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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Roads were made for journeys, not destinations. – Confucius

Last Friday I arrived at work at the usual time. As I do on workdays, I stopped on the way in to pick up a newspaper for my pal, Warren. For the first time, the mini-mart where I get the paper, informed me they had not received their delivery, so I left empty handed, Once I’d clocked in, I filled the candy bowl with Easter eggs, greeted several residents headed down to breakfast, and settled in at my computer for the day. Warren, who spends a good part of his waking hours occupying a seat in the lobby by my desk complaining about people letting in the cold air when they open the door, would be disappointed to find no paper waiting for him when he made his way down the hall once the breakfast service was over. It is probably best not to play favorites, but Warren and I have established a sort of comfortable friendship over the past year. I have come to look forward to seeing his face in the morning. Lately he’d been more confused then when I’d first arrived, but glimpses of the old Warren still shone brightly through if you took the time to look close enough. A one time landscaper, always has something interesting to share about plants and trees, and keeps a joke ready to launch or something silly to say to the staff as they come in and out of the lobby area.

Before long, one of the staff members stopped by to tell me over the weekend Warren had passed. Though he was not my relative, nor did I know him outside of the two days a week I spend at the retirement home, the man had touched me. It was interesting to see how many people mentioned him during the day, and that no one had chosen to sit in the chair he usually occupied. I found this all the more profound, because many residents share the dementia diagnosis Warren had been dealing with. It was touching people struggling with short term memory issues registered the connection. Another interesting fact, at least to my mind, was the paper hadn’t been delivered. I found that most fascinating. When I told my supervisor, she asked me to share this with his family who would be coming in at some point to clean out his room, which I will.

The beginning of the week I spent in the Bay Area with my son and his family. With five kids spanning thirteen to twenty-three in residence, you can imagine this is a house that generates a great deal of energy. I was most amazed at the efficiency in which my son and daughter-in-law manage their household. Working as a team, meals are dispatched, lunches made, mountains of laundry washed, dried, and folded, and the house kept picked up and dishes done. Whew. I got tired just writing that. The amount of groceries consumed under their roof is positively mind boggling, especially when you include friends stopping by after school, boyfriends, girlfriends, family, et al. To top that off, they have two crazy cats, a bit reminiscent of the two misbehaving “we are Si-a-mese” in Lady and the Tramp, who simply add a bit of furry playfulness to the mayhem.

Aside from the company, the competitive fun of the games we played, cherished time with my grandchildren, were the wonderful array of tastes enjoyed by my taste buds while I was there. We ate out fairly often but the evening meals were usually provided by the hosts. Having lived alone for the past four years, I will readily admit I’ve gotten a bit lazy about cooking. I still love great food, just not enough to prepare it for myself apparently. They put me to work, and I enjoyed participating. I manned the peeling, chopping, and general prep station. I’d forgotten how cathartic I find that part of getting a meal on the table. For most of my adult life I’ve been the one responsible for making sure dinner was planned, purchased, and cooked, so I think perhaps I took a little sabbatical when the opportunity arose after Rick passed away. Richard likes to cook, which has definitely been noted on the plus side of the relationship chart. Not only does he like to do it, but he’s quite proficient at it. Often we are on the same page with our likes and dislikes, but our tastes in food tend to run a bit differently. Definitely, I am the one with more exotic food choices. This is partly due to being married to David for eleven years who, also an excellent cook, had a Cajun background. Then I went on to twenty years with Rick, who, hailing from Egypt, had tastes that leaned toward Mediterranean dishes. Richard, is mainly a meat and potatoes kind of guy. Raised on a farm, he told me he was the one coaxing the milk out of the udders to pour on his morning cereal, or boiling a recently slaughtered chicken before it was to be deep fried for Sunday dinner. This is way beyond my wheelhouse. Milk arrived at our house in a metal carryall in bottles, and meat was purchased at the butcher and wrapped in butcher wrap when I was growing up. Funny how each of us has our own unique experience while here on this planet.

While the time with my kids was light and joyful, the ride home was something else all together. According to the weather girl on the morning news “light rain” at intervals was on the menu for the day. Uh-huh. I want her job. You get to wear lovely clothes, smile attractively, garner a large salary, and be wrong more often than not and still keep your job. Love it. It was already raining beyond the light stage when I packed my car. The sky overhead had turned dark and angry looking, and I had a feeling had Bette Davis been riding shotgun, “Fasten your seat belts, it’s going to be a bumpy night”, would be right in step with what was ahead. The rain was really ramping up when I merged on the freeway going north. Cranking my wipers up to high, I listened as my new wipers groaned and wiped, then wiped and groaned, reminding myself to do something about the annoying rubbing sound as soon as I got home. Dark, forbidding skies loomed ahead and quotes kept running through my mind like “into the mouth of hell rode the 600”. Though 599 short, it somehow felt appropriate at the time. Heading up over the Benicia bridge was the strangest ride I’ve been on in recent memory. Pitch back clouds hung low over the bay on either side of the bridge riding up and over the rails appearing to almost droop across onto the roadway. One lone spot of light radiated through the clouds shining brightly like a dragon’s eye peering down through the darkness. All this gave me the feeling those of us moving slowly along in the onslaught of rain were about to be swallowed up into the beast’s fiery depths. Huge semis barreled by on both sides splashing water on the windshield, making it difficult to see the lines on the road ahead. “Mommy”. Relentlessly, the rain continued until I saw the the Sacramento skyline was laid out before my windshield. Yay, I made it. Every muscle in my neck and back was stiff from hunching over the steering wheel but I got myself home, and there was something triumphant in that.

My house sitter/pet sitter was waiting for me at the house. Once everything was unloaded from the car, I went to check on Boo, only to find her looking a bit peaked. Funny, cats can’t tell you they are under the weather but I swear Boo actually wears a different expression when she’s sick. Oh-oh. The gods must be angry. Phew. Naturally, it was a Sunday afternoon. I decided to keep an eye on her after noticing she had vomited several times by the side of my bed. I was pretty sure a vet visit was in our future for the following day. Sure enough after not seeing much improvement, I called in the morning and got her in. The receptionist said they had no regular appointments available. She says this every time I’ve called. I’m beginning to doubt if they ever do. She said I could get her in on a drop off appointment. This involves dropping your animal off at the office for the day to be checked out in between those patients who have actual times on the books. Naturally, this is more expensive. The world for Boo, as I love my dear old cat beyond measure, but I could picture Benjamin Franklin’s face flashing past my eyes every time another test was ordered. It was three Benjamin’s for the blood tests, another Ben and a half for the drop in visit and an additional two Ben deposit for the urinalysis. Now I wasn’t feeling well. In the end for a senior puddy cat, it turns out she is doing pretty well. Nearly $600 and the professional diagnosis, “most probably she ate something”. The next morning the cat was doing wind sprints across the living room carpet. Reminded me of when my kids were little. When they were sick, they would carry on as if they weren’t going to last another hour. Panicked, I would load them in the car and rush to Kaisers Urgent Care center. The urgent care, is an alternate treatment option established for those needing immediate attention, but not ill enough to require emergency room services. Urgent is definitely a misnomer. You could write the definitive American novel while waiting for your name to be called in those waiting rooms, along with the other 300 other patients needing attention. Once inside, my pathetic sick child, ten minutes earlier close to needing the last rights, would perk up and be positively chirpy the minute the doctor entered the room. Where previously they could hardly summon the energy to suck in another breath, they were now dancing about the room as lithe as tiny dancers in Swan Lake. Insert eye roll here. The end result being my cat was okay, was enough to find my grateful button, but still.

