I remember the first time I saw the movie “2001 A Space Odyssey”. I thought, “wow”, by the time we’d reached that formidable date, we would all be getting around in hovercrafts and flitting around from one planet to another to grab a beer after work. Now, here we are on the precipice of 2024, nearly a quarter of a century past that time, and I can report I have not seen nary a hovercraft in my neighborhood as of this writing, and never have I visited a bar on Saturn. If you have conflicting data, please comment.
According to those “in the know” about future events, this year is predicted to hit the ground running and proceed forward from there at an accelerated pace. If faster than 2023, I’d better pull my tennies on and begin compiling my Christmas list. As fast as the world seems to streaming by, sometimes I feel like I am still lagging a few paces behind since my last bout of COVID. It’s like that, I’m I am still concentrating on what to have for breakfast when it’s nearly lunchtime kind of feeling. This morning it took me the good part of an hour to decide on what I wanted to eat. I mean there aren’t that many choices to select from really in a breakfast menu. It wasn’t like I was trying to pass the bar. After much deliberation and thought, weighing the pros and cons of breakfast entrees, I decided on two soft boiled eggs and toast with marmalade. Duh. Cooking eggs in this manner always brings to mind my maternal grandmother. I often sat down to poached or soft boiled eggs at the breakfast table as a child. The soft boiled eggs were served in a two sided china cup with yellow ducks marching around the base. There was a small cup on one end and, if flipped over, a larger cup on the other. The cooked egg was perched vertically in the smaller cup with the top, or what my grandmother referred to as it’s “hat”, cut off and then set back on the cut edge. You removed the hat and dipped your toast in the yolk. With one pinky pointed up, of course. Manners, were paramount at our house.
Growing up in Nova Scotia brought with it a lot of English flavors. As in many English homes I’m sure, the brightly shined silver tea set sat at the ready in the corner of the large sunny dining room in my grandmother’s house . On tea day, my grandmother’s lady friends would arrive around four in the afternoon to observe “high tea”. The doorbell would ring. One by one, well dressed matrons would enter, hat and gloves on, small clasped leather handbags draped over one arm. Once the ladies were gathered in the parlor, my grandmother would “pour”. I liked tea time because then, as now, I was all about food. There usually were freshly baked scones with raisins poking through their skins, or delicate tea cakes, or my grandmother’s famous ginger snap cookies to be enjoyed in the kitchen while tea was being served in the main house to the grownups. As with everyone under our roof, I was allotted a fine china cup and saucer for my use, mine being somewhat smaller than the adults. Too young to have developed a taste for tea, my cup was generally filled with hot chocolate topped with a floating puff of melting marshmallow. Tea was ALWAYS served in a cup and saucer, as was coffee for that matter, though tea was far more the beverage of choice of the two. Coffee had not gained the popularity it now holds, and mugs were what were used to serve a pint in at the local pub. There was always a touch of elegance to our table which I really enjoyed. At night there were candles flickering on the table, real candles with wicks, with no on/off switches on the base. Linen napkins were placed to the left of the place settings caught up in decorative holders. We used crystal water goblets, and ate off china plates. Though I hardly hold to this on a nightly basis these days, I have carried many of those traditions along with me when entertaining and notice my children set their tables in a very similar manner when they do. However, I do prefer a glass of fine wine poured in a lovely glass goblet rather than drinking it out of a red plastic cup, and to me a steak should be eaten on a solid plate with a steak knife rather than on the paper plate or plastic utensil. Little touches can add a bit of grace to your world requiring very little effort. God knows there doesn’t seem to be a lot of grace to spare of late if you keep up with the news, so sometimes we have to create our own lovely space.
This weekend Richard and I are going out to a steak house known for “fine dining”. I’m looking forward to it. We haven’t been out to eat since my birthday in November and I’m ready to be spoiled. From the pictures provided on the Internet, it looks quite upscale and lovely on the interior, and according to the reviews posted, the food is excellent. Yay. I’m not sure what to wear anymore. There is no dress code, or at least as I’ve noticed, here in California anymore. Fine dining means pajamas most probably are not acceptable. Kay.
