those dark months made me forget that with sun's return things begin to bloom, and blooming means <…Ta-DAH!…> Allergy season!

Yes, I'd forgotten. I rapturously opened doors and windows today, the first day warm enough to indulge in a household of fresh air. Himself went out to complete the first lawn mowing of the season. I am now in full reaction: eyes swollen and puffy, nose dripping, and explosive SNEEZING issuing forth to shake the rafters and set dogs barking for a half mile in every direction.

Fortunately the effects are survivable with minimal medication…

A Sunny Sunday Morning

2011-05-01T11:19:00.000-07:00

A gorgeous sunny morning on the Oregon coast. Folks who live here are calling each other to share their thrill at being able to open doors and windows. Some think that snow on the ground would be better than the long-lasting months of wet, wet, and more wet. I am not among that group.

And how we crave the sunshine! I basked for an hour on the front porch, drinking my second cup of morning coffee to the symphony of birdsong. My intent was to finish the book I've been reading, but I surrendered to the sun and song and simply stared at the glory of a sunny day.

My enjoyment of the day was added to, sort of, by the activity of a pair of Cliff Swallows who have decided to construct their mud nest over the entry to the porch. I truly love swallows. The wet of the coast encourages mosquitoes and I hate mosquitoes. This makes the three species of swallows (and the various kinds of bats we also have) most welcome residents, but my feelings about the site of choice for this nest are mixed. In the past we have had Barn Swallows choose the porch for a home. It is great fun to see the industry and devotion of the parent birds constructing a nest, feeding three of four voracious chicks, and finally seeing the young birds fledge and leave on their own. It is also very messy and extremely loud.

Will the nest be completed now that mom & dad have noticed me as a neighbor? They fussed a bit while I sat outside but didn't stop their mud gathering. If they stay I'm bound to fuss back a bit as I dodge bird poop and diving protective parent birds, but it will also be fun to "grandparent" some feathered baby birds.

THE wedding

2011-04-30T09:12:00.000-07:00

I think I've recovered enough now to say a few words about the wedding. You know the one since it was inescapable in the media. I didn't mind since we all needed a little distraction from revolutions and wars and people practicing some sort of violence one upon another.

My intention was to stay up and begin watching TV coverage at midnight. My sixty-four year old self, the one who never stays awake to usher in New Year anymore, decided otherwise. She refused and afternoon nap and around 11:30pm decided it was time for bed, after all Himself was recording all sorts of wedding stuff, so I could sleep and not miss anything, right? If only! I staggered off to bed whereupon I was awake until well after 2AM. COuldn't fall asleep. Couldn't summon the energy to go watch TV. Stalemate.

Wanna guess what I did yesterday? Yes, I watched the Prince and his lady, or the Duke and Duchess, or William & Kate, or… well, I watched them get married. Over and Over. And yet again. And another time. Or two. Thank you DVR and ultimate TV re-runs. It was dignified and relatively perfect all around as weddings go. And watchers also got to see the circus who watched in person. Fandom and spectatorship truly brings out the ODD in people, doesn't it?

And who could have wanted to miss the hats?

Hats? Those chapeaus were flights of fancy beyond belief. I was stunned at the sort of guts (perhaps not the right term at all!) it took to perch some of those misconceptions on heads. Huge platters, some perched at impossible angles, topped with froth, flowers, filigree, and twists of what could only have been medieval weaponry! And such grim faces among the crowd. I can only believe that the bathroom facilities were few and far from the crowd.

I did enjoy the pageantry. Wedding always make me teary-eyed, hopeful for the couple. I wish them a union that will last as mine has. It is hard work to stay wedded and living as a royal doesn't make it a fairy-tale. I also loved watching all the tradition. In a world where so much changes so fast it is nice to focus a bit on old buildings, on rituals and promises of hope and love. Maybe they will last this time?

Still wet...

2011-04-25T10:14:00.000-07:00

I haven't written much lately. It is hard to stir up any enthusiasm for it when the weather is so dreary. Rain. Not enough to be dramatic. Nothing like winter storms with howling winds threatening to push over trees, flashes of lightning, and driving rain smashing itself in buckets against the windows. Our winter storms are invigorating. (That may be spelled F-R-I-G-H-T-E-N-I-N-G!) No, the Spring rain isn't nearly so invigorating.

Think wet, soggy, well-used kitchen sponge. The ground is cold and squishy. Eager gardeners, raring to plant after winter cold, stare at the sky and know that seeds planted will sit and sulk. Marshes have become bogs. Bogs have become ponds. The frogs are happy - and the rest of us scan the sky hoping for a glimpse of something we vaguely recall - the SUN. And it does show itself, flirtatiously peeping past the clouds, then eclipsed by the gray, gray, ever-returning gray. Sometimes there is a day of non-rain. Blue sky is seen. We rush outside to stare in wonder and delight. And we turn in suspicion to the south, scanning the horizon for the pall of gray that we know is waiting to return.

Nature keeps promising. She is not as easy as we humans to despair. The trees push out their blossoms. Flowers bud. A few hopeful swallows hang on the branches and an early butterfly dodges raindrops seeking an early blossom. My friends read seed catalogs and prop trays of seedlings in windows hoping there is enough light for germination, enough summer coming for a crop to ripen. I mark the season's change in small increments. Light happens earlier and lasts later. The heater isn't running 24/7. The rain is gentler, more vertical. Summer, short and sweet, and oh so welcome, will come.

2011-04-21T08:40:00.000-07:00

I haven't written diddley-squat here because plenty of diddley-squat has been happening at home.

Like last Saturday when Himself and I set off for town (13 miles north) to treat ourselves to dinner and ended up with the car dying several miles from anywhere. In the rain. As 5pm loomed - in small towns whatever is open on weekends is CLOSED early! We called the auto club on our cellphone and got a chick who couldn't read a roadmap to check our location. But eventually we lucked out with a great tow-truck driver and a garage that stayed open late.

Like Spring making an appearance. My lilac bush is blooming. And one small azalea has flowers. I've seen tree swallows, so hope the barn swallows are on their way. A treefrog took up residence in the cedar bench in front of the house. There are reports of Goldfinches though I haven't seen any yet. But we put out the seeds for them, just in case. I get so excited about Spring after the dismalness of Winter. Can you imagine how I'd be if I lived somewhere snowy?