I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon. One ear seems to have gotten completely plugged up. I am already hearing impaired, but with this going on and the ringing accompanying it, I am ten huh’s away from my legal lifetime limit. Was my mother here she would say, “don’t say huh, dear”. “It’s, pardon me”. Darn, those words from your childhood will hang around in your head like bees hovering about a honeysuckle bush. Sorry, didn’t mean to go all southern on you. This morning I had a phone meeting with a new non-profit I am projected to do some graphics work for. The person had an unfortunately low timbered voice, and I nearly pardon me’d myself out of a job before hanging up. I finally explained what was going on with my hearing. I believe the woman was relieved to know my inability to grasp anything she was saying, wasn’t due to the fact I was completely addlepated. I should have said no to this job. The “no” got stuck in my throat, while the old familiar “yes” pushed itself upward to my lips. I have more than my capacity on my plate already, but it is for a good cause so I guess I can find a spot for it. I may have to lose one meal from my daily schedule. Whew.

Sunday is Easter. Good Friday will commemorate the holy day as well as one year since my mother passed away. I shall think of her, but then I do so without needing a reason every day. I know she has found peace, and so I am peaceful with having to let her go. Easter is supposed to be the warmest day of a rather cool year for the holiday, coming in at 76 degrees. Looking forward to not having to wear a jacket. Masks also have been eliminated from my wardrobe choices. Tomorrow will be the first day I have gone to work without a mask covering the lower half of my face since I started working there. Most likely people won’t recognize me, nor I them. One day not too long ago a woman I had worked with several times came in to collect her paycheck without her mask in place. Not recognizing her, I asked her name. When she said, “Susie, it’s me Jackie”, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t known it was her. I have friends who are nervous about putting the masks away, as they are afraid of getting sick. For me, I have had the shots, I have had COVID, and my poor lungs are tired of trying to suck air in behind my mask, so I’m more than ready to let them go. Each to their own, I say.

Anyhow, if we don’t talk before have a blessed Easter. Talk soon.

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Cock-a-doodle do…..

My most productive time of day would definitely be early morning. For example, it is 7:30 am as I write this. Since climbing out of bed, I have changed the sheets, done a load of laundry, refreshed the cat box, showered and dressed, taken a half an hour walk, and cooked and then eaten breakfast. Rick used to say if we could bottle that energy, we’d be buying a private island in the Azores in a week. I know! Not being a morning person by any stretch of the imagination himself, my morning chirpiness could sometimes be a lot for him to process before he’d washed the sleep out of his eyes. I can still hear him saying, “Could you dial back that energy a bit, Sparky, I haven’t had my first cup of coffee.”. Whatever. Can I help it if I inherited the Energizer bunny gene from my mothers side of the tree? I passed it on down to my children as well. Both my son and my daughter are by nature “doers”. We all seem to move through our lives at warp speed, though I have to admit as my birthdays add up, I have to reel it in a bit sooner than I used to and slow down as the day blends into the evening hours.

Knowing coffee is an integral part of my morning routine, Richard, though not a coffee drinker himself (this definitely was noted on the minus side of the relationship chart), was thoughtful enough to install a Kurig coffee maker and provide me with a huge box of assorted pods to have at my disposal. Knowing I most likely would disintegrate into a simmering puddle of goo without my morning pick me up, I believe he saw the benefits such a gesture would bring both to me as well as to himself. Good going Richard.

Yesterday morning I woke up the first time at 1 am. Thinking it was time to get up, I padded into the kitchen to get the coffee going before heading to the bathroom to perform my morning routine. Fortunately, I glanced at the clock on the stove before pushing brew. Half the night was still in front of me. Sigh. Worse yet, had it not been for the time change, the clock would be reading midnight. Boo was seated patiently at my feet. The cat counts on me to be the one leading the parade, so when following me back down the hall to bed, she wore a look on her face that needed little explanation. What?

I managed to get up for the second time at an appropriate hour for a person not reporting for the graveyard shift. This time I did push brew, and made myself a tall, steaming cup of coffee. Ahhhh. My morning piece of heaven. Taking two long swigs out of my “If you need me I’ll be on my pedestal” cup Richard got me, I set the cup down on the table and sat down to check my phone messages. The coaster, not quite level on the mat under the lamp, dumped my cup over the moment cheek hit pillow. Fine. So, it’s going to be that kind of day? Getting up, I could see his phone sitting on the charger thankfully was not in the moving brown river, but whatever papers he had been working on the night before were, (oh-oh) along with some batteries and his reading glasses. Really? I tried to catch them all with my hands as the liquid began to flow over the side of the table onto the carpet. Note to self, cupped hands not an effective way to capture liquid.

Seeing a brown stain forming on the white carpet, my first thought was to panic. This flight or flight response directly stems from growing up with my mother. Sorry, mom, but you know it’s true. I adored my mother, but her strong suit was not in showing great patience with accidents. Looking back, I’m thinking this may have correlated with the OCD she dealt with most of her life. Having things out of order is the bane of people dealing with obsessive compulsive disorder. As a child I was, to be kind, a bit of a klutz. If it could be spilled, dropped, tripped over, torn, or fallen into, for sure I would do exactly that. Poor Mother, in her defense, the universe was exercising it’s wicked sense of humor delivering me into the hands of someone who did not deal well with uncoordinated humans. That being said, even at this age, I still have a high alert response when I’ve done something stupid such as spilling the coffee. The imprint, intentional or not, we leave with our children can be really far reaching. This is something I look at often when thinking about my two. Thankfully, in spite of my often less than stellar attempts at parenting, they grew up into two people I am endlessly proud of. Go figure.

The “accidents” have plagued me most of my life. In retrospect, I believe my mother was right when she used to tell me I moved too fast, and needed to slow down and pay attention to where I was going. Rick used to hold a pant loop or grab my elbow when we were in parking lots to keep me from walking into something or being run over. I remember once when I was first with Rick, I accidentally pulled one of his wooden window blinds off his spare room window. I was just trying to look out at the deer in the front yard and somehow the blind came off in my hands. My first thought was to hide the evidence, which I did, tucking it under the bed. Now you understand I was a mature adult at the time, or as mature as I get. Had I been ten, I would suppose this behavior might have been expected. Logic would have it Rick, not being a stupid man, was likely going to notice the gap in his blinds at some point in the near future, but in the moment it was all I had so I went with it. Unable to stand the suspense of waiting for the discovery of the missing section, I confessed my sins and tearfully told him what I had done. When I was done with my ardent confession, I found him staring at me in disbelief. Then, he laughed. Taking my hand, he walked into the bedroom, removed the offending blind from beneath the bed and with two f thinking “she needs one”) to think when something like this happens “what is the worst thing that could happen”? Oddly, that’s been quite helpful. It has not cured the anxiety raised when an accident occurs, just makes it a little less painful for all concerned.