On a totally unrelated subject, Richard is now talking about taking a three month excursion in the fifth wheel in May. The primary destination would be Alaska, and then apparently the world could be our oyster after that. Three months seems, to me at least, a long time to be away from home. Though I am definitely a nomad at heart, Boo, the Queen of Cats has to go for treatments once a week and I cannot imagine abandoning my time with her. As tempting a carrot as the lure of the road can be to my heart, her kidney failure, stage 2 so far, is never going to improve. As time passes, she will decline, and I have promised myself, and my dear furry friend, we shall see the last part of her journey together. No matter what, I will honor that promise. Richard suggested we take Boo with us. I suggested he seek some emotional support because he wasn’t thinking clearly. Number one, Boo is not a traveler such as I am. About an hour in the car and the cat is over the program entirely and begins to meow. I know first hand how annoying incessant meowing can become after a couple of hours. When I was traveling with my ex husband across country, he drove his truck and generally I followed behind him in my car with the cat and the dog. Kitty, my previous feline, mainly rode with me. Kitty wasn’t fond of men for whatever reason, so was likely to relieve herself on his seat or try to bail out the window or door if sharing the cab with him. Even though she seemed to tolerate me quite well, on longer rides, she would sometimes pass the time in my car by meowing non-stop for hours. The cat was not confined to a crate, ill, or in any discernible pain I could see. That being said, I was left to deduct she did this simply to get on my last nerve. I am here to tell you, this was a total success. It wasn’t a howling cry, you understand, just a simply “meow” she emitted at about one minute intervals, and she was tenaciously dedicated to the task at hand. At one point, while crossing the Arizona desert, after four hours of puddy cat serenading, I seriously considered leaving her by the side of the road with a sign around her neck reading, “Free to good home. No questions asked.”
Dogs are far better passengers. They are needier, and want to earn your love and adoration. Cats really don’t seem to care much whether you like them or not as long as the dish is filled and the litter box cleaned. At one time I had three dogs under my roof, a golden retriever, a samoyed, and a shih hsu. All three loved to go in the car. If I said “Do you want to go bye-bye?”, it was like the running of the bulls at Pamploma. A thundering herd would roar down the stairs all wagging tails and panting tongues. Barnaby, the golden retriever, would actually get his leash and bring it to me if he thought a ride in the car was imminent. Barnaby was a gorgeous specimen of canine. It was a blessing he was beautiful, because he definitely was not the sharpest pencil in the box. One day I remember in particular, I had decided to take Barnaby along for the ride to pick up my son at soccer practice. The weather was warm, but not hot, so I left the tailgate window down to enjoy the lovely breeze. At the soccer field, I picked my son up and we headed home. Stopping for a red light, my son commented a dog entering the intersection in front of us looked like an exact doppelganger for Barnaby. Without communicating, we both turned in unison to look in the back of the station wagon. Sure enough, there was nothing to be seen back there but glass and upholstery. Oh-oh. Stepping out of the car and calling Barnaby’s name got no response, I found myself standing in the middle of a crowded intersection directing traffic while my son chased the excited retriever around one car then another. The dog, quite sure this was an engaging game of hide and seek, was definitely winning the game. Finally between the two of us, we cornered him and got him back in the car, tailgate window up this time. Brother.
As to what to do with this suggestion of the trip to Alaska? That remains up in the air. For one thing, it would mean tendering my resignation at work. After taking a month off last year for my southwestern road trip, they will not sign on, I’m sure, for another three month absence. Richard will go whether I accompany him or not. The road is calling him, and, as he says, “he must answer the call”. His thinking is that he’s not getting any younger and at some point this type of trip will not be in the cards for him. There’s a great deal of logic in that, of course. Let’s face it, we’re all getting riper with each tick of the clock. I totally understand and honor his commitment, I’m just not sure it is a commitment I can make at this time. Just another thing to ponder at 2 a.m. when I’m staring at the ceiling solving world peace. Sigh.