Like my arthritis asserting itself. The pollens of Spring seem to exacerbate it and my left knee has declared itself to be only semi-functional. It works fine then suddenly plays hooky as I take a step. I'm using a walker around the house rather than chance the sudden cease of a limb and the resulting plunge to the floor. I'm not so bouncy as I used to be.

It doesn't seem like all that much really but the upshot is that I'm reluctant to venture from home (will the car work?) and I'm enjoying sitting outside (when Spring showers allow) and watching my world come to life again.

And a "Happy Spring" to you!

Rain, again? (Still...)

2011-04-16T10:08:00.000-07:00

It is another soggy , dripping morning here in the GreatNorthWet and my mood is threatening to match it drop for drop. Spring rains are supposed to bring the posies but enough all ready! The ground beneath our Oregonian feet is saturated to the point of silliness. Yes, I'm delighted that it isn't snow and that it isn't accompanied by tornado or hurricane winds, but nevertheless that delight is barely outweighing the extreme weariness of wet and we are all more than ready for sunshine.

Which brings me to the subject of getting past the doldrums brought on by day after day of yucky weather. What do you do, Intrepid Reader? When another blizzard has you housebound, or a heatwave brings on summer sweats & swearing, what do you do to derail depression?

We don't have heatwaves here. We seldom see snow. But gray and dismal? That we got!

As my mood dives I'm heading toward a good book of poetry (celebrating nature - so I remember the good parts!), some Mozart, and a small sip of Disaronno with my cup. I may sneak in a lengthy nap, hoping to wake up to sunshine.

One must hope!

2011-04-12T09:42:00.001-07:00

Is the universe toying with what remains of my mind? Not that this would be the first time…

I've finished the morning chores - cleaned up the kitchen, put away the laundry remaining from yesterday's washing, and neatened a few obvious things between my computer and the kitchen and then I hear this piteous kitty yowl. Usually Flickinger J. Cat goes out right after she mugs me for the peanut butter on my morning toast. Did she go out this morning? Can't remember, but a look out the front door reveals a complete absence of cat.

Sitting at my computer I hear it again. Now I think the meow is coming from the bedroom. The door is closed so Himself can sleep undisturbed, not that he needs quiet, and he IS making a loud background rumble. If Flick was in there she'd dash out when I open the door. No cat. Perhaps I've imagined the sound? I turn to go back to my computer.

There it is again, a loud insistent yowl. Flickie? No answer and she is nowhere to be seen in the bedroom. I open the closet door thinking she might have wedged herself through and gotten stuck inside. No kitty. I call her name and there is no answer. Now I'm figuring I've imagined it or, well…

I check the front porch again. No cat. Then As I walk back to my computer Flick comes dashing from the bedroom - the bedroom where I was sure she wasn't - and passes me to stand at the front door loudly insisting that she be let out. There is no sense arguing. I let her out.

It does cause me to wonder though. Where was Ms. Cat? What the heck was going on? Did aliens abduct and return her? Is there a time/space warp at the bedroom door? Was this some sort of test? Did I pass?

2011-04-11T10:54:00.000-07:00

Mama Nature catches hold of me when I feel depressed. She gives me a good solid shake and tells me to look around.

Leaves are beginning to pop out on the alders behind the house. The daffodils are nearly done blooming but the flowers on Elsie's lilac will soon be open, there are swathes of grape hyacinths near the deck and buds are swelling on the ends of all those bare branches of the deciduous azaleas. Soon the air will carry the scent of those azaleas and mix it with the perfume from apple blossoms. Birds are caroling all around. The quail crow from the tangles out along the property line and various sparrows whistle from the corners of the yard. In the evening the frog chorus is deafening!

I tuck all these signs of spring within my heart and feel that site swell with happiness. It doesn't always quite eclipse what has lodged there after the evening news, but it keeps pushing it for balance.

Weather

2011-04-04T13:52:00.000-07:00

I just looked at the weather predictions for the next 4 days. Rain. Rain. Rain. And... RAIN. People are developing gills and fins. Mother Nature doesn't need to send a tsunami to have us living under water. Humidity? We got it. Clouds? Mist? Drizzle? We all feel like sponges, fully drenched.

There are worse things, I know. And rain is a good thing. But a bit of moderation is pleasant too.

Sprouting - Spring!

2011-04-01T12:36:00.000-07:00

Spring is sprouting all over up here in the NorthWet though winter is loathe to let go her hand as yet. Yesterday was mild and "warm" enough for me to stagger outside to sit and soak up a few stray sunbeams that made it to our deck. They had to beat their way through the coastal fog which played tag with them. Today, though there is no rain, the fog reigns supreme. Tomorrow we are promised rain (oh goodie) and cold (yippee) again.

But all it takes is a couple of semi-warm days to excite the spring urges in nature. Buds are appearing on the deciduous azaleas as the daffodils finish up their blooming. A few tentative leaves crown the lilac bush beckoning the flowers to open. There are grape hyacinths showing purple along the margins of our scraggly overgrown lawn and though the Oregon Juncos still dominate the little bird population at the feeder, a few red-winged blackbirds are singing in the hedges. And the frog chorus serenades at night. Last night when Himself and I arrived home at dusk from a meeting we were met by a robust treefrog perched halfway up the porch wall. He was gone this morning - replaced by a brown slug big enough to eat a small village. Euwwww!

There will be more signs of spring and I'll watch for and cherish each of them, hopeful for the short period of summer granted to us here. We soggy folk celebrate any day without rain.

2011-03-26T10:04:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is my birthday… number sixty-four. I'm trying to be upbeat about it. I have wonderful friends who are wishing me all the great stuff we wish for each other on these occasions. There is a good roof overhead, food for the table, the bills get paid, my brain - though stuttering a bit - seems to be functioning adequately. But I can't quite get Whoop-de-doo over it.

Maybe there have been enough of these annual milestones that they've become ho-hummy? Or perhaps I'm caught between being thrilled to have lasted another year despite the engulfing decrepitude and… depressed about lasting another year with the engulfing decrepitude? In teenhood the prospect of getting old and wearing out doesn't encroach on awareness. Once past fifty it is hard to ignore. There are moments when the miracle of life still catches me… a sunrise, a smile, birdsong, and laughter catch me up and sing in my heart. There are as many when political unrest, human tragedy, mean spirits, and loss of all kinds sink my heart. I feel like a yo-yo.