Getting a hold of myself after replacing the coffee soaked mat at Richards, I cleaned the carpet and wiped down the glasses and batteries which appeared non the worse for wear. The papers, however, were a total loss, the ink having run into an indecipherable blur on all three pages. Mia culpa. “Put the cuffs on me officer, I’m ready to do my time.” When Richard came out of the bedroom, all but the papers were restored to their original places next to his chair. Explaining what happened in acres of unnecessary detail, where a simple “I spilled the coffee would have sufficed”, his response was, “no biggee”. Really? Is it just me? I think so, I really do.

Richard was having Mohs surgery later in the morning for a cancer spot on his back. These pesky little cancers and pre-cancerous spots are the bane of us fair skinned, light eyed people of Northern European descent. Just the way it is. Pre cancer, an interesting way to phrase it, is sort of a cancer wantabe. Not quite there yet, but pretty well on the way to getting where it wants to go. I’ve had many of them. Most, thankfully, are simply frozen off with a liquid nitrogen gun. Actual cancerous lesions, require a more intricate extraction, called Mohs surgery. In a Mohs procedure, the surgeon scrapes thin layers of skin from the affected area. With each scraping, the piece is examined under a a microscope. When a layer is viewed containing no presence of cancer cells, you are stitched up and sent on your way. A lot of these problems, of course, were caused by over exposure to the sun. Particularly for us baby boomers who had no idea the baby oil and iodine we were slathering all over our young skin was, along with turning us a lovely shade of golden brown, creating the perfect landscape for all kinds of skin problems years down the road. Aside from health issues, sun is hard on your skin as you age. Some people who were avid sun worshipers in those days now look like apples left too long on the porch rail.

The building where the surgery was to take place is located in downtown Sacramento. The plan was for me to wait in the car while he had the procedure done. The time it took would depend entirely on how deep the cancer reached underneath the skin. I have seen it take up much of a day, such was the case once with my mother, or as little as an hour or two . For that amount of time, I much prefer sitting in the car to sitting in a physician’s waiting room. Rations were stored in a bag with enough to cover me even in the worst case scenario. In my purse I had tucked my book, and my cell phone to keep my mind occupied. A parking space opened up right across from the Sutter’s Fort Museum, just a block from the building where his surgery was to be done. Sutter’s Fort is a popular downtown attraction. Established in 1939, Sutter’s Fort was the first European settlement in California’s central valley. The Gold Rush, and the unfortunate treatment of Native Americans was wound into it’s history as well. Busloads of tourists, and bright yellow school buses carrying excited bands of school children, came and went frequently while I waited there. The day being the first warm day we in the Sacramento area had been privileged to see in a while, foot traffic was considerable. Some people were moving at a fast pace as though headed somewhere with purpose, while others were meandering along stopping to look at the erupting flowers in the gardens they were passing, or simply enjoying their first taste of sunshine in awhile. Joggers ran by as well, most with Fitbits firmly affixed to their wrists letting them know how many miles they were adding to their daily routine. I noticed many of them commenting to one another about something on the ground next to the shrubs outside my window. Curiosity getting the best of me, I sat up higher to see what the excitement was about. A sleeping bag was on the ground with either a person or a body in it. Watching for a moment, I was relieved the fabric moved slightly so at least I felt it was probably choice A. The big conversation on the street seemed to be about the fact a pair of men’s pants, belt still in the loops, and what appeared to be a pile with underwear and socks were heaped on the ground next to where he slept. That being said, one wondered what he was wearing inside the bag? I did not need a visual confirmation. I kept hoping a horn didn’t honk or tires screech loudly spurring him into action. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a bag of Pringles and two tangerines later, he was still in the “sack” both figuratively and literally when Richard arrived. Bullet dodged there.

The homeless situation downtown, well everywhere really, is reaching the crisis stage. I have no idea what the solution is to this but as prices escalate and jobs dwindle I don’t see it improving any time soon. Apparently the government is planning on providing “small homes” for a number of disenfranchised folks who want to come in from the cold. Not all people on the street want to rescued. Many have mental health issues that keep them from making rational decisions. From what I understand the state is looking into expanding medical health facilities to manage this side of the coin.

Perhaps they need to introduce the subject to some of the AI systems currently on the market and see if they can come up with a solution. I think of this because I watched a program on AI (artificial intelligence) the other night that I found absolutely mind blowing. They have developed such advance technology in their newest offerings that it is bordering on being totally frightening. The man who developed this particular technology on the program I watched, said the scope of what it can do even scares him. Good to know. The program, or whatever it is referred to, can pass the bar on it’s own in the upper ten percentile, and I do not mean “Sam’s Do Drop In”. Good Lord. Are we going to become obsolete at this rate? I’m sure I won’t be around by then, but it does give me pause for what the younger generation has to look forward to. Wow.

So, today we are having a dinner party. The main course is corned beef and cabbage because I worked on St. Patty’s Day this year so wouldn’t have been able to join in. I’m always tasked with setting the scene. Table setting is a familiar routine for me. Growing up I often helped my grandmother set what she called “a fine table for company”. Truth was she set a fine table nearly every night. My job was to retrieve the silver napkin rings from the china cabinet drawer and secure them on the cloth napkins. I can’t remember my grandmother using paper products as a child. Can’t remember if they were not available or if she simply chose not to use them. I do remember (thankfully something came through) when she came to visit she would keep a paper napkin if only gently used to be used at the next meal so as not be wasteful. Something we could all take a lesson from. I’m glad she passed on the knack for laying a good table to me. You can create such a beautiful mood while you are dining. It has served me well over the years. Don’t know if they do that between generations anymore.

Well, Happy Hump Day to you. It’s overcast but no rain. I’ll take it. Yesterday I was on a Zoom meeting with five people living in the general area. All of us at the same time were experiencing different weather. Here the wind was moving Richard’s grill across the patio, one person reported it was hailing, another had rain, one both wind and rain, and one even had a hint of sun. Stop it. Weird weather I’m telling you. Until next time.

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Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet…..Roger Miller

Well, we asked for rain, and boy are we getting it. Buckets full of never ending precipitation keep falling from the sky. My, oh my. Intellectually, I know this is exactly what our parched trees and dry fields need. However, trying to get things done in all this water when you add strong winds to the equation, can make for a hot mess getting around. I’m sure people in colder climates looking out their windows right now onto huge banks of snow are simply rolling their eyes and going, “ya right”.

The problem lies in that the storms are arriving in succession. Like soldiers stacked up in the queque at mess call, one falls in line right behind the other. With no time to regroup in between, our fire ravaged hillsides begin to give way, rivers overflow, and roads flood. Next, the soggy ground allows tree limbs to slip loose causing downed power lines or damaging homes, and often electricity becomes spotty. Since it is Saturday and I am working, I am tucked away most of the day with no need to go anywhere. Yay.

