It’s a dog’s world…..

The other day I was in a store on the hunt for a replacement battery for my cell phone. While in the electronics department, I found myself standing at the customer service counter next to a youngish couple with a very upscale baby carriage. Awwwww, I do have a particular weakness for babies. Bending my head slightly to sneak a peek at the little passenger in the carriage, instead of an infant looking back at me, I came eye to eye with a very diminutive little Yorkie. The little furball was equally as surprised to see my face looming over it I’m sure, as I was to see hers. The woman standing next to the carriage caught me peeking, and said, “that would be Sadie”. I might have guessed Sadie to be her name, as it was embroidered in bright pink letters across the bib of the little dress the animal was wearing. Her outfit was an ensemble look apparently, because beneath the dress, layers of deep pink netting could be seen poking out stiffly on all sides. “Hello, Sadie”, I said to the little face. I complimented the owner on how cute the dog was. The dog was so cute. Cute or not, the jury is still out for me on dogs in tutu’s, but let’s face it It’s a dog’s world these days. People can be seen walking or jogging along the street pushing strollers carrying animals of all sizes and descriptions. Dogs are present in stores, on planes, under tables in restaurants, and supporting their teams at sporting events in ever increasing numbers. This is not a new concept really, but does seem to me to be more prevalent of late. Now don’t misunderstand me, I love, love, love animals. It’s just sometimes I think we tip the pendulum a little bit too far. Back when Rick and I owned the restaurant, we had friends who had two Shih Tzu’s. The dogs, so their owners claimed, carried better pedigrees than most members of the royal family. They were their “babies”, they would say, and were treated as such. The dog’s closets were chock full of rung after rung of poles filled with small hangers on which hung clothing often of finer fare than my own. A small chest close by held their accessories such as hair bows and rain boots. The little prince and princess boasted outfits for every occasion, from holidays to bat mitzvahs , or whatever else your imagination might conjure up. Treats were purchased for them at the upscale Dogg-E Bakery in a nearby city, where everything was “baked with puppy love, fr esh with fresh ingredients”. The dogs traveled with their owners to every appointment from hair dressers to luncheon engagements, that local health regulations would allow. They even came to our door one Halloween night to trick or treat. Each pup carried a little plastic pumpkin dangling from the front of their collar. The male came dressed as a pirate, with a heavily listing stuffed parrot perched atop one shoulder, while the little female was appropriately attired in gown and tiara as sleeping beauty. With no dogs in our house to mooch a treat for them from, I got creative and deposited a piece of string cheese inside each pumpkin. This seemed to do the trick, as tails a’wagging, they went on their way to the neighbor’s house to see what goodies they could score over there. The couple who owned these pampered pooches had done very well for themselves over the years. This high level of success now allowed them to enjoy the fruits of their labors, including a gorgeous estate with an in-ground pool and spectacular lake views. The doggy quarters were situated on the downstairs level of this spacious home on the third floor level. Though the pups pretty much had the run of the place, as evidenced from the vast array of squeaky toys and bones distributed across the carpets, if warn out from their day they could retire to their custom doghouse to wind down. The canine abode had been built to closely resemble the main living quarters, and did so with impeccable attention to detail. Like the larger model, the doghouse was replete with wall to wall carpeting, piped in music, circulating heat in the winter, and A/C during the hotter summer months. Aside from the posh accommodations, the animals enjoyed daily pool privileges, floating about on their own little floats, and ate filet mignon three days of the week. Looking back, they lived higher on the hog, so to speak, then most humans.

When I look at the inequities in life, it always makes me wonder at the why’s of it all. Here these two furry pets were treated like royalty, while other dogs are destined to live out their lives chained to a stake in some overgrown backyard, totally neglected, and without adequate food, water, or attention. The human equation can often look much the same. Imagine being born to say someone like Taylor Swift. Her offspring would come into their life with an enormous head start on most of us who have been toiling away for decades. Before that child had even taken it’s first step, it would have already achieved more wealth and status than most of us could ever dare to imagine in a lifetime of trying. Conversely, there are children born into families with little enough in their pockets already to feed the existing family members on the scene. These people may never look down at their plate to find a filet mignon resting on it, rather grateful for a little rice in their bowls. I wonder about these stark differences in lifestyles, but try not to stay on that track too long, lest I begin to derail.

Life will never be deemed fair or equitable, I am guessing, and I’m not knocking spoiling pets. Believe me, I understand furry love, because I feel such a strong connection with Boo, the Queen of Cats. She is a standing member of our family, though truth be known, she’s more of a lying down member. Cat sleeps 99% of the time. I do know one thing for sure, Boo would never subject herself to such debasing behavior as allowing me to dress her up, nor would I ask her to. We both have our standards. However, I have been known to travel a far piece out of my way to pick up those special soft chicken she gobbles up every day, and she does have her own comfy cozy furry bed to curl up in at night, and my lap available to her for a goodnight stroking before she heads into my room for the night.

I take her to the vet twice a week these days to get a hydration injection to help manage her ongoing kidney failure. She is in no pain, but eventually it will become more serious and we will have to begin the sad process of saying our goodbyes. I cannot put into words how much I will miss her energy in my life. Her willingness to accept me however and whenever she sees me, no matter whether I’m filthy from digging in the yard, in a mood that is, shall we say, less than welcoming, or simply just being my silly self. This unconditional love she offers me is unparalleled anywhere else in my world.

She has come to take the treatments necessary in stride, submitting herself passively to the injections with dignity. Yesterday, while Boo was tucked in her crate waiting in the vet’s outer office to go inside, a middle aged woman came in the door trailed by a small poodle. The poodle’s fur, like her owner’s hair, was dyed a vivid green, with both parties having nails of a similar hue. The poodle was wearing a small ball cap with ear holes and had on a harness cinched around his middle with images of tiny colored balloons splattered all across it. They were quite a bright sight, I have to say. Boo watched them go by with some interest through the door in her crate. I can’t say for certain, but I think I saw the cat actually roll her eyes. Such a snob that one. Whew.

Today there is a going away party in progress at work for an exiting employee. I am not in attendance because someone has to man the phones at the front desk. It’s okay with me really. I could attend, if I had a strong desire to do so. It would be as simple as finding cover for the phones. Truth is, for whatever reason, today I’m not particularly in a mood to socialize. Also pizza is on the menu. Pizza is a food I really have to be in the mood for before I indulge. As I said, I am not in the mood, either for pizza, or holding up my end of a bunch of casual conversations. I couldn’t tell you why, but I find I’m in a rather quiet, reflective mood today. It just is. I didn’t sleep well last night, which likely is part of it, and occasionally I seek out only my own company while dealing with any current unresolved issues that might be percolating in my mind. I did notice, sticking with the original animal theme of this post, a golden retriever has joined the crowd in the conference room enjoying all the festivities. I am familiar with this dog. On Monday’s, Capt’n Tom, arrives with his owner to smooze with the residents here and earn his service dog chops. A large golden retriever, gentle by nature, and a lover of people, Tom has on his party hat and is finishing up the last licks off off the side of a plastic bowl the contents of what looks to have been vanilla ice cream.

I think the quiet in my soul right now is more contemplation than anything. Things are buzzing in my world these days. I’m moving in a sometimes sideways and other times times forward direction toward taking up residence with Richard. We have been together now nearly three years. I cannot keep up with traveling back and forth every week like a nomad forever. I am grieving the idea of losing my sweet little house, on the picturesque tree lined street, in the lovely little town I live in. However, things, at least in my life, rarely stay the same forever. Change always lurks in the inevitable. I am nothing if not adaptable, so tend to roll with the waves. My mother used to say if she dropped me off the balcony of the Empire State Building, I would land on my feet and be ready for dinner. A silly expression with a smattering of truth thrown in for good measure. There is also a small measure of fear at letting my complete independence float off into the distance. Not that Richard holds me tight to any rules, he does not. At this age, I would not allow it, if he attempted to do so. Nor, do I hold him with a taut rein. Yet, there is no way to live together without giving up a certain slice of independence for the sake of becoming part of a loving partnership. That slice, I will watch a bit longingly as it rounds the bend.

The loss of the house will resolve itself as old memories fade and new ones appear to take their place. I have come to accustom myself to being in his surroundings. Over the several years we have been seeing one another, things of mine have replaced things of his and it feels more like “our” space now than simply me residing in his house. Recently, he put a TV in the bedroom I use for my clothes and belongings. That’s a nice touch for me. I don’t watch a lot of TV, but when I do it is definitely not the TV he likes to watch. There are some shared programs we both like, but mostly his favorites are British dramas. I can watch some of them, but others move along at the pace of molasses rolling out of a jar, and often my eyelids are flying at half mast by the first commercial. Another thing, he LOVES is Nascar. Ach. I believe I’ve earned my racing badge already. I dated a guy about twenty years ago who was a frustrated race driver. He watched so much of the racing footage on television, I sometimes heard the engines roaring in my sleep. When it wasn’t on TV, he liked to attend local races on the weekends in person. Basically, the events went like this. Spectators sit in stands in the heat with no shade, while a cluster of cars raced by on the track, each car jockeying for the first position. The cluster would then disappear in a cloud of smoke and gasoline around the bend, and reappear again about five minutes later……and repeat. The whole idea of the event, I came to understand, was to wait expectantly for one of the drivers to do something incredibly stupid while moving at two hundred miles an hour and flip his vehicle ten times in the air before it became a rolling inferno possibly either killing, maiming, or fricasseeing the driver or other drivers in the process. This, from what I could ascertain, appeared to be the fun part. Oh. His obsession with the sport went so far as to include installing on his home computer attachments which included an actual steering wheel, gear shift, brake, clutch and accelerator. These were used in conjunction with software he installed to simulate races at real race courses allowing the user to feel like a participant if only virtually. After a “race”, he would come up and tell me he won, if that was the case. Really? There was some sort of childhood trauma mixed up in all that, I’m not qualified to sort out. Also, this love of fast cars and speed in general slopped over into his regular street driving. When behind the wheel of his van, he drove like he was participating in a simulated race, contributing to many of the gray hairs I have on my head today. Thank you, Ron.