In March, I am having surgery on my hand. Another topic for my 2 a.m. meanderings. I have what is called Dupuytren’s contracture in my left hand. Basically, it is an abnormal thickening of the tissues in the palm of your hand. Over time, this causes one or more fingers to bend inward. In my case, the digit in question is my pinkie. At first, it wasn’t much of an issue for me. Certainly it looks a little odd, but nothing I couldn’t manage, but now it is so far bent that it is effecting my keying at work. Instead of hitting the far left keys like a, q, and z, the little bugger keeps clicking on the caps lock. I’ll be banging away, about 90 wpm, when I look up at the screen and realize I have a whole paragraph of all caps staring back at me. Also, I’ve been told by the hand specialist if I don’t have the surgery to straighten it done soon, it will be too late to do it in the future. It is an out patient procedure. To my mind this means I’ll be out cold as a wedge for the surgery, but it shouldn’t take more than an hour to perform, and then they’ll kick me out once I’m done with the recovery room process. Hence, out patient. I’m quite sure that’s not in their manual, but it’s how I view it. They will equip me a splint for the first few days and then I’m to report to physical therapy on a regular basis in order to complete the healing process. Goody. I need something else to fill my time. I had five minutes just the other day where I had absolutely nothing to do.
How I got to this train of thought from dogs in cars boggles the mind, and yet here we are. So, I see the year ahead as being full of twists and turns. The political mess will rear it’s ugly head with all that entails. The mud slinging has begun in earnest and will only escalate as the date draws nearer. I try to stay out of political discussions these days. Used to be you could enjoy a healthy debate on the key issues, now it goes straight to name calling and I prefer not to engage. People on both sides are rigidly set in their thinking and logic seems not to enter into the discussion. But, I digress.
The events should shape up for a lot of blogable subjects I have a feeling. I look forward with both anticipation and trepidation to seeing 2024 unfold. Oh, forgot to mention, on another unrelated subject, Richard bought a new car the other day finally. Well, it’s an old, new car, or possibly a new, old car. Any way you look at it, he bought the car. I was glad, because we were spending a lot of conversational moments discussing the possibilities available on the Internet open to him and engines in general. I know zip do dah about cars and don’t have a great yen at this time to enlighten myself much further as of this writing. My knowledge runs as deep as vehicles have an engine under the hood, four tires, and I know where to pour both gas and oil should the need arise. Should a tire require air, I can probably fill it without having it need to be replaced, but please don’t ask me to change a flat. I am blissfully happy if I have a car which goes from A to B without blowing up or requiring towing. That, to me is a good car. I’m not a bells and whistles girl. Somehow in my mind that adds up to more to break or fall apart. The only “car love” I ever suffered from was my 300ZX back in the late 1980’s. What a lovely car that was. I would have lived in it happily. Five beautiful manual gears, a t-top, a shiny sleek bronze body, creamy leather interior, and a stereo that would pop an ear drum. The infatuation was to last four years before I had to give it up for a more practical form of transportation. I think of that car fondly at times, but one must move on.
At any rate, that’s my news for this week. Thank you for tuning in. Let’s mount the first steps of 2024 together and see what’s over the ridge.
I hope the surgery for the Dupuytren’s contracture goes well.
I can appreciate the conundrum of Richard’s request and your commitment to your cat. Adult life is full of the consequences of the decisions we make.
I’ve never owned a cat so I’m not familiar with the meowing problem. I expect it would annoy me in the extreme.
It would annoy anyone who has hearing guaranteed. Dogs? Thank you re the surgery. It will be good to get it done.
I’ve lived with a dog for many years. He was a wedding gift from my brothers. He died aged 13 and I’ve not wanted to live with another dog.
I guess I am plain and simply an animal person, Gary. I find them so much more generous than the average human and most noble. I like coming home to a furry friend after my day. Will probably always have one. Happy 2024.