I woke up around 2:00 night before last to the sounds of Miss Boo, the Queen of Cats, emptying the contents of her puddy cat tummy onto the pillow next to me. I assure that sound is not particularly welcome any time of the day, but in the wee hours of the morning it’s even less palatable. Poor Boo. So, I got up and washed her little cat face, then stripped the bed. New sheets in place, and the crisis seemingly over, both of us crawled back in under the covers and went back to sleep. Yesterday before I headed to work, I dropped her off at the vets for a quick once over to make sure everything was in working order. Her senior status, requires looking a little more closely when something seems off. I worry we will have to say goodbye some day, and part of my heart will simply be broken. The vet called me report that other than being a bit portly (rather rude, if true), and having a bit of tartar around her teeth, the cat seems in great shape for the most part. That being said, her kidneys are beginning a slow downhill slide. Apparently, this is quite common in older cats such as Miss Boo, and takes several years often to progress to the end stages of the disease. When I picked Boo up after work the bill came to nearly $500.00. After that news, I too needed medical attention. I knew it would be high. Well, I knew it would be high, largely because it is never low when you take an animal to the vet. Before proceeding, the receptionist had called to confirm I was comfortable with the price for the procedures needed, a urinalysis and blood panel, which she said added up to around $350.00. Well, I’ve got to be honest, I wouldn’t say comfortable would have been the word I’d have chosen. $50 is more my comfortable range. What are you going to do? Ah well, for Boo, the sky, apparently, is the limit. I got to wondering after I hung up, how they perform a urinalysis on a feline. Certainly they don’t hand her a little plastic cup and point her in the direction of the ladies room. I decided some information naturally falls under the TMI category. So, I am feeling a bit melancholy this morning on this gloomy day. Thinking back seventeen years, I consider myself blessed that little white paw reached out and stopped me that day in the animal shelter. Looking in the cage at those two scared beautiful blue eyes staring back at me, I said without hesitation, “I’ll take this one”, and never regretted the decision for one minute. I know how lucky I am to have shared space with Boo all these years, but the very thought of letting her go makes my heart shed a tear. The only way I know how to proceed with dignity for both of us, is to enjoy her as much as I can for the time that we have left and that is all I know how to do.

In a way it was literally raining cats and dogs over the holidays. A friend of mine got a furry gift for Christmas on a cold blustery day in December. She opened her back door to let her white German shepherd out to enjoy his usual morning pottie break. The dog got immediately agitated when the door opened and began to circle excitedly. Looking down to see what had caught his attention she saw a small orange and white tabby kitten curled up on her doormat wet and shivering in the cold. In a way, this small bundle fell right in with something the family had decided to move forward on prior to the holidays. They have a dog and cat in residence, but the cat was getting quite long in the tooth and they felt they wanted to add a kitten to their brood. Perhaps Santa had actually tuned in to their conversation, and here was the answer to their request. Gathering the little animal up in her arms, my friend brought him inside and dried him off. Once he was more comfortable, he enthusiastically lapped up a saucer of milk and then curled up by the fireplace as if he owned the place. Doing her due diligence, my friend placed ads on all her social media sites with a picture of their new boarder asking if his owner was looking for him. No responses forthcoming, “Dasher” has now become the smallest member of their pet family. I guess they’ll have to add another cat to the little caricatures they have decorating the tailgate window on their SUV. One image for every member of the family. Everybody seems to do that now. Yesterday I saw a window with about ten little figures draped across the back including what looked to be a grandma and grandpa on one end. Must have mother-in-law quarters at their house. Interesting, they don’t often call them in-law quarters, almost always deferring to mother-in-law. Women aren’t the only people to lose spouses, though they do seem statistically to survive longer than their male counterparts.

When looking at Boo’s head hung over the other night, my heart immediately transported itself back to losses in the recent years. For a moment I was held in the firm grip of the pain losing someone or something you love brings to the table. It also reminded me how many steps forward I have taken on my quest to find myself again. You never emerge on the other side of grief quite the same person as you were when you began your journey. Each phase you complete along the way, eases you into the one to follow. I liken it to a final in school. You have to complete each chapter in the book in order to know all the answers on the quiz. The pain must be felt, the loss duly noted, before you can go on to the next part of your life. You cannot love without understanding there is loss associated with the doing of it. People and pets are only on loan to us for the time we are allotted to spend with them. The joy they bring us, and the heartache when they are gone, are all part of the process of genuinely caring for someone or something beyond ourselves. I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. For me, it is well worth the price of admission.

I recently met a lady in a new inner circle of people I have been associating with, who is a published writer. With seven books out on the market, she had a lot of valuable information to share with me. Sitting in her tidy office with bookshelves on either side of me lined mainly with titles she had created, I found myself a bit star struck. Always in the back of my mind, a book has lingered. Friends have encouraged me along the way to actually do something of a more substantial writing endeavor beyond the vignettes I pump out here and there on my blog. I have several half completed manuscripts gathering dust in my closet, but somehow taking them over the finish line seems such a daunting endeavor. The woman asked me, “what have you got to lose”? I really Couldn’t think of a good comeback for that statement. What do I have to lose? My grandmother used to to say to me, “the only thing worse than failing, is never trying in the first place”. There’s a great deal of merit to that statement.

At any rate, we have a new year stretching before us. For whatever reason, I feel this year brings with it much magic and promise. That theme, at least, keeps resonating in my mind. Perhaps it is time to take a few chances and step off the ledge. Who knows what is ahead, but how exciting to imagine what might be.

Happy Saturday to you. If you’re in California keep that umbrella handy and stay dry.

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Thinking outside of the box….

Well, it’s been a while since I’ve written. A lot of anniversaries have come and gone since I last published a post. Rick passed away four years ago the end of September, Dale a year ago in October. Another rite of passage is my birthday coming up in three days. Needless to say, I’m feeling a bit introspective. Feels like a lot has gone on over the past year and a lot is about to go on in the year ahead. My relationship with Richard continues along at a reasonable pace, for me at least. This, I’m sure, will bring some interesting moments to the screen as time goes on. Also, I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s noticed, life is getting damned expensive. Whew. I’m hoping this next year will provide some relief in that area. Lately I go to the store with $100 and come back with a bag of apples. I bought cat litter last week. Used to be a large bag was $8.99. Now, a smaller bag costs me $13.00. I surely don’t have to explain to anyone what the cat does in this litter. It’s not designer litter for heavens sake. The kitty isn’t relieving herself over a bed of crushed emeralds. She’s spoiled, but we haven’t taken the spoilage to those lengths as yet. Although we go into contract negotiations again for her perks at the first of the year. It’s CAT LITTER. OMG. All this price escalating, I believe, is going to make for a very interesting, most likely life changing, November election. People begin to get really antsy when their bottom line is effected. No matter who has the reins once the dust settles, I think we may well be in trouble in this country. I used to watch the news while I had my coffee in the morning, and tune it in once again at night to see what transpired during the day. I don’t always like what is going on in this world, but I do like to be informed about what it is that is going on. These days I find myself switching the news on, and once I know whether it’s going to hot or cold, switching it right back off. The weather report usually takes all of five minutes. Let’s face it, here in Northern California the temperature ranges from hot, to sort of hot, to a little less hot, and then a bit cool, and cool. When we dip into cold, it’s not cold like the temperatures people in the mid section of the U.S. deal with, or those in the Northwest or Northeast. When I see a rain drop on my TV screen I get close to it first to make sure I simply didn’t splatter water or coffee on it, before I begin to celebrate. Two weeks in a row they have predicted rain on different given days. Thus far I haven’t seen one actual raindrop squeezed out of it.