Well, I seem to be meandering. Hope everyone honored dad on Father’s Day. Sometimes when I think of my father, and I do often, I wonder what life might have looked like with him in it. Twenty-five is too young to die, and I certainly would have loved to have a chance to get to know him. Again, life will take you where it will. Enjoy the ride. Happy Monday!

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Starry, starry nights…..

What a hectic morning, and it’s only 8:10 a.m. Sigh. I have observed, if something catastrophic is going to happen, it will insist on waiting until Friday when I have to work, the weekend, or for a real fun time, reveal itself on a holiday weekend to exact the full impact. The holiday weekend disaster is the big daddy of them all, absolutely assuring you won’t find anyone around to help you with that gushing faucet, or major A/C malfunction. The A/C, of course, will most likely choose the hottest day of the summer to gasp it’s last breath, I’m just sayin.

This morning was not catastrophic, but most certainly it was stress filled. I woke up at 4:30 to the sound of Boo throwing up on the pillow next to me. My poor sweet kitty is failing, in spite of all attempts to keep her going. To give credit where credit is due, she has managed to survive nineteen years thus far. Boo is an indoor cat who has enjoyed quite the pampered life, so this longevity is perhaps less miraculous than it might be for an outdoor cat who has spent their free time dodging cars and outrunning marauding wildlife, but nonetheless, it is still quite a few candles on a birthday cake even for a spoiled old feline. As with many older cats, as well as many older humans, Boo suffers from arthritis. Being a lady of a certain age, her little body can’t handle many of the medications that would help with pain management for her aching bones, so she suffers this infirmity with great dignity, rarely complaining. Added to the mix, she has been diagnosed with Stage 2 kidney disease. The kidney disease will continue to progress as time passes, with these episodes of vomiting becoming more frequent. As a human being who would rather saw off a toe with a nail file than throw up, I totally commiserate with her having to endure this. Looking at her face this morning, it tugged strongly at my heart to see the sadness in her eyes. Nausea is a miserable condition on the best of days, and it is painful for me to watch her go through this. The universe, I believe, is calling on me to act on her behalf to uphold her quality of life, and I have to say, it is with great deal of dread I am anticipating what that will mean as we move on down the road. To describe Boo as my pet, would be such an understatement. On many a dark night over the past decade, Boo has been the only living thing next to me to keep me going. During this time she has performed as friend, companion, soulmate, and gone above and beyond in general, doing all around duty to keep this human erect and propelling one step after the other in a forward motion. I have such gratefulness for being able to have shared all these years with her. We met first when she was six months old. Her original owner abandoned her in the local shelter stating the reason being she was a white kitty, and apparently shed on her furniture. I had been to three shelters at that point looking for a kitty to adopt. Thus far, the connection hadn’t been just the one I was hoping for. Probably that sounds a little silly to those of you not animal lovers, but I knew I’d know the right cat for me when I saw her, and turns out I did. Boo picked me really. I was walking down the aisles of cages when a white paw reached out tentatively through one of the cages, inserting a claw gently in the knee of my jeans, stopping my progress. Leaning down, I found a scared looking white face with big blue eyes and a pink nose staring back at me. “Take me home please” her expression said. “Sold”, said I! The cat managed to emanate grace, even under such difficult conditions, and has turned out to have a deep and abiding soul, that never ceases to impact me. I do love her so.

Getting the sheets off the bed, and cleaning Boo up, I decided it was at last time for my first cup of coffee. Switching the light on in the kitchen, I was dismayed to find a hundred tiny little ant soldiers scurrying about my counter. These ants lately are the scourge of my existence. I have been fighting the little so called “sugar ants” for weeks now, since they showed up after the last good rain. I keep my counters spotlessly clean, have tried spraying them with vinegar, but still the persistent little buggers continue to be a problem. This morning, I laid out a line of cayenne pepper along the trail they seem to favor. This seemed to temporarily stopped them, but I feel there are many more behind the walls, getting their game plan ready for the next assault. Richard said he put Borax down, and that took care of the colony he had. Perhaps when Boo and I are at his house, I will try putting some of that down here. I hate the thought of having to call a pest control person. Number one, they are expensive, and secondly, you usually have to sign up for repeated visits to get them to come out. Sigh. I read a while ago mixing sugar with baking soda is a good home remedy. I will definitely put this idea to good use if I find them on my counter again tonight.

In spite of all this confusion clogging up my gray matter, I somehow made it to work on time. We are enjoying “team building spirit days” with today having been called out as “green day”. I foraged through my closet, and finally came up a green blouse, pulled a green ball cap over my golden locks, and called it good. One does one’s best to comply.

Everything feels a bit chaotic to me the past few weeks. From what I’m hearing from my circle of friends, it would seem I don’t have the monopoly on chaos. According to stories being shared, it seems to be a time of disruptions for everyone. I’ve heard it over and over again from people over the past several weeks about electronic failures, car problems, computer glitches etc., the latest account being this morning on my way to work. A dear friend of mine was headed for the airport to begin the first leg of a trip to Chicago. The plan was for her to catch a plane in LA going to Seattle, meet a friend there, and then the two of them would travel on together to Chicago. Her friend is getting married and this is trip is by way of a pre-wedding shopping extravaganza to fill out her trousseau. Unfortunately, there was a snarl of traffic and my friend missed her flight by five minutes. The plane, sans my friend, is soaring over the Pacific as I write this, with at least one empty seat. Update, she got another flight to Seattle so life, as they say, goes on. Whew. We are functioning under a mercury retrograde at the moment, with travel plans always likely to be disrupted or make life feel a bit more loosey goosey. I know, speaking for myself, I’m just exhausted. I’d go get another cup of coffee in the break room. but the way things are going I’d probably end up with the roof caving in on me or sustaining a third degree while pouring the coffee in my cup.

According to Almanac.com

Three to four times a year, the planet Mercury appears to travel backward across the sky. We refer to these periods as times when Mercury is in apparent retrograde motion or simply ”Mercury retrograde.” To those who practice astrology, these times were traditionally associated with confusion, delay, and frustration. Think undelivered love letters, email blunders, and frazzled travel plans! This is an excellent time to reflect on the past, however, and it’s said that intuition is high during these periods. Coincidences can be extraordinary.

Whether you believe in the powers of the stars and the planets or not, you cannot ignore the fact that when such celestial occurrences are transpiring in our universe, they often appear to have an effect those of us traveling about this planet. The sun, the moon, all things in heaven and earth, Horatio, cannot be denied.

The pull of our planetary system is well documented. Statistically, more heinous crimes are likely to be committed several days before, during, and after a full moon. It is hypothesized that this is due to the human tidal waves created by the gravitational pull of the moon during these periods. Also, hospitals report more emergency room activity during a time of a full moon.

Astrology, or study of the stars and planets, has it’s roots in the beginning of time. People began with the study of seasons and branched out into the effects our skies have on the earth and it’s inhabitants. Today, of course, people study astrology in depth, some planning their lives with the stars to guide them. As always, I am fascinated by how little we really know about our amazing universe after populating it all these many years. Perhaps someday, long after I am planted somewhere, it’s secrets will be revealed. There is part of me that believes we cannot handle the truth so are better left with our speculations to dream on.

Happy Saturday to you. Check your travel plans twice before you venture on the road. The retrograde will be over on the 24th for those of you who put stock in such things.

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Una visita al dentista, ole!

So, the monster storm predicted ominously by the weather forecasters moved through California weekend before last. Though it packed plenty of wallop wind wise, it did not bring with it the predicted amount of heavy precipitation, at least not to our area. Though we always need the water, had this storm made good on the predictions for rainfall, it would probably have been too much water at one time for the ground the absorb. In the end less, than more. was a good thing. Also on the plus side, according to those in the know, our reservoirs have reached high enough levels with this month’s precipitation, to see us through the summer months. That is good news as our rainy season started off a little sluggish. Water and capturing enough of it, is always of major concern in our state. Though flooding was not a problem, again in our area, there were the usual side effects expected with a spell of bad weather. Power outages were reported by PG&E, and many people ended up with trees or large branches down in their yards. There were enough small branches scattered about in my yard to make a nice fire, but fortunately nothing major fell to the ground, unless, of course, you count my back fence. I guess if I owned the house, this would seem more major. Instead, as a renter, it is more of an inconvenience. The shame of it is, the fence, a shared border with my neighbor to the west, was recently repaired. For three years there was a significant hole in the center of one of the panels which had been cleverly plugged with a tree stump to keep the neighbor’s dogs in their own yard. The stump, protruding through the hole on both sides, made for an interesting conversation piece when I had people over, but wasn’t particularly aesthetically pleasing. Two workmen spent several weeks erecting a lovely new fence less than a month ago. The result of their hard work is now resting in a large puddle on my lawn. Sigh. I looked out during the crux of the storm to see my neighbor’s small white dog perched happily in the middle of the boards, probably delighted to find itself with access to a much larger space to deposit it’s morning meal. I feel bad for my landlords because it will be their job to replace it, and they are the best, but life does what it does. If that’s the worst thing I have to deal with this year, I’ll keep the smile firmly in place on my face.