Perhaps our basic natures as people don't change over a lifetime. Up and down, down and up. I've ridden this hot-air balloon all along. I'll pen today humming that tune from "Harold & Maude"… and The Big Boss of Bloomfield -> When you're UP you're UP! And when you're DOWN you're DOWN! Halfway would be boring.

Getting Ready

2011-03-25T10:02:00.001-07:00

One of my dearest friends is right now making the 500+ mile drive north to visit with me on my birthday. Gail and I have known each other for over 40 years. Our children played together once upon a time, and we have shared our growing up in many, many ways. When Himself and I retired to Oregon the distance, and my friend's busy life, made daily interaction impossible - but heart friends don't lose touch, even when they aren't talking or sitting together for coffee.

When Gail arrives tomorrow I will be giddy with delight at being able to see her, to talk with her, to hug her. A few special days must make up for all the time we are apart.

Where is Spring?

2011-03-24T12:15:00.001-07:00

This is the time of year when everybody in this area of the country is talking about the weather. Some of us are wondering what the heck we are doing here. For three months in summer, maybe a little more if it is a good year, we have the most glorious weather in the nation. For the rest of the year we sit around and contemplate the moss and mildew. That is the moss and mildew growing on ourselves. The stuff on the house, car, fences, trees and everything else around us, is taken for granted.

It is true that every part of the country has some form of weather that can seem endless and depressing. I'd not trade the rain, rain, and more rain for humongous blizzards, or tremendous hurricanes, or the threat of a twister on the plains. But by spring the rain, with the accompanying WIND we get here along the Pacific coast gets to be a whole lot of too much of a good thing. The ground squishes. Parts of our yard will take several months to dry out - and that only if it stops raining today. Not very likely to happen.

We Oregonians love the green that colors so much of our state. We cherish the trees and fields and relish the contrast of that green against the startling blue of our magnificent ocean. We also would appreciate a chance to dry out a bit now and again. Please, Mother Nature… a few contiguous days of sunshine and a little less of the huff & puff that is sending the trees, anchored in soft mud instead of good solid earth, to a prone position! And by the way - thanks for letting us live in the wonder Pacific NorthWet.

2011-03-18T08:17:00.001-07:00

A fellow blogger just wrote about less than satisfactory treatment by a clerk in a store and I got to wondering how often that happens to us these days as we shrug and come to expect it. Why do we do that?

As customers we have a voice and we need to use it, for ourselves and for each other. It is a competitive world out there and plenty of businesses are hurting. They need loyal patrons and should be working to keep those they have. Too often we accept bad service and surly treatment as we hurry to balance busy lives but if we don't demand respect and decent help we aren't likely to get it. We need to speak up, loudly, when stores get slack. They need to know our money can be spent elsewhere.

As important as our complaints can be, so are our praises. When was the last time you complimented a waitress or thanked a grocery store clerk? I still recall my mother visiting the manager's office at a large department store. He approached with some trepidation only to have her praise a particular saleswoman and compliment the woman, the manager, and the store for excellent practices. Attaboys can be powerful things.

2011-03-17T15:22:00.001-07:00

In honor of ST. Patrick's Day, and because I am no longer an enthusiastic enough cook to go the trouble of corned beed and cabbage, which I dearly love, Himself took me to town for lunch. No beer, since alcohol provides me with an instant headache, but I was happy to settle for a Reuben sandwich, fries, and iced tea.

Lunch provided me with a chuckle. There we sat, celebrating the life of a Catholic saint - neither Himself nor I being Irish or Catholic. He had a burger which by name would be of German descent, right? I had a more Jewish sandwich but one with sauerkraut and Swiss cheese. We both had French fries… which are probably more American than Gallic. And the iced tea? Tea was never grown in Europe even though it became the English national beverage.

No matter how you look at it, it is a multi-cultural world!

Observation on Getting Old

2011-03-15T11:14:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning remembering the busier days of middle age when I got tons of stuff done but always seemed to be running to catch up. Oh hey, those were the days. I fantasized about retirement years and all the time I'd have to spend on the hobbies, the reading, joining organizations, and the other activities work and raising a family supersede.

Fantasy indeed. Here I am with job a thing of the past, my daughter busy raising her own family, and time. I should have time, right?

But getting old has this interesting, enveloping affect. I seem to be able to do less yet find that it takes a whole lot longer to do it.

Whose big idea was that?

2011-03-12T17:01:00.000-08:00

Got an early birthday present from Himself yesterday - a lovely new seat cushion for my favorite chair. It was fashioned by Keith of The Uphostery House, in the yellow Feng Shui Building next to the market, right here in Beautiful Downtown Langlois. It can be difficult finding services like upholstery repair in an area like ours. The towns are small and relatively far apart. Work can be hard to find for a craftsman so they tend to gravitate to where the population is sufficient for their business. We feel lucky to have found someone right here who did a wonderful job, did it quickly, and at a reasonable price. If you live along the coast near us and have a chair or sofa needing work Himself recommends him highly. Me too!  Why is it called the Feng Shui Building? That's a topic for another post.

2011-03-11T14:51:00.001-08:00

Himself and I have been watching coverage of the earthquake near Japan and the threat of tsunami waves hitting the coast, and it seems obvious that whoever makes decisions at WeatherChannel believes human beings are unable to mentally process any video clip longer than about 2 seconds. It is obvious that the clips are longer but we viewers are apparently too slow and simple to watch them so the editors chew them into bite sized pieces and spew them out for us like pablum. In one segment I saw 3 different views chopped up so that they could be shown one after the other in alternate little hunks. I guess my feeble mind was expected to lose consciousness with the strain of watching 10 sequential moments of tape before moving to another view.

Little bites! Little bites! Little bites!

2011-03-10T12:52:00.000-08:00

Today, because of an imbalance in the universe, I want to write about favorite-useful things.

This morning, the world tipped - or maybe it was just me - anyway the result was that my favorite coffee mug and a saucer which had sentimental value, fell to meet the concrete floor in my kitchen. Concrete and pottery do not mix. Or perhaps they mix too well? I added a few expletives to guide those two items of crockery into their next incarnation, which is as additions to the rock garden encircling my house.

Some folks who are not imaginative or nostalgic would barely blink an eye. They'd say "Get a new one," and they'd be right. The mug and plate are replaceable as culinary items. They are not so easily replaceable though as it might seem.