Today has been an exceptionally LONG day here at work. Some days are like that, while others seem to disappear before I can even hang my jacket up. A country western trio came to play for the residents at “happy hour”. Made me think I might actually go home, if the clock ever winds around to 4:30, and have a cocktail hour of my own. I had about 3 hours of solid work packed into an eight hour day. I asked around in other areas if they had extra work, did some busy work on the computer that was far from urgent, and then tried to look busy the rest of the day. Looking busy is absolutely deadly for me. At one point, I just threw in the towel and played Mah Jong for an hour. I was raised by my mother and grandmother, both worker bees. Sitting idle for long periods of time is not programmed in my DNA. I’m an old honey maker from way back. I’m not sure I’ve ever watched an entire movie from start to finish without getting up at least ten times or, if I do manage to remain seated, falling asleep somewhere along the way. Simply not a good sitter. Funny, I have hooked up with a poor sitter in Richard as well. He and I are quite alike in many ways. Don’t know yet if this will be a plus going forward, or something that could potentially become extremely annoying. The proof, as they say, will be in the pudding. We won’t know til we’ve actually lived with one another most likely, should that ever come to pass. That last statement sends shivers down my spine. I have become accustomed to coming and going as I please, wearing mismatched pajamas to bed, eating cereal and a banana for dinner if the mood moves me, and not putting on makeup or washing my hair on occasion and letting it all hang out. Richard seems to think we should change our status, I disagree. This too, may become a sticking point. Why was it again I said I wanted to get into another relationship? Any input would be appreciated. Sigh.

I grapple at times of late on where I want to go from here. Perhaps that’s why I haven’t been writing as much the past month or so. There’s a lot of thinking going on under this blonde facade, but nothing seems to be exiting the premises. I’m pondering many things. For instance, I am most pleased and thankful I have a job to go to, but can’t help but wonder how long I will be able to sustain these endless long weekend days at work. By the time I get home after an unproductive day, I’m ready for a session with my shrink. Certainly I have had boring days at work over the years before and dealt with it. Perhaps, it’s that I’m getting older. I’m less willing to throw my time up it in the air and waste it, as there is less of it left to waste. If looking at the full cup, rather than the empty one, I could count my blessings and leave it at that. I think when young, we tend to think we have all the time in the world to do the things we wish to accomplish. As there is more time behind us, then there is left ahead of us, this perspective tends to change. Someone told me the other day they admired the fact I was a person who went out and did things. This is not an avenue only available to me, most anyone can avail themselves of it. As I have mentioned, this is my “why not” year and I have said why not to most everything offered to me by way of adventures that wasn’t habit forming or harmful to myself or others. Loved it. Instead of thinking when an idea for an outing is proposed to me, “I’m tired, there is a pile of laundry with my name on it, or the furniture needs dusting”, unless I have an appointment or a previous commitment I try to hop on board and give it a go. Why not? The laundry police aren’t going to arrive at my door and issue me a citation if my sheets don’t get washed until the end of the week. Last I heard they haven’t passed a law against allowing a little dust to accrue on my sideboard, although the way things are going I’d better check on that again after the November elections. There could be one on the books by then. If so, I’ll definitely be in line for a ticket.

The next week or two will not find me gathering much dust either, both literally and figuratively. Halloween is on the calendar Monday, my birthday is on Tuesday (yup officially another year on the books), and then the week follows filled with appointments and activities until it’s back to work again Friday and Saturday. The week after, I’m getting on a plane and going to Oregon to spend a few days with a friend of mine living up around Salem. I’m so excited to be traveling again, even a short hop. Finally, I have all my travel documents in order. It took months to get my passport request filled and my new passport back from the Canadian Embassy. I had given up all hope, assuming there was an embassy employee cavorting on a beach in Cabo with my $400 U.S. dollars out there somewhere, when it finally showed up in my mailbox. When I booked these reservations, I realized I had not stepped foot on a plane since my family reunion in Canada in 2008. Whew. Things have changed a bit. Everything, like everything, is in digital form now. I have to check in on line 24 hours prior to my flight to get my seat assignment and boarding pass. Also luggage is different. It’s not like in the old days where you could pack whatever you wanted to in your bag either. Now, there are regulations mandating how much skin cream you can carry with you, and I was told not to bring hair spray as apparently it is not inconceivable a person could build a bomb in the bottom of the can. They are on to me. That’s what I’m up to on sleepless nights putzing around in my little kitchen. Unless you can pull together something deadly with a pound of broccoli and some lemons, I’m pretty sure I’ll stay off of the 10 Most Wanted List.

Flying really is like taking a bus in the sky anymore. Used to be I loved to fly. It was a sort of spoiled feeling experience. You got movies (free), meals (several choices) – I KNOW, and snacks – STOP IT. Spoiler alert, there actually are packages of pretzels with more than four pretzels inside. Beverages, other than cocktails, were on the house, and really you didn’t pay for anything but the privilege of sitting in your seat once your ticket was purchased. Also, there were travel agents available on every corner of town to help you make your arrangements. I know you are shaking your head and thinking, “YOU ARE TOTALLY PLAYING WITH ME NOW”. These agent’s dedicated jobs were to book your tickets, print your paperwork, book hotels, rental cars or take care of whatever else you needed to make your trip wrinkle free. I often think with the advent of all this amazing technology at our fingertips life got both simpler and more complicated concurrently, if such a thing is possible.

One of the ladies here (the inmates as I affectionately call them), just stopped me to say how glad she was to see me and how much she looked forward to our little conversations at the front desk each weekend. When I wonder what on earth I’m doing here, I find an answer from the universe seems to arrive pretty quickly once the question has been posed.

Well, happy early Halloween. I have bought my $25.00 bag of candy and I am ready for my trick or treaters. I do hope I get some wee bees, or lovely little princesses at my door. They are so cute with their huge eyes and little pumpkin buckets held out expectantly waiting to be filled.

Enjoy your day. Enjoy every day. Talk soon.

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The beginning is always today…..Mary Shelley

Outside my window, the gardeners are bending and standing scooping huge rakes of fall leaves into my compostable bin. A cool breeze is keeping the supply of leaves needing sweeping swirling to the ground, and the days have turned cooler. Hard to believe, just last week we were laboring through the worst heat wave since weather has been reported here in Northern California. I am getting myself and my car packed for my trip down to the Bay Area to watch my son get married. Miss Boo is sitting in the corner tossing ugly looks in my direction from time to time, while I pull things from my closet to fill my suitcase with. Please, save your pity for an abused kitty somewhere. Boo has a house/pet sitter coming for the days I’ll be absent, so by no means is the cat being disregarded. For the price of a car payment, I am providing her company, plentiful treats, food in her dish, water in her bowl, and a companion to snuggle with in the middle of the night. Sometimes I think the cat lives better than I do.