Here I am almost ready to go back to work again. Where do the weeks go? I can’t believe it’s already the middle of February, and Valentine’s Day has come and gone. I went to the Hallmark store last week and found a card and some candy for Richard. To be honest, I was just excited to find a Hallmark store. There aren’t many of them around anymore. I remember when there was a Hallmark Store in every mall. I waded through a sea of Valentine’s cards struggling to find one that expressed the sentiment I wanted to convey. Either they were too mushy mushy, just plain silly, or missing a good attempt at being funny. Who’s writing these? I think I’ll get in on it. I can make poor attempts at humor with the best of them, and would be happy to collect a paycheck for doing it. Maybe they’ve run out of greeting card humor so they are just stuck with the same old script, mostly jabs at your age, potty humor, or really sappy verse.

I realize a card and some candy might not seem very creative. Truth is, I never know what on earth to get for the man. Richard seems to have everything. As yet, anything I have asked him to produce by way of tools, kitchen utensils, gadgets, or office equipment, he has managed to pull out of his magic bag. I feel if I asked him for a feather from a white peacock, one of the rarest creatures on earth, one would be seen fanning itself beyond his sliding glass door before I got the words fully formed in my mouth. Just when I figure out Valentine’s Day, his birthday shows up. I do have somewhat of a handle on that. A surprise party is in the works. Thus far, fingers crossed, I believe he hasn’t got a clue what is being planned. The whole thing threatened to be unseated when he suddenly decided to take an unexpected trip down to Mexico to get his teeth looked at. At first, he seemed determined to be gone over his birthday. I derailed that thought as soon as it got formed. To give credit where credit’s due, it was the Super Bowl that actually derailed it allowing me to divert it onto another track. Richard wanted to be home in time to watch the 49ers win in the comfort of his own living room on February 11th. Sigh. In order to accomplish that goal he would have to leave the week before or the week after the game. If he left after the Super Bowl, my birthday plans for him would have been in the wind. Not wanting to begin at the beginning once again and replan everything, I applied a little subtle convincing. “His teeth”, I gently reminded him, were not something he could ignore (all truth in that). That and the lure of the Super Bowl in the end had the fifth wheel out of storage, packed, and Richard headed south to the dentist.

I believe I may have mentioned when writing about out 60 day road trip last year, we stopped in Yuma, Arizona. While in Yuma, Richard had made plans for me us to cross the border into Los Algodones, Mexico to get me a dental examination. Los Algodones, is a Mexican border town whose businesses focus is almost entirely on dental offices and opthomology practices. Before Richard, I had certainly heard of places south of the border providing cheaper medical care, but never thought seriously about going there myself. I needed a new dental prosthesis. According to my dentist this was going to cost me about three months rent. With that in mind, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to at least review less expensive options available to me. We arrived at the parking lot on the American side of the border crossing bright and early in the morning. Thankfully, my appointment was at 9:30, because the relentless desert sun was already beating down hot enough overhead to make my upper lip bead up. My brand new, as yet unblemished Canadian passport, as well as all my relevant identification from birth until that point, was tucked away safely in my purse. Walking along in silence with eight or ten other people, we passed two very heavily armed and extremely serious looking Mexican border agents on our way through the gate. Seeing the looks on their faces I did not want to find myself being detained for any reason at customs for questioning.

As quiet as it had been outside the gate, once inside the town, we found it to be literally a beehive of activity. Shuttles with advertising painted on their sides moved up and down the unpaved streets headed to this clinic or that. Drivers were pulling up to the curb one after the other gathering up potential patients to be deposited for visits all over town. It was a very well oiled machine from the looks of it. Blinking neon pharmacy signs hung above buildings on nearly every corner as far as the eye could see. I was to come to find out most any prescription you could have filled here in the U.S. could be bought over the counter down there at a far reduced price. You could almost see the dollar signs floating about in the dusty air. Men, I would guess employed by the clinics, were communicating on walkie talkies in rapid Spanish while yelling orders across the crowded street to their compadres. I have to say these guys were very helpful in getting us our ride, and showing us where to go to wait to be picked up. Once inside the very impressive lobby of the clinic, I checked in and we sat down in the middle of what looked to be mostly American faces waiting to be seen. The man seated to my right was explaining to me he and his wife had saved about two-thirds on their dental bills by getting their dental work done at the clinic. They lived in Yuma, making it much more convenient for them, obviously, to pop down to Los Algodones now and again for whatever they needed to have done. Driving or flying in from Sacramento didn’t seem, to me at least, quite as practical, for a dental appointment. By the time you factor in an airline ticket or the gas to get there, I can imagine the savings go down exponentially. I’m just saying.

At any rate, when my turn came, I was called into a well appointed examination room. After a brief examination by the dentist, xrays were taken and I was given a magazine and asked to wait until they were read. Kay. The door, left open, allowed me to watch the constant stream of people flowing in and out of this office. They must make a fortune on any given day. It made me think of a recent news story I’d heard about drug sales in the U.S. as compared to other countries in the world. Pharmaceutical companies in the states are raking in money so fast they don’t know what to do with themselves. The same drug purchased here here as compared to say the U.K. could be maybe five times more or higher. It’s ridiculous. I cannot for the life of me understand why something isn’t legislated about it in Congress, but then they are too busy picking nice ripe tomatoes to throw at one another to notice people are suffering under their watch. Ah, sorry, my political bug bit me this morning and I had to scratch it.

Once the xrays were reviewed by the dentist, a treatment plan was discussed. I was then taken into an office where an estimator gave me the bottom line figures to get my removable three unit bridge done. $450 was the estimated cost, including xrays. This, as compared to $4,200 quoted by my local dentist. Sold. Once the impressions were taken, there was to be a fitting the following day for any needed adjustments, and I could pick up my new appliance the day after. Whooo-hoo. It has only been five months since I got my bridge, but so far I couldn’t be more pleased. I will go back for major work should I need it in the future, but will not stopping by just to get a cleaning any time soon.

Soooooo, that’s my story for a Thursday. I am still sopping up my tears after the 49er loss on Sunday at the Super Bowl. My boo boo lip refuses to deflate. We were so close, but close only counts in horseshoes and grenades, as the saying goes. Ah well, there’s always next year. I’m still reeling from the shooting incident at the rally in Kansas City to celebrate their victory. Shooting people seems to have become the norm when dealing with disagreements or grudges here in the U.S. Scary to think of it. Children were wounded. It seems so unnecessary and continues to happen alarmingly often. I don’t know what the answer is, but there certainly needs to be some changes made.

On a lighter note, hope you had a Happy Valentine’s Day!!!!!

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Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?

The beginning of last week started on an upbeat note. The fall weather was perfect when I kicked off the week with a fun trip to Lake Tahoe on Monday with my dear friend Nancy. However, by Tuesday there were a few clouds on the horizon. Sniffles and a sore throat had appeared out of nowhere overnight, and as the day progressed I felt, in spite of having gotten my flu shot, I might have picked up a flu bug during my travels. Every muscle in my body took turns sounding off for the next two days, even my teeth hurt. I had no energy, and lost all interest in food, finding only peanut butter and jelly appealing, and even that perfect pairing sounded only vaguely tempting.

To add to the mix, Boo, The queen of cats, has been dealing with some health issues of her own of late. Boo, is a senior cat. Along with the title “senior” come all kinds of bells and whistles they don’t mention in the brochure when extolling the magic of the golden years. The vet had prescribed some medicine for parasites which I was instructed had to be administered orally every day for five days. They gave her the first dose while I was in the office, the rest would be up to me. Boo, I have to say is highly resistant to being medicated. Internally, I groan every time she is given anything needing to be administered orally. The cat is, in the politest terms, is one finicky feline. She only eats kibble, acting as though I’m trying to poison her if I offer her a piece of tuna or a spoonful of Fancy Feast. Because of that, hiding a pill in her food is not an option. Have you ever tried to hide a pill in a kernel of kibble? Not happening. On several occasions I have attempted to use a pill syringe. In theory, you load the pill in one end of the syringe and then depress the other end to pop the pill into their throat. You then gently rub the animal’s throat until they have swallowed the pill. In theory, as I said, this is supposed to work. Boo, has not read the book on this theory. I did this numerous times with her, only to find the pill sitting on the floor five minutes later.

Before I was to give her the second dose, it became evident the parasite medicine was not agreeing with her. Older cats sometimes do not tolerate medicine well. She seemed a bit funky to me, but I was in bed shivering under three blankets trying to survive so not much help. With her rescuer needing rescuing, she had no choice but to crawl up in bed with me where we suffered in silence together.

At around three am I awoke to find the cat being sick on my pillow. Dragging out of bed, I got up to help my sweet kitty. I removed the sheets and pillow cases, tossed them in the washer, then laid down on the bare mattress cover, pulled the blankets back over myself, and went back to sleep. By morning, Boo was much improved, unfortunately, I was not.

I had a doctor’s visit in place that morning already so decided to ask him about the bug. Maybe an antibiotic was in order, or at least some prescription cough medicine? Sick or not, I needed to make this appointment. My third primary physician had jumped ship mid summer and it had taken me this long to get an appointment with his replacement. Before leaving the house I took a COVID test which resulted in inconclusive findings. Hmmmm. At the doctor’s office they tested me for both flu and COVID to cover all bases, though the doctor felt it was more likely a head cold. Now, I’ve had a head cold or two over the years and don’t remember them feeling like this, but I didn’t spend a decade in medical school so what do I know? Later in the day I got a call, it was not the flu. Good, because I had had the flu shot early in the season and would like to think it was somewhat effective. Yay.

That afternoon, while eating a bowl of pineapple, I realized it had no flavor. I could as well have been shoveling a piece of cauliflower in my mouth. Oh-oh. Oh, man. Yup, sure enough, I got the results of my test later in the day, and I was showing COVID positive. This makes the second time I haven’t been able to outrun that pesky old bug. Makes me wonder if every year, like the flu, it’s going to show up and make itself known. I had been planning on getting the latest and greatest shot next week, but now it will have to wait a couple of months.