The mug was "right." I loved the design and the color, and that it was hand-crafted by a local potter. The thickness of the material and the shape of the cup was pleasing, and the handle fit my grip perfectly. It was MINE, right in every way. There are several similar ones in the cupboard but none of them is quite right in all those respects. The pottery shop where it was made is no longer open.

The plate was saucer sized, made by my mother-in-law many years ago when she and my FIL took pottery classes at their local senior center. It was definitely an 'irregular'. The shape had warped slightly in drying and firing and the embossed leaf decoration was beginner clumsy. But it had MIL initials on it and was a connection to a wonderful woman who was a good friend. It's companion remains and is all the more precious for being a sole survivor.

There are a number of other kitchen items like these two. A serving plate, also made by the in-laws in their pottery days. An aluminum broiler pan dented and bent from tooth and claw of Dudley the Divine, Best Dog in the West, who spent the last two precious years of his life with me. I cherish these things and am sad when the universe reclaims them.

Windy?

2011-03-09T13:52:00.000-08:00

Today is what we coastal Oregonians call a "moderately breezy" day. Folks inland would say it was bloody windy and they'd hang on to trees and huddle behind buildings to keep from blowing away. We don't take notice until the trees are horizontal and small animals take flight and sail toward the Canadian border.

I can recall taking a friend from California out on a mild summer afternoon to visit the lighthouse at Cape Blanco. It was surprisingly calm for that "next to the most western" point on the US coast. She politely declined to get out of the car because it was so windy. I was baffled since the day was one of the calmest I'd ever experienced on that nearly treeless lump of land.

You get used to wind here. Although we have lots of rain umbrellas are rare. They simply don't survive. Folks are pretty nonchalant about rain as well. Raincoats are rare, with most folks donning a sweatshirt if required and only the softies resorting to something that will shed moisture. It is no wonder the UO uses a duck as a mascot.

DMV

2011-03-08T09:32:00.001-08:00

My birthday is at the end of this month. It is one of those milestones I've been anticipating since the '60s, my "Beatles years" - "When I'm sixty-four." I have no cottage on the Isle of Wight. No Vera, Chuck or Dave, though my daughter Alpha could surely blow all three of them out of the water. I'm looking forward to making the date though since I doubted I'd ever get this old.

The first notice of the date came with greetings from the State of Oregon telling me that my driver's license was up for renewal. Ah, the apprehension produced! Visions of pop quizzes, unprepared for, questions that can't be gracefully answered… Hey! Some of us take any opportunity to create anxiety in our lives! Watching myself writhe and worry has historically been a terrific domestic sport but for some reason, I decline to suggest that wisdom and maturity could be responsible, I chose to Carpe Diem and not wait until the last possible moment to make the trek to the DMV.

The Oregon DMV is somewhat of a treat compared to my memories of the state to the south. The "long line" consisted of two people waiting ahead of me while a DMV employee put a new roll of paper in the machine that dispenses in-line numbers. What? I get to SIT while I wait? And the wait was a pleasant five minutes or so while I gazed at photos of Oregon landscapes displayed on the walls and filled in the What-are-you-here-for questionnaire. I'd already decided not to grumble out loud about the various "prove-who-you-are" papers I needed to produce. The folks at the desk had surely heard it all and better before LilOldMe showed up at their door.

My number was called and Zip! Swoop! All was quickly accomplished. No test. No questions for which I had no answers. Himself was at my elbow patting my shoulder in comforting fashion and gathering up the scattered debris as I juggled cane, purse, and various bits of paper. Yes, my driver's license photo IS the worst picture ever taken of me. And I'm still trying to figure out the reason for the rule (and it is a rule. I asked) that the DMV employee who took the picture had to be a different one from the one who filled in all the info to the computer. I didn't ask them as I was afraid I'd burst into laughter and annoy the folks behind the counter… so if you know, please pass me the info!

Miscellany

2011-03-05T10:27:00.000-08:00

Some of the things going through my mind this week:

The commercials on TBS are 33% louder than the movies. I thought there was some sort of rule saying this was a no-no. Last night watching a flick I had to reduce the sound level that much every time an ad cycle came on. Oh, and the commercial breaks get longer as the film progresses. But then we all knew that, right?

I'm still wondering why the food you buy at fast food places never looks like the stuff in the commercials. Oh, you mean because they'd be embarrassed to advertise mushed burgers and limp fries?

It seems high time to reduce the salaries of elected officials commensurate with what they want to do to teachers and other public employees. And can we toss in the salaries of semi-literate news-spielers?

There certainly can be too much of a good thing. At least it isn't snow.

People are complaining about fuel costs. Again. I'm rather disgusted with humanity on this subject. I sat in lines to buy gas in the '70's. The issues haven't changed much as far as I can see. We've been a one-car family since then and always with a make/model that got the best mileage available. well, until now when we can't afford to go to a hybrid. But at least we still get almost 40mpg. Those folks who've bought gas hogs the past 30 or 40 years deserve to start walking.

Grandchildren are about the best prize for surviving to old age that there can be.

Impostor

2011-03-04T09:51:00.001-08:00

I get a daily email from a site called delanceyplace.com that contains bits from various books. Yesterday's entry was, should I say "interesting" - or better yet "stunning". It concerns something called The Impostor Phenomenon. I recognized the psychological situation at once.

Wow! I have a phenomena… dah-dah -de-dah-dah!

The Impostor Phenomenon is defined thusly:

"Those who are afflicted believe that their successes cannot be attributed to their own abilities. Instead they are convinced that other people's praise and recognition of their accomplishments are the result of charm, deception or simple good luck."

It is described as "not debilitating" but I can attest to the fact that it steals the joy from any achievement and provides constant anxiety. No matter the work, the results, the attainment, you feel fear. You are sure someone will eventually see your faults. The world will accuse you of cheating or misrepresentation. Praise is craved but never truly accepted. No matter the effort you see yourself as a fake and become afraid to even try.

I'm so familiar with this mindset. Any success is a fluke and discounted. Recognition by others brings fear of discovery. Oh yes, been there. Do that.

Pre-Birthday thoughts

2011-03-02T11:13:00.001-08:00

My birthday comes up the end of this month… the big Sixty-Four. I think that Beatles song has been in my head since my teens. Sixty-Four. Some sort of ephemeral goal to work toward and now I'm nearly here, the goal not quite as unobtainable as it once seemed.