Though this week is slated to be a busy one, life in general seems to have at last slowed down to a manageable pace. For one, my dating life has certainly quieted down. Again, save your pity. I quieted it down. Life was getting confusing. I don’t want or need confusion right at this juncture in my world. I cleared the playing field of all but a single competitor, and went back to square one to regroup and take a break. Perhaps, and that is a perhaps, I am not ready to step into something new quite yet. That being said, I am taking a long hard look at what it is I would like to do. I’ll send up a flare when I have any answers to that dilemma. Actually, I don’t HAVE to do anything exactly at the moment except head down to watch my son share his name with the love of his life. That, I have to say, is more than enough for now. Having my children, though they are far removed from that description these days, settled and happy allows me peace of mind and makes my heart smile every day. In August, my dear little mama moved on as well. All this leaving me standing at the crook in the road of late trying to decide whether to go left or right, or simply sit on a rock under a tree in the warm sun and take in the scenery.

It is smoky outside today. The biggest fire currently in progress in California, is in our back yard. Not literally, thank God, but twenty miles as the crow flies east of here, and that’s not nearly far enough away for me. We’ve been sucking up smoke for several weeks, and it’s only 25% contained. The location is difficult for firefighters to access, prone to steep slopes and valleys, and we are so dry here it can quickly spread with no lack of fuel. The fire fighters have a good battle on their hands. Watching the enormous plume spiraling up into the air leaves me with an admiration for the incredible power of nature.

I think a lot about the power nature wields in our universe. Last week I watched a documentary on the Dust Bowl. There wasn’t enough misery with the heat and the smoke, I thought I’d add a little extra to the pot. I had no idea those people endured that for ten years. Wow. They had dust in their teeth, their food, their homes, and most likely every other accessible orifice. Horrible.

Leaving thoughts of fire and dust bowls behind, while loading my car up with what I felt I needed for my trip, it became obvious to me I know not the first thing about “traveling light”. In my defense, I have learned over the years no matter whether leaving town for one night or a week, you basically have to pack about the same amount of belongings. Also, I was trained by the best. My mother, a self proclaimed “clothes horse”, would devote an entire suitcase to shoes, and another to handbags, when she went on a trip. Another problem lies in as we age, there simply is more equipment to take with because the maintenance of our bodies becomes more labor intensive. Before leaving the house in the morning I have at least forty-five minutes of upkeep required on my person before I can go out the front door. This is not including showering, hair and makeup. Truth is, I could use a team these days to help me get presentable before being allowed to run free in the general public.

My esthetician has me using a three part beauty treatment twice a day which she insists MUST be applied in the correct order. 1, 2, 3. Really it isn’t rocket science. Yet, she has thoughtfully numbered the bottles for me, apparently sensing I, 1) either don’t care about this order in the least, or 2) likely would forget what the order was by the time the words exited her lips. Both answers would have been correct. According to her, you must apply the products in this order lest your skin slide down your face and drift into a puddle at your feet. Let’s see, 1, 2, 3. By George I think I’ve got it. Really?

There has also been a sinus rinse added to my regimen by my allergist, which when the liquid is shot up your nostrils is tantamount to sliding your brain under a rushing waterfall for three minutes. This requires distilled water, a special dispenser, which has to be sanitized, and a saline packet. Sigh.

Next, I have a mask for my dry eyes which is popped in the microwave each morning while listening to the news, then applied for the pre-determined effective time of fifteen minutes. Siri has been kind enough to count this off for me every day until the caffeine has taken effect.

I am wishing my mother was here to witness the joining of these two dear people. Knowing how much she appreciated a good party and how much she loved her grandson, I’m sure she’ll be perched like the Cheshire Cat on one of the massive limbs of the oak tree they are to be married under, not missing a single magical moment.

As I say often in my blogs, life is like a movie with a series of frames. You must capture the most from each frame in order to absorb the story to its fullest.

There have been a lot of goodbyes over the past few years. As with everything when one door shuts, another opens. It will be lovely to be part of a new beginning once again.

Happy Friday! We are being gifted with a lovely preview to fall sort of day as we embark on a day of pre wedding festivities. Enjoy every moment.

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Let me tell ya ’bout the birds and the bees And the flowers and the trees…..

Well here we are heading into August. Summer is beginning to wind down once again, meaning fall isn’t far behind. The onset of the autumn months always get my heart to pumping. Fall is most definitely my favorite time of the year, perhaps due to the fact I was a November baby, or I love the sound of crisp leaves crumbling under my boots, the smell of my first pumpkin candle flickering in the window, or rain on the roof. I don’t know, it’s a cozy, pleasant feeling like slipping into a hot tub after a long day.

Yesterday, there was a lot of smoke in the air from the fire burning in the Yosemite area. The giant sequoias have so far escaped injury thanks to the efforts of the fire personnel. I have visited those beautiful trees many times, and my heart would be saddened to see any harm come to them. Fire is so devastating. Often I think of my friends in Paradise, California who lost so much in the Camp Fire in 2018. 85 souls were lost on that day, and so much devastation inflicted on the area. When living in Butte County, I worked in Paradise for nearly four years at the Paradise Post. That building, like most in the town, was burned to the ground. As our temperatures rise, it seems logical the incidence of fires will rise along with it. I try not to worry, because it is such a wasted emotion. All the energy put into worrying could be so much better utilized to do something more constructive and, in the end, isn’t going to change anything set in motion to occur. This is a lesson I remind myself of each and every day.

I had a dinner party of sorts last night. Have to admit my dinner party muscles are a wee bit atrophied. My house, as I’ve mentioned, was not built to accommodate a lot of guests. It’s really at it’s best when housing two people and a cat. The table looked pretty. I lit a candle, though it was hot out, just because. The conversation was interesting. My company sat at the dining room table talking and kibitzing me while I slaved away in the kitchen. I am an old hand at dinner parties. In the past, pulling one together for sixty people wouldn’t have had me even breaking a sweat. My kitchen back then was set up beautifully for entertaining, with lots of counter space and room for appliances and tools. The one I have now, though I love it and my sweet old house, is reminiscent of a galley on a ship, long and lean, and perfect for the minimalist. We ate, we laughed, we share stories, and all the swirling news of climate change, political unrest, gun control, and women’s rights seemed dimmer and farther if only for the moment.

It’s not that I believe we shouldn’t investigate and participate with vigor in the world’s problems, it is rather that sometimes we have to put the heavy subjects in the closet for a while and simply BE. Lately I have found when I do this, I see the clouds more clearly floating by outside my window, the colors more vividly in the butterflies hovering over my plants in the yard, and hear the squirrel chattering for a mate clinging to the side of my tree. All things, as they say, in balance.

When up like I am tonight before anyone is supposed to be, I have been tuning in the CNN special on Patagonia. What a fascinating series it is, for those of you interested in the world around you. Wow. The cinematography is beyond impressive, and I do love the animals and creatures of the sea, my favorite perhaps being the penguins. I would love to travel someday to where these birds are and spend some time among them just once. They are definitely on my bucket list.