Richard was kind enough to volunteer to be my nurse, and I highly recommend him. He covered my feet with blankets, made me soup, and generally saw to it I didn’t fade away. Go Richard. At one point I was freezing and could not get warm. My teeth were littering clanking together so he wrapped me up in an electric throw like a pig in a blanket and in about twenty minutes I was toasty. It is amazing how far a little TLC will go when dealing with feeling under the weather.

Thankfully, my sense of taste and smell returned over the weekend. Some people suffer long term effects, there are even those who have no restoration of either sense after months. I surely did not want to be dealing with that. A foodie with no taste and smell really isn’t worth her salt if you’ll excuse the pun.

I managed to check off every box on my way through the disease cycle. Sore throat and runny nose, check. Aches, check. Chills, check. Taste and smell, check and check. Fatigue, I’ll give this one a check and a gold star. The thing about COVID, is it presents itself with so many faces. Just when you think you are done with it, something new shows up to prove you wrong.

It took nearly two weeks for it to run it’s course. This is better than the first time, where it took nearly a month and included COVID brain which is one side that didn’t come with my order this time, at least not yet. COVID brain lowers your IQ to just above a flamingo. I say this because from what I’ve read flamingos are not the most intelligent avians in the bird world. We are all blessed with our gifts. Flamingos are beautifully pink graceful birds, who live in large flocks so do not have to hone highly developed cognitive skills. Thankfully, some gray matter seeped back in and restored my thinking processes to nearly their optimum pre COVID potential. Yay.

So here I am back at work, and once again wearing a mask. Sigh. Because it is almost Halloween I put my face decals I was going to wear on the outside of my mask rather than on my face. People have been commenting on my “kitty face” all day, so at least that was a success. I keep testing positive though I’m well beyond the isolation period. Until I come up with a negative test, I will again be masked when behind my desk. That’s okay, I wouldn’t want to get anyone else sick.

So that was the last two weeks in a nutshell. Perhaps 6,000 miles in thirty days left me a little tired and more vulnerable than I realized. Or, perhaps I would have gotten it again in any case.

The good news, at least in my world, is I feel much improved as of this writing. Hope this finds you healthy and happy as well, and ready for the holidays. Hmmmmmm. Are we ever truly ready for the holidays? I wonder. They always seem to sneak up on me like a cat burglar in the night suddenly in my face and demanding my full attention. Where are we going for this dinner and that, and what do I need to cook or contribute? Who wants what from Santa, and how much weight will my bank account sustain before Santa hits the bottom of the well? So many questions. Just when you drag all your decorations out, put your tree up, hang the lights in the eaves, throw some logs on the fire, and sit back to enjoy it all, the holidays are over for another year and you must put everything back where you retrieved it from once again. In spite of doing this dance every single year since I was handed my adult wings, I still look forward to with giddy girlish enthusiasm as October rolls off the calendar.

Happy weekend!!!

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It’s raining parrots and dogs…..

Tuba City, Arizona was next on our list. The name peaked enough curiosity in me to have me look up its origins. The city, the largest in the Navajo Nation, boasts 8,611 citizens, or at least according to the 2020 census. I knew it was larger than many we had passed through since leaving Moab, because there was a McDonald’s sign evident when we rolled into town, and according to my phone search, a super Walmart somewhere within the city limits. This is how I’ve come to gauge what size town we are dealing with since being on the road. According to what I read, city was named by Europeans for a Navajo chief, Tuuvi, who converted to the Mormon religion and allowed Mormon settlers to populate the region. In the Navajo language it translates to “tangled waters”, most likely referring to the many underground springs in the area. Probably more information than you needed about Tuba City, but now if you’re ever asked about Tuba City at a dinner party you’ll have the information close at hand.

The Tuba City RV park offered the least amenities of any since we began. There were bathrooms and a laundry area, but no WIFI (I know!!), no cable, and my phone got spotty reception at best. There is actually a lovely sense of freedom associated with being unplugged. You can’t contact anyone, but conversely, no one can contact you. It was a lovely couple of days of total reflection for which my body and mind thanked me soundly for.

Once again settling in for our stay, that first night I didn’t sleep well because I knew the big daddy of gorges was on the horizon the following morning, the Grand Canyon. During all my travels across country, no matter how many times I planned a side trip to visit the area, something always got in the way of my visiting the park. It seemed I was destined never to cross it off my bucket list. Until now, here I was. Oh boy. I got up early and was ready and raring to go at 8:00 a.m., as we’d discussed the night before. The canyon was a fifty mile drive from Tuba City, which would put us there around mid-morning. The weather was looking a bit iffy as we wound our way up the mountain road. Clouds had begun to move in, and the darkening sky was looking more and more ominous. Roh-roh. Fortunately, the sun peeked out long enough here and there to allow me to get some good pictures on the way up. Like most people we met along the way, I was wearing shorts in anticipation of high seventies being the prevailing temps. Thankfully, I’d thrown both a light and heavy jacket in the back of the truck, simply because I am familiar with how Murphy works and wanted to be prepared. By the time we reached the visitors center at the south rim of the canyon, it had turned downright blustery. The temperature had easily dropped by ten degrees, and the wind had picked up considerably. The walk to the rim is not a hike by any means, but not a hop, skip and a jump either. Richard, as I’ve said, is dealing with a hernia, Not feeling up to the walk, I left him sitting on a bench by the visitor’s center, and made my way to the rim on my own. Raindrops had begun to drop haphazardly on my head, and lordy was it getting chilly. Goosebumps had risen up on every inch of my bare skin, but I pressed forward. By God, I was going to see the Grand Canyon even it began to snow. There are viewing areas that jut out far over the vast expanse of canyon stretching out below the rim. I made my way down the path along with other hearty souls. Lightening flashed intermittently above me in the dark clouds churning overhead, followed quickly by loud bursts of thunder. I began to feel I might only have moments to capture some photos before being battered and crisply fried. Whew. Looking down into the great abyss, I thought of something Richard had mentioned earlier in the day. Somewhere up there was a place where you can walk out on a glass sky walk and actually be able to see down below you to the canyon floor. That must be an experience. Not one I’m signing up for anytime soon, but I’m just sayin.

Miraculously, I didn’t go up like a Roman candle before pushing through the wind to get back to Richard, who, unexpectedly, wasn’t seated on the bench where I’d left him. I searched the area to no avail. What? My goosebumps now looked more like anthills, and my teeth had begun to chatter alarmingly. I spotted the visitor’s center and ducked inside. Heat, glorious, glorious, heat. Ahhhhh. I decided I would never leave there, but simply stick a tag in my ear and, take up residence in the stuffed animal section. My phone, suddenly deciding to cooperate, rang. It was Richard. He was waiting for me at the shuttle area where we were to grab a ride to the restaurant he wanted to take me to for lunch. K. Couldn’t we just get a snack in the visitor’s center? But, no. Pushing back out into the now steady rain and cold, I met up with him under the awning at the shuttle pick up area. Brrrrrrr. I would have held an elderly person up for their pants at that moment without guilt, if the opportunity had afforded itself. Finally, the bus arrived, and we were temporarily dry and warm until we got to our destination, which was El Tovar. El Tovar, is a famous eatery perched on the lip of the canyon. On sunny days the restaurant’s bank of windows, offer up spectacular views. Richard’s aunt worked as a waitress there for eight years during the season when a girl, he told me, and it was important to him we eat there. Got it. Reluctantly getting off the shuttle, the rain had eased up a bit. Access to the lodge where the restaurant was housed required going up numerous flights of stairs. By the time we reached the top Richard and his hernia were locked in a desperate battle, and I needed a respirator. Ascending at that height leaves you with little wind to sustain yourself I assure you. Once inside the lodge, it was lovely and warm. We added our name to the list of people waiting to eat and spent some time perusing the gift shop until we were called.

The restaurant, I would say, was not fine dining, but perhaps rested somewhere in between a high end hotel coffee shop and fine dining. We were given plastic utensils and the food was presented on paper plates due to the water shortage, which was the right thing to do given the situation. However, right thing or not, it couldn’t help but take away a bit from the ambience of linen tablecloths. Lunch was, um, acceptable. My sandwich, the special of the day, did not have one drop of moisture in it. I guess I am a bit of a restaurant Nazi, perhaps because Rick and I owned one, but to me it’s not that difficult, particularly for a talented chef, to present a good sandwich. Seriously. Two pieces of lovely fresh bread with something delicious tucked inside. In this instance, it was not about the food, but rather the experience, which was lovely. By the time the bill was paid the sun had reappeared and the rain had stopped. Yay.

Back out to the rim I trekked to get some additional photos before getting back in the truck to head back to Tuba City. This time it was warm, and the sun dominated the sky. What a view. OMG. The cut in the earth seemed to go on forever. I have a dear friend who took the raft trip on the floor of the canyon. He told me he will never forget that trip. As amazing as the view is looking down, I can only imagine how impressive it must have been looking up.

Back in Tuba City for our last night there, Richard and I greeted our neighbor sitting on her stoop before going inside the fifth wheel. I have to say, you do meet some interesting folks along the way traveling like this. Tuba City was not short on characters to include on the list. This particular woman, I’d guess to be in her late fifties, occupied the fifth wheel next to us, our dining room facing her patio. The view was fascinating. From the yard decor, I got the impression she had been living there awhile, not like us passing through for only a day or two. There was a half circle of metal fencing cordoning off the entrance to her unit, which served as a dog run for the six dogs that regularly came and went through the front door. The menagerie included two tiny chihuahuas, each wearing hot pink sweaters, the cutest corgi on the planet, a Shetland sheep dog, what appeared to be a pit bull mix, and one larger breed I would guess to be a boxer with a little something else thrown in for good measure. They came and went through the door like the figures in a Swiss cuckoo clock, relieving themselves everywhere and anywhere in the yard. The woman mainly sat on her front steps talking on the phone. I began to wonder if she ever did not talk on the phone. A chain smoker, she was the type we used to refer to as a one match smoker. These smokers use a single match to light their first cigarette, then light the rest of them smoked during the day with the previous cigarette before it’s burned down. At one point, she brought in a substantial supply of Miller Life. From the looks of it, I assumed this stock would do to see her through the winter months. Where was she putting it all, I couldn’t help but wonder? These trailers are comfortable, but with all these animals, where does anything else go? As if six dogs in a small space wasn’t enough excitement, when I was coming back from my walk, she had added a large white parrot to her brood. The bird moved back and forth nervously, using her back as a bridge to travel from one shoulder to another. It’s not that this was so extraordinary, people do have multiple pets, but when you consider the size of her living quarters, it becomes somewhat more so. Cannot imagine what the inside of the trailer looks like, or if you’ll pardon, smells like. I do have to say though, they were very entertaining to watch.