And the interesting situation of being asked, "What do you want for your birthday?" comes up.

How does one respond to that?

Any answer seems wrong. Too expensive. Too difficult. Overly modest. Not very honest. How do you answer that mostly you have what you want. that some of what you might like is unreasonable or unobtainable, that trinkets are just that, that a surprise - one that is not a shock, is lovely but difficult to come by.

What I most like is time with the people I love. Oh… and not to cook dinner!

2011-03-01T09:05:00.000-08:00

Being an extremely emotional person, and learning I was somewhat disposed to be depressed, I have learned various tools for dealing with my moods before they get out of hand. Music is one of the easiest of those tools to grab and use. When winter hovers heavy and gray and my emotions threaten to follow I head for the CD collection and browse until something inside says "Stop! That's IT!".

Today the IT is Les Charbonniers de L'Enfer. I can't listen to their music without being in the rhythm and harmonies. It is all French and I haven't a clue what they sing about. I break into the call/response with a hopelessly broken sound-somewhat-alike warble here and there and bounce along in happy enjoyment. For an hour or so I'm in the music and not in cold or gray or sad or tired or…

Tomorrow it may be Keali'i Reichel, Brave Combo, The Beatles, ABBA, or some Bhangra tunes. The music will circumvent my thoughts and reach my heart, pushing through the clouds. It's a lot like chocolate but with fewer calories.

How about you? What do you listen to in the dark days?

Whining... again.

2011-02-26T09:06:00.001-08:00

Have I mentioned before that I dislike cold weather? Not except for the occasional diatribe, you say? The postings where I weep and wail, curse and moan - generally express distress and dislike?

I admire the folks who choose to deal with cold. My friends in Canada and Alaska are hardy types who would consider the twenty-degree temperatures we've been having here as sweater weather. They'd break out the tanning lotion and mop their sweaty brows. I am not hardy. Cold is anathema. But let me assure you that heat, when much above the eighty-degree level is also not on my "Love It" list. There is nothing whatsoever wrong with mid-seventies though. That gets my vote, my praise and my adulation. The snow-boarders can have the slopes, the surfers can have the waves.

Please, I'll have just a spot in the shade, in a green country garden, on a mild summer afternoon. Please?

2011-02-25T09:59:00.001-08:00

In case it wasn't official already… I've gone around the bend, over the edge, and off my rocker.

Yesterday I mentioned my love for the music of Fritz Kreisler. This morning I'm listening again to the CD. Listening to Caprice Viennois - over and over, tears streaming down my face at the absolute beauty of it. The first part is so soulful and gentle, like a caress to soothe away sadness though the sadness can be heard. Then it shifts into a bouncing bit that still contains that soulful heart. And it reiterates the emotion. Lovely!

How wonderful to be able to touch the emotions that way. It drives so much of art and I feel like the instrument played upon by the artist.

2011-02-24T15:40:00.001-08:00

Do you have a piece of music that, whenever you hear it, instantly changes your mood? I'm listening to one of mine. It goes way back into my childhood… something my mother must have had on a 78rpm. Remember those?

The piece is Caprice viennois by Fritz Kreisler. The opening swoop of notes pulls my heart out and send it into a dance in space. I also love La Précieuse, Liebesfreud, and Liebesleid. All songs that somehow make me laugh as they bring tears to my eyes.

I've loved Kreisler's music for over half a century (!) and finally thought to buy myself a CD - this one by one of my favorite violinists, Joshua Bell. Old favorites and new pieces I can learn to love. I'm listening as I write, trying to see the computer screen through tears of sheer joy in the music.

Old Lady Protesting COLD

2011-02-22T10:49:00.001-08:00

I'm starting the day with GR - practicing my GRowling, GRumbling and GRousing. You know I did notplan on living somewhere where I could see, much less experience close up, snow. SNOW. That cold, wet, white stuff that belongs in a cone with flavored syrup poured on top - consumed in a hammock within view of a tropical ocean.

Let the skiers and boarders have it. I wish them well in slush and powder, zooming down steep inclines swathed in mittens, mufflers, and various shiver-proofing accouterments. The cocoa and fireplace part of winter resorts doesn't sound bad but I can get those at home sand a trip through the cold white stuff.

But Mr. Weatherguy on last night's TV news says there will be snow. Here. Soon. So my practice sessions have begun. Kitty and I will glare out the window in disgust and wonder when spring will get here. I will question my decision to retire to the Great NorthWet&Cold and wonder if the gorgeous ocean and fir tree views and the relative quiet are worth the possibility of snow. The answer will probably be yes, though that yes will be weaker and less assured than it would be on a sunny, comparatively warm, summer day.

2011-02-20T08:06:00.001-08:00

The whole dream of democracy is to raise the proletarian to the level of stupidity attained by the bourgeois.
- Gustave Flaubert

(And quite successfully done here... just a few more cuts in education funding and the congressional leaders can retire happy.)

2011-02-18T09:37:00.001-08:00

This is my grand-daughter showing off the parental investment in a properly operating set of choppers. She looks amazingly unperturbed by the installation. I was fortunate in not having to wear metal when I was a kid. Ditto for my daughter. The subsequent generation, despite all the brushing and the excellent diets fostered by their parents, is destined for a metallic grin. It seems to be in the genes, in the cards, a bit of fate.

At least she seems reconciled to the prospect, probably much more so then her female progenitors would have been!

2011-02-16T08:49:00.000-08:00

I'm not a big fan of wet, cold, and rainy weather (and isn't THAT a major understatement?) but I do rather appreciate dramatic skies. We are having one of those at this moment. It is threatening rain but the sun has managed to squeak through between the horizon to the east and the heavy dark clouds overhead. The light is brilliant but even as I type the sun is being squeezed out and the sky is darkening. In moments there will be a downpour and very likely a bit of lightning and thunder accompaniment. It will last five or ten minutes at most. Then the clouds will lighten from black to gray again. The sun will probably burn another hole through them and illuminate everything. The change from rain to sun, and back again, is so intense and dramatic it takes my breath away.

Oregon can do dismal and continuous rain. It can do sunny and gorgeous sunshine. But it can do both in sequence, over and over, better than anyplace else I've lived. Folks come to the coast here to be storm-watchers. They rent houses along the ocean to watch the waves and see the ocean in the winter tempests. I'm every bit as satisfied to experience the on again-off again days, the sucker weather, when the sun beacons you outside only to chuckle and disappear as the clouds burst overhead.