On a totally unrelated subject, I got my first paychecks. There were two. Though hardly large enough to be thought impressive, I was impressed. Many years have passed since I collected a paycheck, and it made me feel rather proud. One of my friends pointed out I could be making more slinging burgers at In n Out. Somehow, when processing that idea, the thought of standing at the grill with a bunch of teenagers amassing pimples while regaling them in stories of back in the day when phones were still connected to the wall and computers but a seed in Bill Gate’s brain cells didn’t sound like a plan to me. Although, I have to admit, the all you can eat employee benefits did ring a happy bell in my taste buds

The new job so far, is rewarding. The residents of the assisted living/memory care facility are definitely the icing on the cake. The other day one of them rolled up to my desk and said to me, “Let me ask you something. If you were me, what would you do now?”. This simple question really touched my heart. He was confused, and had no idea where life took him next. I suggested a visit to the library or perhaps taking a walk through the halls. Both seemed like such shallow solutions to the more pressing problem he faced. Life had become small for this gentleman, essentially held within the walls of this facility. It was a stark reminder to me to live every day fully, cherish my time with my children and my friends, and make the best memories and difference possible while time is still available to me. He went off in search of a book to read. I wondered if he found one and opened the pages, would he remember the words written there. Life goes on, new life comes in and old moves out. The circle is complete.

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If you knew Susie, like I know Susie…..

Night before last was the weirdest night I’ve had in a while. Of all things, I walked in my sleep. Well, perhaps you wouldn’t call it sleeping, as I remember parts of what is transpiring. I guess it’s more of a twilight in-between place I find myself where logic does not prevail. This is only the third time I can remember ever experiencing such a phenomena. Each time, once the episode is over, it leaves me with the strangest feeling like there is an unfamiliar dialogue streaming in my head. Sort of the way I feel after waking up from a bad dream. Takes me a while to shake it. In the first two episodes I endured, the sleep walking was triggered by medication. Not recreational, no, no, no, but prescribed. The first time, I believe, was attributed to a pain medication my doctor had prescribed post surgery. In this most recent instance, I can only point to the melatonin I decided to take before going to bed to help me sleep as being the likely culprit. I took the natural sleep aid once before and experienced perhaps a lingering laziness the following morning as the only side effect. This time, so desperate to get a good night’s sleep I also drank Sleepytime Tea, rubbed my arms with lavender laced cream, and may, I say may, have taken two instead of one melatonin capsules by accident. My bad. Totally, my bad.

The first time I went wandering about while still asleep I was in my twenties. My then husband, discovered me piling into my car at 2:30 a.m. fully dressed, lunch packed, and preparing to head off to the work. I had packed the back seat with a pup tent and some camping gear. Not only was it a Sunday morning, so there was no work, but 3:00 might have been a little early to arrive at the office had it been an actual workday. Why I packed camping gear I have no explanation. I suppose I could have pitched the tent and made some s’mores until everybody arrived for work on Monday. My husband said I made no sense when he asked what exactly I thought I was doing. Realizing I wasn’t sharing his dimension, he guided me back to the bedroom, put my pajamas back on, and tucked me back in bed. That time, I didn’t remember getting up at all. This time, was much different.

The second time it happened, I got up in the early hours of the morning and made a meatloaf and ate a full dinner leaving the remains of my mess on the counter and going back to bed. That night I’d taken medicine for the pain associated with an abcessed tooth. Have some memory of that incident, but only whipping light and fluffy mashed potatoes. I woke up the following morning with catsup on my shirt, only to find the dog standing on the counter licking up the residue of what was left on my kitchen counter. Thankfully, I didn’t either try to drive that night or go down the deck and take a swim (we lived on the Sacramento Delta at the time). My angels do keep me safe in spite of myself, I always feel.

This time after consuming all the sleep aids, I picked up my book. Under normal circumstances, if tired, I barely get two pages under my belt before my eyes droop. I’m not sure to be honest I even opened the book to begin reading before I dozed off. It was early, before seven probably. I don’t usually drop off that early in the day, but as I said, I haven’t been sleeping. Also, I am adjusting to working eight hours a day again after all these years. I woke up with a start. Groggy, I looked the clock by my bed. Almost eight o’clock. OMG. I had slept, and overslept. I flew out of bed and began to run around the house, stopping first to push the on button on my coffee maker. Being late on my third week on the job is simply not good form. Somewhere among the cobwebs and sinewy stuff cluttering my gray matter, an idea hatched in my addled brain. Suddenly I remembered I needed to call the Automobile Club and have them jump my battery in my car before I could leave the house. Now, this would not be a surprising thought to entertain, if my battery in fact needed jumping. It did not. First, I called work to tell them I would be late. A man answered who told me my boss was not in the office and wouldn’t be in until the morning but he could take a message. Morning? What are these people stupid? What morning? Then, he offered to give me my boss’s supervisor’s number. Really? Yup, called old John (who I don’t know from Adam) and told him I was going to be late because I had called AAA and they were on they way. Thankfully, the phone calls ended there. I did, however, continue on without restraint to send an email to my boss explaining the whole situation in detail. Next, I made a piece of toast (one does have to eat) and suddenly at that point became confused. Looking out the window, rather than getting lighter outside as it would during the daytime, dark was closing in. Now, my mind had no idea how to process that. It had no idea how to process that, because I had only been asleep one hour when I woke up and had begun this whole charade. Good Lord, it was now only 9:00 p.m.

When my eyes opened the following morning I was sleeping sideways on my bed, glasses on, cell phone in hand, with Boo on my chest staring in my face. On my phone I could see I had sent several texts about my battery to friends as well who had responded and gotten no further communication from me. Four concerned voicemails were waiting in the queue. “What”, I wondered, “had I done”? Oh man.

How embarrassing is that? I had to go to work and explain I created all this mayhem while asleep, or quasi asleep. I half expected to be handed a check and have her tell me they already have enough mental situations on campus without adding me to the pot. Amazingly, they were all laughing about it. The email was pretty funny stuff, I have to say. I’m sure there was some serious ribbing going on about me when I wasn’t in the room. My boss told me I definitely brought the entertainment factor to the table. I do my best.

So, it was just another day in the life of at my house. Really my life never seems quite bubble in the center. In the atmosphere in the world around us, we have to learn to lighten up and laugh at ourselves. Oh, and last night I nearly beat myself to death when I opened my blinds to find something looking back at me. It was the tree outside my window. It hadn’t moved there during the night. It has by the looks of it been there for many years, three years definitely since I’ve been here. I don’t know. Maybe I’m suffering from PTSD. Happy Tuesday!!!

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Ticket please…..

Thursday was my fourth day on my new job. I haven’t actually done anything thus far but sit and watch an endless stream of videos on memory care issues, state guidelines, fire safety, and general elder care concerns. Though interesting material, eight hours straight sitting in an uncomfortable chair staring at a computer screen is positively mind numbing. On entering the fifth hour on Thursday, I was beginning to question if a person could actually become legally insane while doing something of this nature? Were there studies? Should I explore this when I go home and decide whether or not it is safe to return to work? OMG.