The next morning we would pack up and head towards Albuquerque. I have been through there many times on my travels, but never stopped for a visit. Updates to come.

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Courage is being scared to death, and saddling up anyway…..-John Wayne

By the time we had eased into our second week in the road, Richard and I had established a pretty workable routine. As I have said previously, he and I have both things in common and our differences, like most couples. Aside from him being cold while I am breaking a sweat, I am a morning being where he leans more towards being a creature of the night. These things are workable.

That being said, unless we are leaving at the crack of dawn, I am usually the first one to greet the day, and I like it that way. I get a little personal space in the wee hours before the sun comes up, and, conversely, he gets time to himself later in the day. All good. I bring all my makeup etc. down into the dining area before I go to bed. I have discovered if I turn a paper towel roll on end vertically, and crank the lights full on over the sink, I can rest my makeup mirror on top of it and see perfectly. My mother used to call this female ritual, “putting her face on”. Richard has set up an extension cord next to the big mirror in the living room area, which allows me to dry my hair if he is still in bed. It all sounds a bit discomfiting, but it really isn’t. What you get used to, is what you get used to.

On our last day in Moab, Utah, I was up early as usual organizing the fifth wheel in anticipation of pulling up stakes the following morning, destination Tuba City, Arizona. The previous day, as I wrote in my last blog, we spent touring The Arches National Park. On, this, our last day in Moab, we were off to Dead Horse Point and to possibly to tour The Canyonlands National Park if there was time. Certainly, I had heard of The Arches before, but Dead Horse Point was totally unfamiliar to me. Richard, always a fountain of information, told me the park was named thusly because in the late 1800’s, a group of cowboys supposedly corralled a herd of wild mustangs there. The horses were taken to the top of a cliff overlooking the massive canyon dominating the center of the park. Keeping the horses contained, the men used the native brush to create a makeshift barrier to keep them from escaping. The animals were then left there to die of thirst, ironically with the raging waters of the Colorado River rushing past them 2,000 feet below. How much of this is myth and how much fact, I believe is still up for debate. This, as well as what compelled them to commit such a horrific act. Should it be a true accounting of what is actually occurred, what a sad tale to add to our history books. For me, who forwards a letter of condolence to the ant colony when I decrease their numbers by killing them off in my sink, I can’t fathom why people would do something like that to such beautiful creatures. When asking Richard what he thought their motive might have been, my guru lol, he conjectured times were tough back then. Staying alive in these new territories was a daily struggle. Theories are, they destroyed the horses so nobody else could use them to attack them. As so many things in our world, this too will remain an unsolved mystery.

At any rate, as we drove along the highway towards the park, I was again struck by how barren and unforgiving the landscape appears in the area. Not a building in site, just mile after mile of desolate expanse of land. I believe, and hope to be correct, the land around Dead Horse Point is part of the Ute reservation. There are many tribes represented in this area, so it is easy to get confused. At one point or another we would pass through Lakota, Hopi, Navajo, Apache, Comanche and Pueblo territories. I noticed when we went through the park gate at Dead Horse Point, Richard had to pay an admission fee. In most national parks there is no fee because of some annual pass Richard holds in his name. The fee is paid, pass or no pass, when on a reservation because the reservation lands are omnipotent and self governed, not bound by state laws.

Dead Horse Canyon was, well, I don’t have words really. The severe gouge in the land plummets a mile down at it’s deepest and reaches across seven miles. The river can be seen below winding and turning where the rocks permit. Water in the Colorado is at a low place due to drought conditions apparently, or so the man next to me was explaining. There is a moment when you are standing there where you can hardly take in the vastness of the place. Words such as awe inspiring or magnificent come to mind, but don’t seem to do it justice. As always, when standing at a place of great height, I wonder what it would be like to jump off and soar in the currents like the hawks circling overhead. Of course, you would only soar until you did not, and that would not be a pretty end I’m thinking. I decided to leave that to conjecture and simply enjoy the view. The eye of the camera is not as all encompassing as the actual seeing of a place, but it gives you a glimpse of what it is like so I have included some pictures.

After an hour or so the tour buses were lining up in the parking lot, so we moved on. That’s the thing about these magical locations, you must share them with others equally as excited to be there. I remember once going to see Bridal Falls in Yosemite. It was to be my first time in the park. Unfortunately, we had chosen peak season to go there so the floor of the beautiful park was a sea of cars and humans. Tourists were pushing and shoving at the bottom of the falls trying to get that perfect angle for a shot. As deafening as the falls were all I heard was everyone talking and cameras clicking. The second time I went, it was autumn. The leaves were turning, my breath lingered in the air, and the ground was hard and crisp as I walked along. Early in the morning, there were few people standing with us, and it was a far more moving experience.

We decided to pass on Canyonlands, and see it another trip. The following day was a full one with moving day once again along plus the lengthy drive to Tuba City, Arizona where our next pin in the map was. We had also planned stop to take a jeep tour at Monument Valley on the way to Tuba City.

Monument Valley is on the Navajo Reservation. Pulling into the parking lot well before noon, we found and booked a tour easily. Our carriage was to be a rather shop worn looking olive green jeep with a bobble head of a Chinese cow on the dashboard. Our guide, Larry. Larry, undoubtedly not his given name, was the best. I am a person with an inquisitive mind, who asks a lot of questions. My interest in history has been present in me as long as I can remember. Larry was a willing participant, enthusiastically providing me with information as we drove along. Drove along might be a bit of a misnomer here. I have been on trampolines with less spring. The road, a bright orange clay, darker when marked with puddles from the rain the night before, bore some very impressive potholes, and was not for the feint of heart. At one point, I think I actually left my seat and was suspended in mid-air for a full minute. When talking to the woman who booked our tour she had asked if we wanted an 1 1/2 hours or 2 1/2 hours, Richard was leaning toward the latter. I suggested we go for the shorter tour, this after looking at the road we were to take. Afterwards Richard said, “good choice”.

Monument Valley has been used as a backdrop for many movies over the years. Film crews, according to our guide, were watched closely by the President and Vice-President of the Navajo nation to ensure they leave the land as they found it. This was John Wayne’s favorite place he went on to say. Wayne helped name the impressive rock formations we were to see along our route when he was alive, and the names have remained in place ever since. The Mitten you see pictured above on the left, and on the right, The Three Sisters. As we toured the area, Larry would stop here and there at pivotal spots to allow us to take pictures. When you put the name with the rock monuments, you could understand how the names were chosen. My favorite was Snoopy. The rock formation looked exactly like the beagle resting on his back. This, as fate would have it, was the only picture I took while there that did not turn out. Sigh.

Larry told me much about the Navajo way of life. The Navajo Nation, he said, is 295,000 strong. The elders have persevered in their quest to keep the land in it’s natural state. There is no water source, so water must be trucked in. Electricity is provided by either generators or, for those who could afford it, solar. As to the Internet, I assume they have it, but I didn’t ask. From what I could see around me as we drove through the reservation, they were dealing with a lot of poverty. Every other sign we passed read “don’t drink and drive” which led me to believe they were dealing with other problems as well.

In the middle of the ride, the jeep made it’s way up a hill to a group of buildings. Most of the buildings were small shops selling Navajo art goods. Richard bought me a lovely bracelet at one of the stands. The young woman behind the table was so friendly, and truly beautiful. Her lush black hair was tied behind her clasped in a leather tie, but it was her smiling face that held your attention. I asked about the horse tethered under a thatched lean-to. I do love horses, and this one was a real beauty. Buckskin in color with a white blaze, he stood regally, wearing his saddle as if waiting for a rider to arrive. Turns out he was. His name, she told me, was Spirit, which suited him to a tee. The sign next to him read “Have your picture taken sitting on John Wayne’s horse.” Hmmmm, now John Wayne died in 1979. A horse might live for 28 years if lucky, so this for me was bit of a stretch. Perhaps Spirit was a descendant? That I might be able to latch onto. She asked if I’d like my picture taken. I declined, but asked if I could get a picture of Spirit, which I did.

Back at the origin parking lot, we thanked Larry for being so informative and interesting, and threw in a nice tip for his trouble. I felt sad to see him drive off. After a call to my chiropractor (kidding but not a bad idea), we hopped in the truck and pointed it towards Tuba, Arizona. The Grand Canyon was next on our list, and I have to tell you I had butterflies in my stomach.

Today is midway through our trip, marking two weeks on the road exactly. Talk soon.

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So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye…..

Last night I woke up every hour on the hour. The cat finally got down off the bed, a big concession for her, turned to offer me a look expressing her displeasure, and slept elsewhere to get some rest. Fine, dessert me in my time of need. My mind is ticking off the days until we embark on our trip, which is three, and checking off items I either have to do or have already taken care of. I have tried meditation, sleep aids, even considered a baseball bat, but my swirling thoughts will not be stilled. Sigh. On top of this endless “chattering” going on in my internal systems, I got my flu shot day before yesterday. Usually, a day or two following the shot, I find myself a bit listless. This year, however, I had full on stomach issues accompanied by a general all over lethargy. I don’t know why this was, but if you’re sacrificing your arm, don’t be surprised if you experience some side effects.