Dumb!

2011-02-15T11:04:00.001-08:00

Sometimes I think there can be few organisms dumber than a cat. Perhaps I should credit ours with amazing survival instinct but from the human perspective it closely resembles dumb. And stubborn.

The situation right now is that the weather outside is frightful. It is pouring buckets and barrels: rain mixed with cold chunky bits that are banging the windows with the sound of a gravel storm. Flickinger, the brainless cat, is huddled on the porch, barely out of the rain blowing through and saturating a good bit of the usually sheltered area. I've opened the door and beckoned her inside. She gazes at the open door with suspicion and remains crouched just beyond. I beg, cajole, and plead. She acts as if my primary object was to capture her for some imagined kitty torture to come.

I'm guessing she is reluctant because a friend of mine was here earlier for morning coffee. Flickie does not suffer strangers lightly. She is suspicious that someone may be hiding inside the house with nefarious intentions. She knows the car that was NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE is gone but obviously that is simply a ruse to catch her unaware. We are not to be trusted.

This is the same cat who, despite eight years living with us, still panics at the sound of the heater coming on. She seems to believe we have that noisy thing simply as a form of continual cat disturbance. If she makes the mistake of being inside and it starts going she dives for safety under the bed at the furthest corner distant from it. Eight years and she has never gotten used to it, never tolerated it.

Valentine's Day…

2011-02-14T10:00:00.001-08:00

Himself and I got into a discussion about how the Catholic church appropriated a fine old pagan day, attached a saint to it, and tried to subvert its earthy origins to some airy-fairy idealized and sanitized church sanctioned affair. I rather favor the old concept of get-it-on and procreate in the fields version. Don't you?

Happy Day You All!

I'm cold!

2011-02-13T12:05:00.001-08:00

Whatever is happening to my circulation? The older I get the less willing my blood seems to be to warm up my hands. My feet do okay most of the time. It is my hands that feel the cold firstest and fastest. Especially the right one, the paw I use most. Wouldn't you think all the exercise it gets would keep it the warmer of the two. After all it is my Trackball hand. Let's face it, that particular appendage gets more activity than… well, let's just say it is used quite a bit.

Are there any seniors out there who suffer from over-warmth? I spent a lot of younger years deploring the heat and sweatiness of my amplitude. I was told being weighty was the problem. Why isn't it a warming problem NOW when I could use it?

2011-02-12T09:08:00.001-08:00

I used to hold closely to my dignity. It didn't help much. I'm just not the dignified type. But when I was young indignity seemed important and loss of it somehow meant loss of an intangible bit that would somehow diminish me. It is a good thing I got past that particular bit of misinformation. My old age certainly isn't headed toward dignified. It seems instead to be careening toward total silliness. And Himself is going along for the ride.

Take, for instance, yesterday evening.

It is one of the daily chores that the family chickens be locked up at night for safety. (Foxes, raccoons and opossums need to eat but they can dine elsewhere, thank you very much!) The chore belongs to Himself, the fowl-keeper, since my arthritic knees don't appreciate the awkward step up into and down out of the poultry mansion. Last night Himself left the front porch with a chuckle and moments later the phone intercom rang in the living room.

"I'm out in the chicken house."

"Uh-huh." Like I always get calls from the hens in the evening.

"Brandon wants to say good-night."

And so I find myself carrying on a telephone conversation with our rooster. I crow. He crows. I crow again. And so forth for several exchanges. Until, poor fellow, he is silenced by an irritated clucking of his ladies wanting silence so they can settle down to sleep. Roosters really are hen-pecked. Himself would certainly agree.

Who tech? Me tech?

2011-02-11T10:16:00.001-08:00

I'm a low tech woman living in a high tech household. When did that happen? It doesn't seem all that long ago that the house and I operated on a level where we were equal. The devices of daily living were such that I could easily cope: how to run the vacuum cleaner and the shower, how to play a record or change the television channel, how to take out the garbage and read the mail.

What happened?

The vacuum and shower are still fairly comprehensible as long as I don't change the spray head from regular to pulsing or skin-penetrating or attempt to use some of those odd attachment that clean under (or though) the furniture. Garbage has gotten more complicated as paper gets re-used, goes one place, stuff to burn into another, plastic and glass and metal go out for monthly trips to a recycle center. Mail comes in varieties too. Bills to pay go one direction, ads another, correspondence is email and that requires sorting of all kinds. Music and TV? Oh dear!

There are currently 4 remote controls for operating entertainment - one for the television, one for the disc player, two more for the satellite box. I have only vague ideas what does what and my method is to poke at buttons in wild abandon until I get a result I can cope with. I avoid playing CDs in the living room player since I never seem to be able to figure out how to make the speakers work with the player. But that leaves me to listen to music on the player in my sewing room (haven't a clue how to anything other than put in a disk and listen to it clear through) or on the player for my iPod (ditto!).

I could listen to individual tracks on my computer but sitting in front of the screen isn't my favorite spot for enjoying Mozart or The Beatles. It is laughable and this is a grin you see on my face, not a grimace. Betcha I'm not the only SixtyPlus out there increasingly baffled by technology.

Left Over DOOR PRIZE

2011-02-11T07:08:00.001-08:00

Any questions? Query the boss at NCC-MAC.blogspot.com/

We didn't get enough attendees at tonight's NCC-Mac meeting whose computers met the minimum System requirements for our door prize. If you or someone you know would like a FREE copy of ESET Cybersecurity for Mac, send me an email message at ncc.mac@me.com with "Left Over DOOR PRIZE" in the Subject line. This is a first-come-first-served offer, and quantities ate very, very limited.

2011-02-10T08:47:00.001-08:00

I'm beginning to think that seniors, the over-50 (or in my case well over 60) crowd, have the best senses of humor in regard to themselves of any population. This is based on the number of humorous emails passed from one to another added to the number of wry stories we tell about ourselves when gathered into a group. We gleefully share stories of forgetfulness, incontinence, aches, pains, and lapses of judgement.

Does any other bunch of people share so many stories about themselves? Do blondes pass around blonde jokes, or any ethnic group laugh quite so heartily at their stereotyped foibles?