Today, since I’m at work, sleep could come easily to me. Unfortunately, it is a very slow day today, which makes staying alert more of a problem than if I was busy doing something to take my mind off of things. Yawn. For the last hour, I have been watching the fish in the aquarium in the lobby circle one way, and then….. watching them circle the other way. Riveting. At one point I actually dozed off with my fingernail resting against my cheek, only to wake up to find a slice across my one side of my face where the fingernail left an impression. There are two things keeping me here, one, I adore the people populating this building and care about their welfare, and, two the money, such as it is.

Recently, I have been approached regarding yet another part time job. There would be no “face time” at an office, everything in this new position would be accomplished remotely. This would fill in some of the thin spots in my budget, but I’m trying to decide if I want to add more to what already seems like a full agenda. That one is still TBD.

Part of my stressed out thoughts are devoted to leaving Boo for thirty days. Intellectually, I know she will be fine. Barbara, my friend who is moving in to watch both house and cat, has done so before. I don’t worry about that part of the program. However, I have never left my cat for this long in the past. She’s been with me nearly twenty years, so that is saying a lot. Perhaps my thinking she will pine away while I’m gone is more about me, then it is about her. Being quite long in the tooth, her kidneys are beginning to decline. I have included a pet sitter in the agenda, who will take her to get hydrated every week while I am gone. I cannot expect Barbara to go through the routine I go through to coax the cat in the carrier each Wednesday. This ritual, is something you need to pay another person to endure. Pet sitters are used to all manner of animals, and I have a found a competent one I trust to do the job. Hopefully, all will go seamlessly in my absence. As I watch my beloved feline begin to wane, it tugs at my heart in a powerful way. The penalty we pay for giving our hearts away, is the pain we have to go through when the subject of our devotion is no longer with us. It seems I must be willing to continue to suffer this, because I keep setting myself for another round of sadness. As my dear friend Nancy will say, look for the MBO’s in the situation (most benevolent outcomes), and then go on your way trusting the universe will proceed with unfolding the future as is planned whether you are there or you are not.

There is an ambulance and a fire truck parked outside at the moment. In a facility populated with older residents such as the one I work in, this is more the norm than the exception. The residents not needing assistance, usually gather in the lobby with me when emergency personnel are in the area, to see who is being transported, and to watch how the situation is resolved. I think this is, as well as obvious concern for the person involved, a relief it is not happening to them, and fear it could well be next time. There are quite a few falls reported here, and natural attrition as people fade out and new faces appear at the door. The falls, in general, are not due to negligence on the staff’s part, but more people here are quite often wheel chair dependent, or at the very least get around with the help of a walker. Walkers tend to be a little unsteady, and this is simply the result that follows. Let’s get real here, there is nothing glamorous about getting older. I was having a discussion this morning with a resident with regard to the fact her legs don’t perform well anymore. She uses a walker to get about, so what once would have been a simple walk down an aisle can now require a lot of effort on her part to get her from point A to point B. A lovely woman who, from all she has told me, has enjoyed a full life. A life, including being married to one man for the majority of it, who passed several years ago, with whom she created four children. Her offspring, and theirs, can often be seen at the front counter either signing in for a visit, or signing her out for an event outside of the facility. She is lucky. Some, are not so fortunate. I always wonder about their stories. Why does no one visit? With some of these residents it can be explained by they have simply reached an age where there no one left of their peer group to visit, or family is not nearby. Others of them do have family who could come to see them, but who apparently have made the choice not to. These are the people I keep in my heart the closest.

I believe I am as ready to leave my home and head out on the open road as I am likely to be at this point. Richard asked the other day if he needed to add a U-Haul to the list, since I seemed to be bringing everything but the patio furniture with me. A funny man, that Richard. I think we’ll manage without involving U-Haul in a transaction. How does one pack lightly for 30 days on the road? If we were going to say, Alaska, this would be an easier task. Depending on the time of year, of course. In winter, you would know to bring your woolies, your longies, and your anorak. My dilemma is, we are going first north to Yellowstone. The gentleman with whom I made the RV park reservation for our stay there, said, “don’t forget, we’ll probably be experiencing our first freeze around the time you get here”. Kay. Then, when making reservations in Yuma, Arizona, I asked that customer service person about the temperature, and she said ” “looks to be upwards of 100 degrees when you pass through here”. How, I ask, do you pack lightly for all that? I suppose on the minimalist side, I could include one pair of jeans, and then cut them off when we cross the Arizona border. Not.

There certainly has been enough weird weather to go around lately. Fires sparked by drought all across Canada, flooding in areas with too much rain, hurricanes brewing in the Gulf and out here it’s 98 one day and 74 the next. Night before last the “blue moon” shone brightly in the night sky. I gazed at it for some time out my bedroom window. Sometimes mother nature can be a bit of a show off, dipping into her bag of tricks to provide us with the most incredibly beautiful sights. Then, this morning, I woke up to the sound of rain coming down the gutters. Wow. A touch of fall is in the air, and I have to say I have put out the welcome mat in anticipation of its arrival. My house has begun the shift from bright sunny spring and summer colors, to the lovely earthy tones of autumn. Even though I won’t be here to enjoy them, they will be waiting for me when I walk back in the door.

All the big holidays are lining up as the pages of the calendar turn over. Before long witches and goblins will be roaming the streets, or as they do now, looking inside the the trunks of cars, in search of candy and treats. I will be dragging my Halloween decorations out of my storage bin and placing them around the house once again, and another birthday candle will be lit on my cake the day following Halloween. Life, as they say, marches on. It does seem lately it has picked up the pace considerably, but perhaps that is because I have fewer years before me then behind me now, and so time only seems to be passing more quickly.

Hope your holiday weekend is a good one. So many people on the road this year, and the weather, at least out here on the west coast, probably not what was hoped for for those of you with outdoor plans. Whatever the case, take pictures, make memories, enjoy the day whatever you are doing, and love the rain, it’s heavenly. Talk soon.

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All I have to do is dream, dream, dream….

I wonder if dreams really do hold significant meanings or are simply late night meanderings into the inane and often the ridiculous realms of our imagination? If, as they say, dreams actually mean something and truly are indicative of internal strife, then I, most likely, am in trouble.

Two nights ago I had a dream three armed men broke into my house. When they confronted me in the kitchen, I grabbed a butcher knife out of the knife block and defended myself by stabbing the leader in the stomach moments after he informed me he was going to kill me. Waking myself up before he could act on his threat, I was lying in a pool of my own juices shaking violently. Analyze that, I say.

Last night, on a lighter note, I was planning a wedding for my best friend in high school. I have not laid eyes on her since I was in my twenties, so have to wonder what brain crevice she popped up out of? The ceremony, I came to understand as the dream progressed, was to be held in the kitchen where I was standing. One could begin to wonder what issues I had with that particular room in the house considering my previous dream. From all indications, it was quickly becoming clear I was not a very good wedding planner. The stove top, which apparently was to be used as an altar of sorts, was littered with old pieces of cooked egg and all manner of greasy debris from previous uses. I remember thinking it definitely needed to be cleaned before the bride and groom arrived. Looking around the rather dark and depressing room, it occurred to me minutes before the guests were set to show up at the door, there were no indications a wedding was ever to be performed here. To begin with who gets married in the kitchen? I’m just sayin. A chef maybe, but definitely he would not choose THIS kitchen. There were no beribboned bouquets brimming with glorious celebratory flowers, no seating, other than four seedy looking chairs sitting around an equally dilapidated table, and no food, at least that I could see, unless you considered what was stuck to the stovetop. The wedding planner, that would be me, was still in her pajamas. All in all, it felt like an abysmal start to a successful pairing, if you will. One wonders what kind of tortured mind conjures up these sort of thoughts in the dark of night. From what I deduct, stress seems to be the star of the show, it just shows up in a different outfit from one night to the next.

The most frequent theme of my dreams over the past few years, as I’ve mentioned previously, is bears. Bears, bears, bears. According to the Native Americans, bear dreams hold particular weight signifying strength, power and resilience. Depending on whether the animals are inside or outside, angry or docile, or in the distance or close by, all mean something different from what I’ve read. On our upcoming trip we are spending three days in Yellowstone. I am truly excited at the prospect of at last seeing both Montana, a state I’ve missed in my travels, as well as the park itself. The grizzly population there, however, I find a bit unsettling. Also, I understand the mosquitos can be relentless, hunting you down in swarms, and devouring you until you are sucked dry. Bear spray and bug repellent are both on my list of things to pick up on shopping day, industrial size. Check and check. Somehow, imagining standing up to a huge powerful animal such as a grizzly, which I read can weigh upwards of 700 pounds, and spraying it in the face with something extremely irritating doesn’t feel like the right move to me. According to the park rangers, it is the correct strategy to employ. K. Then do you run? When does the wetting of pants occur? I saw the movie “The Revenant Bear”. I know there must be wetting of pants going on somewhere, and I’m pretty sure it’s coming from me. I can’t imagine the bear is simply going to stand there and take it. I plan to be somewhere else when the spray wears off.