Maybe we've gotten past a lot of the posturing and need for dignity we had when we were younger. Getting old can't be hidden no matter how hard someone like Joan Rivers tries. We may as well get comfy for the ride and enjoy the scenery. There is plenty to holler at, make no mistake. And I shall certainly do my fair share, and more, of belly-aching. But I'll be laughing too.

What, again?

2011-02-07T17:18:00.001-08:00

A day in the emotional dumps. Nothing much put me there but after I woke up this morning and had a chance to look around all I could see where the precipitous sides of a dark and dreary pit. Very irritating! It is a fifty-fifty situation between sitting and sobbing (and feeling stupid for sitting and sobbing) and getting irritated to find myself here again.

Picture me as a cartoon character grabbing my own bootheels and trying like mad to lift myself up! The best I could manage was to stumble forth and go to the Monday morning meeting of the local writers group where I had a chance to try to avoid pummeling myself for another week of attending without any contribution to share. It is important never to miss an opportunity for an impromptu flogging!

Himself wants so much to help when I get depressed. He has learned after 40 odd (very odd!) years of marriage to offer and beware of return snarls. I've learned to try and keep the snarls from turning into lunges for his throat. It is as easy for anger turned inward to to to anger turned outward as it is vice-versa. Deep breaths and remembering not to hurt those I love.

He did manage to help - quietly being beside me as I sat with my feelings. And later an ice cream cone that made me feel like a five year old on holiday. I'm mostly better now and hoping tomorrow will an Annie sort of day.

2011-02-06T10:15:00.001-08:00

Do you ever have one of those mornings when there simply isn't anything you want to do? I've looked around and there isn't much that is compelling at this moment.

Don't get me wrong. It isn't that there aren't stacks and piles and lists of things around me that aren't calling for attention: housecleaning, correspondence, hobbies… these things are always jostling each other for my attention. But the housework that must be done has been done and the remaining can wait. Pressing correspondence has been dealt with - bills paid and daily emails sent. None of the hobbies have sent out waves of inspiration so the relping, writing, sewing, and such are not hollering loud enough to compel my attendance.

The sun is hiding so the outdoors isn't beckoning. The book I've been reading hasn't grabbed me enough to make me want to read. Sunday morning TV is the pits for anyone over 10 years old. I suppose I'll wander around the house for a bit, tidy a few things as I go, and have a sort-of walking meditation. Or perhaps I'll sit quietly and let my mind do the wandering. So much of life is chock-full of input. Life keeps us working and playing until we forget how to stop and listen to… ourselves, to the quiet voice inside. Thanks for reminding me.

Have you stopped to listen to your heartbeat, hear your voice inside recently?

2011-02-04T09:35:00.001-08:00

After saving for a year and a half I finally had enough money to buy myself a new computer. We've only recently (very recently!) gotten high speed internet here. Until the sped arrived my aging Mac was fine for what I could do on (shudder) dial-up. With the added speed online it seemed time to let my machine also be speedy, so I took the plunge.

There is both joy and pain here in Mudville. Joy in that sped I was hoping for. The internet stuff I do takes so much less time now. I'm no gamer but there are a few "old timer" games I like to play, mostly through Facebook. Those are so much quicker and I no longer tear at my few remaining hairs while waiting for a response. Such shopping as I do is quicker. SInce Himself and I are retired that is minimal, but it is nice not to fall asleep while waiting for a screen to load. And at last I can join the rest of the world in wasting vast amounts of time watching videos on YouTube.

The pain is in coping with the changes. My screen acreage is vast compared with my older computer. It is so big I had to put the monitor further away to keep from getting whiplash looking at things. All the icons and text now seem miniscule. It is easier to locate a kid in a backyard than to search a city park. It feels like that sort of search as I scan the screen looking for anything familiar. I'm having to cope with new territory and new ways of dealing with that territory. Amazement and thrills fight for space with irritation and confusion.

I know that in a week or two I'll be used to it all. The different keyboard will feel familiar and I'll have forgotten what the old machine looked like. In the meantime that low rumble you hear is probably not thunder, or the sound of heavy machinery. It is me fussing, complaining, and… learning.

2011-02-02T10:31:00.001-08:00

The sun peeped over the hills and blazed forth this morning and once
more it became clear that sunshine does not equal warmth. This seems
to confuse my primitive brain. It equates sunshine with warmth and
refuses to take into account that the sun shines over snow-filled
landscapes just as well as it does over the trees canopy of a hot and
steamy jungle.

I want to go outside to bask - but I'd quickly find icicles dangling
from my chin.

Basking *IS* possible. Inside. The trick is to find a window where
the sun can get in and the heat can't get out. Once installed in such
a destination I can wallow in warmth.

Guess where I'm headed now...?

Ow!

2011-02-01T09:49:00.001-08:00

Land Sakes Alive! Is it February already? I'm totally unprepared for
the year to be dashing around with such energy and enthusiasm. A
sedate stroll, maybe a reluctant crawl is something more suited to my
state of being. Time moves faster and faster as I get older, while I
move slower and slower... or some days, like today, not at all.

And that brings up the subject of arthritis, quickly followed by you
don't appreciate what you have until you haven't got it.

The first swollen finger joints of my mid-40's have progressed to
distorted finger joints, painful knees and hips, and occasional nasty
seasonal distress like spring's "entire left foot in agonizing
inflammation". I'm hobbling, when lucky enough to move at all, and
swearing lustily. Being an indolent person I'm seldom interested in
moving around all that much. Until I can't. Amazing how the "You
can't" gets my back up and makes whatever I can't do exactly the
thing I want to do most.

I won't introduce you to the sorts of language I'm using this week.
It would put the proverbial dockworker to shame and blush. One gets
so inventive when in the throes of pain and I'm sure the neighbors
think we're having yodeling competitions at our house this week.

Once again I'm chanting "This too shall pass". But that applies to
the good times too, doesn't it?

2011-01-29T09:25:00.001-08:00

Ah, the congestion of early spring. My head feels like 5pm on the Los
Angeles freeways. I missed the winter colds and flu, thank goodness,
but my nose has gleefully anticipated the flowering of spring and
decided to barricade itself from further assault by the germs of
January. This seems to have necessitated building a cement wall that
is almost airtight.

It could be worse. I'm not punctuating the air with the hooting and
honking of a chest cold. My distress is primarily contained in a
solid blockage midway below my eyes. It has a discordant sound all
its own, a raspy intake of air that sounds like an avalanche on a
rocky slope but moves far less debris. I rival the wall-shattering
snorts of my step-father, whose nose-blowing in my youth would rattle
windows for blocks around.