The Grand Canyon should be amazing as well. Can’t believe after all these years in the U.S., I have never laid eyes on it. Excited about that. I have a friend who took a river trip down in the base of the canyon itself. Afterwards, he told me it was one of the most memorable times of his life. The guides made camp each night and cooked fabulous meals under the stars. The rapids were exciting at spots, but nothing mind blowing, if that’s not your pleasure. Other times they simply floated along looking up at the rock structures and enjoying the beauty and wildlife all around them. That could easily be added to my bucket list as well, and I might well do it one of these days. Nothing is off the table to my mind, other than swimming with sharks, and probably fly fishing in Alaska (lot of bears there too so I understand). Yesterday one of the residents where I work, well up in her eighties, on oxygen, and pushing a walker came to my desk to ask me to some research for her. I was most surprised and pleased she asked me to look up glider rides, plane rides, and helicopter rides. This is something she was interested in pursuing. Wow. Impressed with that. I will see what I can do for her and remind myself to explore every opportunity, within reason, of course.

On the news they reported not too long ago another person fell over the side of the Grand Canyon. I believe he survived, but he was lucky. I will not be standing at the precipice testing my luck I assure you. I tend to have that urge to fly when in very high places so Richard has informed me should I feel such a sensation, he will have tied a lanyard to my belt loop and then around a tree in case it overcomes my good sense. Good man.

We are also stopping in Taos, New Mexico. Taos, from what I understand, is an art lovers haven. While there, I want to visit the studios and also take in some of the historical landmarks as well, such as the Taos Pueblo. The buildings there are estimated to be over 1,000 years old, built before Europe emerged from the Dark Ages. I do love places saturated with history. Somewhere in my fevered mind I feel I was a druid in a former life. On reading about the history of druids, I was surprised to find there were females included in the writing. I will include this quote from the article I got that from. My apologies to the author, I’ve lost the link:

“Their practices were similar to those of priests today, connecting the people with the gods, but their role was also varied and wide-ranging, acting as teachers, scientists, judges and philosophers. They were incredibly powerful and respected, able to banish people from society for breaking the sacred laws, and even able to come between two opposing armies and prevent warfare! They did not have to pay taxes or serve in battle. Druid women were also considered equal to men in many respects, unusual for an ancient community. They could take part in wars and even divorce their husbands!”

I wish, while Rick and I were in England, we had been able to add Stonehenge to our list of stops. Now that, would be a fascinating place to visit I’m sure. It remains to this day a mystery how Neolithic people with the simplest of tools were able to erect such an engineering masterpiece. It was built to align with the sun on the solstices. According to historians, many ritualistic ceremonies were performed there. I always have a feeling when walking through ruins with such deep roots in the world, I am not alone, if you know what I mean. Stonehenge, like the great pyramids of Egypt, and the Tower of London must be truly flush with spirits. Smile.

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As to the Taos Pueblo, I was interested to read when the structure was originally built there were no doors and no windows. The multi-family living units shared common walls but no common doors and the rooms were entered from the top down on a ladder, rather than from the front or the back. I would have been totally claustrophobic I believe. Today, there are both. Much better, I’m thinking.

So many things to see along the road. I will be taking pictures everywhere I go. This next week will be jam packed with menu planning, stocking the fifth wheel, tying up all the flapping loose ends. There is a lot to planning a 30 day trip away from home. I am most blessed that my dear friend Barbara will be coming to share space with Boo so my house and my kitty will be well taken care of. Boo and Barb get along well, and have spent extended periods of time together in my absence in the past, so trust all will be well.

Well, I’m off for my day. Sunday, yay, no work for Susie today. Happy Sunday. Talk soon.

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What’s the buzz?…..

My mother always referred to herself “a hothouse flower”. This, I believe, largely because she preferred the sanctity of her home to being outside commiserating with the great outdoors. This preference for inside spaces could also have been because mother loved to cook, she enjoyed decorating her home, and a dinner party truly was her favorite way to entertain. Never in my memory did we spend much time as a family outside growing up. Though we had a lovely garden surrounding our home, it was my stepfather who was the gardener. For a man not imbued with a great joy for living or a celebrator of humankind, the man could create the most beautiful rose gardens I have ever seen. Mother, on the other hand, was abysmal at gardening. I’ve seen plants hang themselves simply on seeing her step onto a nursery’s grounds. Another reason she preferred having a roof over her head, is the sun wasn’t a good place for her. Blessed with delicate English skin, we used to tease her she could potentially ignite if exposed to direct sunlight. The woman could get a sunburn sitting under an umbrella in the shade wearing a suit of armor. Due to her lack of exposure, she looked twenty years younger than her actual age, and enjoyed beautiful unwrinkled skin until the day she died. There’s a lesson to be learned here which I am reminded of every time I make a visit to my dermatologist. Sigh.

In spite of my mother’s hesitancy about nature, I loved being outside from the time I exited the womb. I walk every day. I do this for exercise, yes, but more because it quite literally refreshes my soul. Seeing the squirrels shimmying up the tree trunks, the gorgeous flowers abloom in people’s yards, the smells of wet earth and grass from recently run sprinklers, all combine to create a lovely space for me to start my day.

When I was in my teens, my parents, like many in their peer group, bought a nice house in the suburbs. The four bedroom, two and a half bath, ranch style home, included a built-in pool in the backyard. God, I loved that pool. I wouldn’t have cared if the house had indoor plumbing. When I saw that magnificent swimming pool glistening in the afternoon sun, it was “Sold” all the way for me. The realtor told us the previous owners had a gifted swimmer in the family, who they expected to be headed to the Olympics. The pool had been installed to help him reach his goal. There were two diving boards plus a slide included in the price of admission, and I couldn’t have been more delighted. Looking back, I think most of my free moments over my high school years I could be found either submerged beneath the surface, or skimming across the top, of that lovely body of blue water. This contributing to the swimmer’s ear I have dealt with most of my life, and the persistent pre-cancers I have to have zapped off several times a year at the skin doctor. Secretly, it was worth every lap. What a great time we had in my backyard. During the summer months it became a natural gathering place for the neighborhood kids. My parents both worked, which left us lots of wiggle room to turn the music up, and make every day a party. Our neighbor used to say she heard “Marco”, “Polo”, in her sleep over the summer months. Even in their absence, I stayed within the boundaries of good sense, and only got in as much trouble as the traffic would bear so as not to get stuck on restriction.

There wasn’t much I was afraid of as a kid. Swimming came naturally to me, growing up by the sea. I think sometimes I over compensated because of my mother. At times she could be overly protective, the original version of “helicopter mom”. Truth was, there were a lot of things my mom was afraid of. If I was afraid, I tried hard not to let anyone see my fear. However, when it came to one particular flying insect, it was impossible for me to keep the panic under wraps. The bee, was my kryptonite along with all the beelike creatures such as wasps, hornets and the like. Now, it’s not that this is a totally irrational fear. Bees do sting, and in some cases their sting can be deadly, should the person be allergic to them. I am not. Rationally, I understand their value in nature. Aside from producing very delicious honey, they pollinate, which is essential to so many plants. Crops would disappear such as coffee, cocoa, tomatoes, to name a few was our bee population was to disappear. Wasps and hornets, though I’m not fond of the annoying little buggers, they’ve ruined a picnic or campout or two for me along the line, have beneficial qualities as well. They keep our insect population at a manageable number. Without them, we would be overrun with all manner of creepy crawly little creatures. Ewwww. There’s some fodder for your nightmares, in case you were short of material.

Though intellectually I understand the importance of the honey bee et al, I just wish they’d get on with pollinating and take less interest in whatever exposed skin I happen to be showing on any given day. For some reason, they find me immensely attractive. They are not alone in this lustful pursuit of my body either, because for mosquitos I seem to be like catnip to a feline. As I said, I’m not allergic. But when I bee stings me this does not prevent me from swelling up like a balloon or suffering from tortuous itching once an insect has injected it’s venom under my skin. The first sting I ever had was when I was around ten. Of all places, it was on one of my toes. This, undoubtedly because of my habit of running around like a native in my bare feet 90% of the time. The toe in question swelled to momentous portions and then split in the middle like an overcooked hot dog. I do hope you weren’t eating as you were reading that. Sorry. Epi pens didn’t exist back then. I don’t remember knowing anyone who died from a sting, nor did I know one single kid in school who suffered from peanut allergies. Certainly they existed, and it is true we didn’t have the Internet to move things along when I was a kid, but still it is interesting it seemed less prevalent than today. It has been suggested by some studying this, we are perhaps “too clean” these days. We disinfect everything from our tabletops to our pets paws, and don’t allow our children to build up a natural immunity to germs they will come in contact with every day. Another interesting thought. Perhaps kids need to eat a few mud pies, or eat an Easter egg from last year’s basket or something. I don’t have solutions, but it does seem there are more allergies going about with all the disinfectant soap, spray, and lotion evident everywhere you look. I’m just sayin.

Once I was stung, the word got out apparently. By young adulthood my natural survival instincts began to kick in and I developed a healthy dislike, albeit phobia, of the nasty little honey makers. This brings me to my story for today.

In my late twenties I accepted an invitation for dinner from a man I worked with. We had not been out before. Very attractive, I was looking forward to our get together to learn more about him away from a work environment. He had advised me ahead of time we would be eating dinner at the Mark Hopkins Hotel in San Francisco. This hotel houses a very tony restaurant catering to a high end clientele, so I chose my clothes carefully. Back then, you dressed for dinner. A little black dress was a standard in most every woman’s closet. I slipped mine on for this special night on the town. The dress was paired with nylons (I know!!!) and heels. In my grandmother’s day a lady didn’t leave the house without gloves and a hat, so this was definitely a step up. At precisely 5:30 as we’d planned, the doorbell rang. Opening it to find him looking handsome in his suit, I grabbed my coat and we were off. The car, “his baby” as he put it, was a black Trans Am. Very nice. I settled into the comfortable passenger seat and buckled up. It was about an hour’s drive into the city but by the time we parked and dealt with the traffic on a Saturday night, we should arrive right on time for our 7:00 reservations. Yay.

San Francisco has always been one of my favorite cities to visit. The setting, beautiful, the restaurants, fabulous and the general ambience of the city itself, captivating. Even now, with so many homeless lining the streets. I hold hope that situation will somehow find a solution, the displaced people find a roof of their own, and the City eventually able returned to it’s former glory. Driving downtown is always a project. Streets angle up to the sky and cascade equally steeply down the other side. There are mazes of one way streets, and traffic most times of day can be congested. That night was to be no exception. We pulled up to a crowded intersection not too far from our destination. In the right turn lane, my date was watching the steady flow of traffic coming to his left, so his head was turned in that direction. He told me later he heard me yell something, then the car door open, but he was turning. When he completed the turn, there was no one sitting in the passenger’s seat. Looking in his rear view mirror he said saw me standing on the street corner in my lovely little black dress waving. What the he….?. Thinking I had either fallen out of the car by accident or possibly had a brain hemmorage and completely lost my mind, there was nothing for him to do but sit in lines of endless weekend traffic and circumvent the large city block to get back to me. Meanwhile, tick, tock, our reservations were disappearing along with the lovely sunset now barely visible over the Bay. It was getting dark, and I was getting cold. People didn’t have cell phones in the cars back then. You found a pay phone if you were lucky and had change, or didn’t make the call. By the time he reached me, our reservation time had come and gone. I have to give it to him, he, did come back for me, and at least he opened the door for me to get back in.

“What happened”, was his obvious first question. “A bee”, says I. “What”, says he? “Did you just say a bee”? “Why yes, as it happens I did.” I went on to explain a huge bee, probably mutant in size, had flown up in my face and was in my hair. The flight or fight syndrome kicked into high gear, and I chose flight. There was a very pregnant silence in the car while he assimilated this incredible bit of information. I had a feeling our second date wasn’t going to be coming up any time soon. Once things had settled down a bit, we decided to see if they’d held our reservation. Apparently to the folks at Mark Hopkins, 7:00 p.m. means 7:00 p.m. Since we had paid for parking, we walked around until we found a little cafe that had available seating. Sitting there in my little black dress, the conversation wasn’t exactly flowing. I ate a delicious cheese burger, with fries, and tried to make the best of the evening. Had he been a different type of guy, this could have been a funny memory. It still makes me laugh when I think of it. But, alas he was not. As it happens, that is not my type of guy, so we said our rather chilly goodnights at my door. After that, though cordial at work, we pretty much avoided being alone together for any length of time.

I’m not much afraid of bees anymore. I had my wedding ring cut off when one stung me on my ring finger. The following year, I was stung in the laundromat and the critter dropped down my shirt. I proceeded to nearly disrobe for a very entertained man sitting across from me who just came in to do a load of whites. I’m sure he still speaks of me. On another occasion, my eye completely swelled shut just before going on a job interview. I looked like the wife of The Fly when I showed up for my appointment. The hive has taken their best shot, and guess what you little pollen dusters, I’m still here.

At any rate, bee happy, bee free, bee kind, and bee in the moment. Happy hump day to you.

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It’s a quarter to three. There’s no one in the place, except you and me…..

Well another week is in the bank, and I find myself back at work once again. They installed an entirely updated and fairly sophisticated phone system during my absence, but neglected to leave me any instructions on how to use it. Interesting. The first call I fielded, at best was a game of hunt and peck. I took a stab at hitting a few buttons to see what would happen, and suddenly the entire display went dark. Huh. Now, I’m not always the sharpest pencil in the box, but that didn’t look quite right to me. The caller I hung up on, called back to confirm my suspicion that it was, in fact, not right at all. Sigh. Finally, someone showed up for work who had a cheat sheet I could use before I brought this business to it’s knees. Much better. Way to kick start the week.

Night before last, I woke up around 2:30 a.m. to the dulcet tones of Boo depositing the remains of her dinner on the pillow next to me. Poor Boo. Well, and yes, poor me. It was, after all, the middle of the night. I got up and wiped my cat’s little face. Next I removed the pillow case, tossed it along with the soiled pillow in the washing machine, then cleaned up the bed and got a fresh pillow and case. By the time I’d used the bathroom and checked the time again, I was totally wide awake. Boo was looking a bit ragged, however, so I rubbed my dear old friend’s head for quite a while, until both of us finally drifted off to sleep. Five minutes after I’d closed my eyes I swear, the alarm I’d set on my cell phone went off alerting me it was time to get up. Goody. I was understandably feeling a little low on gas by the time I poured my first cup of coffee. I could have used a little kick start such as the excitement of unfamiliar phones ringing to get my morning moving yesterday rather than today.

Boo has kidney issues, so I knew she had to be seen by the vet if vomiting. I called to set up an appointment, and they got me in at 9:30. These are never fun trips. Boo resists any process involving her crate or the vet, so I wasn’t looking forward to getting her there. I did the usual dog and pony show to get my cat loaded in the car. I arrived at the vets at 9:30 on the money, only to find out the appointment was for 10:00. How I made that mistake I don’t know. They don’t even sound alike. 9:30, 10:00, not even close? What? I was sleep deprived. Soooooo, I sat in a chair in the waiting room while Boo serenaded me and everyone around us (she was in rare falsetto) for a half an hour until we were called into an examination room. I believe the entire waiting room breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind us. As each procedure was ordered and completed, I could literally hear an invisible cash register adding up the tally. “Ben Franklins for all”, it seemed to say!!! I cannot, or will not, ever see my animal suffer, so $600 or $6000, I will figure out a way to work it into my budget. That being said, because I can work it into the budget, doesn’t make the pain of doing so any less uncomfortable. You can’t put a price on all the love and companionship my silly old cat has provided me for seventeen years. We are in this together for better or worse until the end, whatever that is to be. I was informed before paying the bill Boo would need to come in twice a week to get hydrated from this point on. I thought the receptionist quoted me $50 per hydration treatment at which point I thought they might need to retrieve the smelling salts from the supply cabinet. Turns out it was $15. Better, but still no cigar. Whew. I hope that winning lottery ticket with my name on it is lurking just around the corner. Also, I was given anti-nausea pills to administer in case the vomiting ensues again. Oh lord. The only thing Boo dislikes more than being crated or a vet visit, would most likely be taking medication. Rick and I used to tag team it. I would wrap her in a towel, and while holding the irritated cat’s claws under wraps, Rick would pry open her clenched jaws and use the pill popper to shoot the pill down her throat. If lucky, he withdrew his hand with all digits remaining fully intact. Most times the pill came right back up before ever being absorbed in her system. Someone suggested hiding it in her food. Not an option. The persnickety cat would rather take a bullet than eat wet food, so that’s out of the question. Desperate during one round of medication, we tried pill pocket treats. She ate the treat all right, and when done deposited the pill on the floor. First time I ever saw a cat smirk. I asked the receptionist if there was any script in the bag with my name on it for anxiety? She did not seem to see the humor in this comment. Fine. Sometimes, I wonder if I should have gotten pet insurance. I have no idea the cost of such a thing, but should I ever own another pet I might look into it.

On the subject of insurance, last week I located a YMCA very close to where Richard lives. The “Y”, according to it’s website, offers all manner of exercise programs as well as boasting two pools, one inside and one out. The swimming part of the program is what I am particularly interested in. Richard and I stopped by while out to see what the facility was all about. The campus was nestled in a lovely wooded location, and I found it very clean and both pools oh so inviting. Set free on our own by the front desk staff to do a “self tour”, we poked around a bit and really liked what we saw. Asking the girl at the front desk for prices and class information, she told me my insurance should cover the yearly dues. As soon as I got home, I called to ask my insurance carrier if in fact this was accurate. I pay a lot for my health insurance, so was hoping this might be a perk that was included. It was not. Apparently, if I was covered under the cheaper plan, the exercise package would have been included. Interesting. I asked about the cheaper plan which also includes medications, and was told I can switch plans , but only when open enrollment opens up in November. The representative did go on to say, however, if I have any illnesses or am frequently hospitalized, I should stick with the more expensive plan I am currently signed up for. This made me laugh. In other words, the less expensive plan is health insurance designed for people who don’t get sick. Never mind. I will simply pay out of pocket for the dues and avail myself of those lovely pools to get some regular exercise. Yay. At first I thought the price was $75 a year. Whoa. Sign me up. Not so fast, Susie. Nothing comes that inexpensive in this economy. Cleaning my glasses, I looked again. The $75 was correct. However, that was the monthly outlay, not yearly. Ah, I can see clearly now, the rain is gone….. or however those lyrics go. So with Boo’s new expenses, Susie won’t be getting her washboard abs anytime soon. Sigh.

The energy in the world in general seems to me a bit off kilter at the moment. Everyone I talk to seems to be dealing with some situation involving a personal crisis. When the phone rings, I can feel my blood pressure rise up a notch or two before I answer it, not sure of what news might be coming in from the other end. Truth is, I think I’m ready for a vacation. September will be my first real vacation of any import in years. Yay. Richard and I have been fleshing out the details of our trip adding stops here, and deleting others there as we go along. Though we are not sticking to a particular schedule, we want to leave plenty of wiggle room should we decide we want to change course mid stream and go in a completely different direction. We only have thirty glorious days to pack all we want to in, so we need some sort of structure to make that happen. Some places, the more popular tourist attractions, will require advance reservations at the RV parks. Places more enticing then perhaps, say, Ely, Nevada. Having been there several times, I wonder that the people living in Ely actually want to be there. No offense. This extra wrinkle with Boo will add to my planning details. At the moment I have a friend moving into my house while I am gone to house sit and Boo sit. I cannot expect her to get my cat crated twice a week and to the vet. She is older, and I know this would stress her out. Something by way of a solution for this dilemma will drop into my mind, it just hasn’t shown up yet.

So, I am off tomorrow and looking forward to it. Surprising how working only two days a week can eat into your free time. Have a glorious weekend. Live each moment richly.

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