In time I shall feel poetical about spring. I'll cherish the warmer
days, the blooming of flowers and the emergence of leaves. But for
right now I'll salute with a sneeze and a snort, the sounds of
awakening sinuses.

Is it here yet?

2011-01-27T09:55:00.000-08:00

So deceptive, this sunny January weather we are having along the
Oregon coast. I look out the window and see the bright Day-Orb and
think it must be warm. Time to open doors and windows! Let some nice
warm air in to shake up the stuffy musty closed-in winter feeling of
the house. Listen to the birds chirp! It must be an early spring...

Fifteen minutes of the open door reminds me that sunshine certainly
doesn't equate with air warmth and unless I'm enjoying the goose-
bumps rising on every square inch of my body I'd better subdue my
enthusiasm and re-batten the hatches. Sitting directly in the sun is
radiant but the air is still January cold.

We get eager for spring around here. Himself sets off for his walk
into town without the usual long sleeved shirt. He returns, warmed
with the exercise, but aware that as soon as he sits down the chill
will return and he'll want that extra layer on his arms. I eyeball
the sun and imagine sitting on the porch with my second cup of coffee
but know that my winter pale skin will eagerly burn in the clear
direct light while my ankles will be complaining about icicles and
frostbite.

Yes, Spring will get here. But not yet. The birds sense it and a few
are starting to migrate through. The daffodils anticipate warmer
ground and venture up, calling to the buds on the alders to wake up.
But the sun has not moved far enough on the horizon to flood through
the dining room window. It will be weeks of winter yet, more dark
rainy days to come, before the glory of an Oregon coast spring arrives.

Bleagh!

2011-01-25T12:16:00.001-08:00

A big Eeek! for the blogging experience. Why does it happen that when
leaving a comment on another blogpost the text I've typed
mysteriously disappears and is replaced by random text I didn't write
(ever!) - and I notice just as I hot the button to post the comment?

Sure makes me look even dumber than I feel!

(Insert loud juicy raspberry toward the gremlins running the digital
world!)

Me, Me, & Me!

2011-01-25T11:55:00.001-08:00

Some days are more frustrating than others. The worst are when I feel
a bunch of the different ME's (does that get an apostrophe? It looks
silly without...) jostling for position and command of the vehicle we
all inhabit. It gets crowded and they don't play well together. For
instance:

There is a ME who is tidy and wants to dust, and polish, and vacuum,
and scrub. She casts a critical eye around the house and screams to
take control so her home matches the one in her imagination.

The ME who has the soul of a writer gazes at clouds and grasps at
bits of image and verse. She tends to come out strongest when I am
somewhere away from pen or keyboard - like in the shower. The other
ME's obviously enjoy frustrating her.

There is an old, cranky ME. She is willing to share space with any of
the others as long as she has an equal or greater voice. I work hard
to dampen her language and remind her not to annoy the social ME.
Social ME likes being liked, tries hard to please, struggles to keep
the rest of the crew in line. She holds the reins but sometimes loses
control.

Mystic ME stays amused at the antics of the rest. She is the
believer, the dreamer, the one who is calm and spiritual. I like her
and wish she had more time up front, but she is inclines to smile and
shrug her shoulders, knowing whatever happens is okey-dokey.

These ladies and a bunch more shove their way to the surface and run
the vehicle. They use elbows and knees to subdue the competition. I
often feel like an observer at a mixed pairs tennis match.

But I get to tattle on them from time to time!

Directions please?

2011-01-22T08:57:00.001-08:00

After waiting, and waiting, and waiting some more... After promises,
assurances, anticipation and expectation, high speed internet has
arrived at our non-bustling mini-town on the Oregon coast. It is
wonderfully quick, especially compared with the dial-up service
Himself and I have been using.

Now what do I do with it?

I'd been hearing about YouTube. I'd been yearning to explore Blogs.
An entire digital universe has opened up - and I have no clue where
to go or how to begin. I'm not even sure I want to venture forth.

So, you few hardy souls who read these words, I'm open to
suggestions. What are your favorite haunts, your biggest time-wasters
or sources for humor/information/sharing out there in Internetland?
Point, click and drag me out and show me what is so wonderful and
reachable via computer, the stuff that could lure me away from my
books, TV, and iPod. I dare you to find something that will rival my
view of the ocean or the mountains hereabouts. It seems I have time
now to enjoy both the digital and the real world!

Fat

2011-01-19T16:34:00.000-08:00

To every person who thinks it is okay to make fun of me because I'm
fat: "Stick it in your ear and light it!"

I'm tired of it being okay to make fun of fat people and to suggest
that being fat is somehow a personal affront to the eyes of the
nation. And I'm tired of those who think that all a fat person needs
to do is diet. Yes, I'm addicted to food. It doesn't cause public
safety issues like drugs or alcohol abuse, or offend like smoking.
Unfortunately I can't go "cold turkey" to break my habit.

Stop making generalizations about me. I am not dirty. I am not jolly.
I am not sick all the time.

I'm not asking for pity. I don't want that any more than I wanted the
psychological scarring that made me seek refuge in food. I would,
however, appreciate you withholding snotty judging comments based on
your prejudice against me. Do not assume that because I am fat I am
also stupid, or lazy, or am somehow immoral. You have unbelievable
audacity in thinking that being thin somehow makes you a better human
being than me.

Your muscular pecs have not made you an Einstein nor has your ideal
weight on the scale made you a nice person. You should be thanking
me. My fat has given you an opportunity to feel smug and superior,
right? Your willingness to ridicule, judge, and humiliate me says a
great deal about who you are. My fat is on my body... yours is
between your ears.

Today's Thoughts

2011-01-18T10:17:00.000-08:00

I knew I shouldn't have bothered putting away those Christmas
decorations. January is nearly over already and the "early shopper"
flyers should for the 2011 pre-Christmas sales will be coming in
soon. Valentines were in the stores before the end of December.

Himself and I feel somewhat possessed. Television doesn't exactly own
us, but it sure has us on a long-tern lease! Of course, television
has to share us with the computers. Between them Himself and I
haven't a fighting chance.

I'm not fond of wet and even less thrilled by cold. So whatever drew
me to the Great NorthWet? Temporary insanity? In case I was hopeful
of recovery the winters here keep me from going sane.