The grounds of the assisted living facility I am working in, I have to say, are lovely. Great care and attention seems to have been given to providing the residents nice surroundings in which to spend their twilight years. I found a shady spot with chairs and a table where I could eat my lunch, then took a quick walk before heading back in for the second half of my video torture for the day. The room where my computer was set up I shared with a gentleman named Brian. Brian carried on mundane snippets of conversation with me as he popped in and out of the office He reminded me of a jack in the box exploding up and down in it’s container. Inactivity makes me tired, as does a big meal. When home, I often close my eyes (I call it resting them) for a few minutes after lunch just to rejuvenate the working parts. Sitting mesmerized in front of the computer screen, old habits must have kicked in. Before I knew it, Brian was nudging me gently whispering, “Susie, you’re asleep”. “What, me”? Glad he found me before I’d face planted into the keyboard and created a scene. If my friends were here they would tell you I can sleep anywhere if tired enough. It’s my super power. I’m sure this is not reassuring to those drivers sharing the road with me, but honestly if I get that tired while driving, I will pull over and grab a few winks. Never want to prove a danger to myself or others. I recall when Star Wars first came to the theaters (I know, ancient history). I went to a showing with my then boyfriend. We had been water skiing the whole weekend and I was both sunburned and exhausted. Now, Star Wars was loud even by indoor theater standards. In spite of the noise factor, I managed to sleep quietly through about two-thirds of it. Had to see it a second time to see what all the hoopla was about.

After my day was done at work, I came home, answered a few phone calls, and took a long walk. Sitting for long periods of time is not easy for a “hummingbird” personality like myself. Sitting has always been hard for me. Rick used to get annoyed with me bouncing up and down out of my chair when we were watching a movie or taking in a 49er’s game. Sorry, I came into this world with this impossible metabolism and the girl was just born to run. One of the phone calls was from a friend of mine who was coming to dinner on Saturday. On hearing his voice, I was pretty sure I didn’t need to take the hamburger out of the freezer. Turns out, he tested positive for COVID. That pesky little bug simply isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. He’s been shot and boosted, and HAD the virus, and yet here he was again down for the count. Discouraging.

Friday I spent relaxing, actually I devoted the whole day to it. I finished a book I’ve been reading since the beginning of the year, cooked something yummy for dinner, and settled in with Boo, the Queen of Cats, for a movie and some long awaited cuddling. All in all, it was a very non-productive and pleasant way to spend the day. The movie I chose, was one I’ve seen before. It’s a thriller with Ashley Judd and Morgan Freeman called “Kiss the Girls”. Why on earth I chose that for an evening in the house alone escapes me. I ended up watching parts of it through the gaps in my fingers. There must be part of me that enjoys being scared. The book I finished was penned by Dean Koontz, also known for his weird and unsettling stories, so I had a lot to think about before turning off the light. Amazingly, I still managed to sleep most of the night without a weapon under my pillow, nor entertaining any boogey men in my dreams.

So today I am meeting someone new for coffee. This really has been an adventure into the over sixty dating scene over the past few months. I’m not in any kind of hurry to brew something in the pot, simply interested in exploring the different varieties on the shelves, and seeing what this is all about. Someone asked me if I got nervous meeting someone new. Not really. Maybe a small butterfly or two, but I am a fairly outgoing person, so conversation comes easily to me. No one who has moved 39 times and held as many temp jobs as I have, can be too hesitant about finding themselves in an unfamiliar situation. After a while, you get used to it and it becomes the norm rather than the exception. The biggest thing I am looking for is a “connection”. I have met several men who I enjoy as friends, and the one gentleman I shared time with the beginning of the year with different political ideologies, but I mean a real soul connection. If I can’t find that, then it is Boo and I and my lovely circle of friends going forward.

This morning will either be an enjoyable cup of coffee or an uncomfortable hour of stilted conversation. I’m going for the former. The jury remains out on this one as yet. I will bring updates when next I sit down at the computer to write. I have a friend who believes our lives are all about the experience. Makes sense to me. I think often about the numerologist who read my numbers back when I was thirty-five. He told me I had a really complicated and interesting life. My numbers, calculated by him according to when I was born, where, or whatever, told him I would basically recreate myself every decade. Looking back, much of which he spoke to me about has transpired. Here I am once again laying the bricks on the foundation of a different life for myself. What a journey it has been up until now, and if my intuition serves me, there is still much to tell waiting in a shroud of fog around the bend in the road.

Update. I made it through two hours of very pleasant conversation with my new friend. He was nice and interesting, but we had as many things in common as those we did not. For example, he’s a diving instructor, not flying but of the scuba variety. Now I love, love, love the water. Along with that love of water, I harbor a claustrophobic nature and a terror of being locked inside any area I can’t easily escape. We all have our little nicks in our armor. The thought to me of being hundreds of feet under the surface of the ocean with a mask covering my face is mind warping. Hmmmmm. Next, and he’s not the first male to say this to me, he spent some time letting me know he is VERY independent, doesn’t need anyone to take care of him, likes his space (a lot of space apparently), and is looking more for a traveling companion because he doesn’t like taking road trips alone. That being the case, I wanted tot suggest going to the local animal rescue and picking up an amiable golden lab. Why, one wonders, sign up on a site who’s sole goal is matching people to one another, if you prefer being alone? The logic here baffles me. That being said, he was a lovely person, if not one I choose to get to know any better. Again, about the experience and not the destination for the time being.

So, the quest continues. I am not in a hurry, as I said earlier, I shall simply hand the man my ticket and enjoy the ride.

Take the day off today. It is glorious sometimes to just abandon the to-do lists, leave the vacuum in the closet, stay in your pj’s and fuzzy socks and just be for a while. Rejuventating.

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Before the parade passes by….

Well another fourth has been put to bed. As it happens, the fourth was also my maternal grandmother’s birthday. She always requested strawberry shortcake for the occasion. I think of her each year as the fireworks explode in the sky, and hope she’s slathering a mound of fluffy whipped cream on fresh strawberries somewhere in the universe.

I made plans to go to a local Fourth of July parade with a friend, and then attend a pancake breakfast at the Elks Lodge immediately following. It was warm, but thankfully not hot like in the past several weeks. We waited with other enthusiastic onlookers in the semi-shade about an hour and a half for the parade to begin. The first car carrying the “Grand Marshall”, a local celebrity of sorts who owned a string of car washes, went by followed by a small but merry group of flag twirlers. After the flag twirlers rounded the corner, three ladies came into view riding palominos each with an American flag painted on their flank. (That would be the equines with the flags not the ladies.) A few stray cars went by next, not associated with the parade itself, and then two fire trucks and some beautifully restored classic cars. The whole performance lasted about eight minutes. Well worth the wait, lol.

After the parade had passed us by, we made our way across the street to the Elks Lodge to stand in line to get tickets for the much touted all you can eat pancake breakfast. Breakfast, we were told, included scrambled eggs, unlimited pancakes, and sausage. Yum. My stomach had begun grumbling as soon as it smelled the maple syrup. Purposely, I had held off on eating before I came, so I could enjoy a stack of unlimited pancakes to my hearts content. Yay. The Elks had it set up so you gave your name to the ticket lady, who, in turn, handed it off to the volunteers in the kitchen. Orders came out one after another for about an hour with names being called to identify the table they belonged to. My stomach finally gave up the vigil and quieted down to a dull roar settling for a glass of orange juice until the pancakes arrived. About ten people before us, one of the runners announced they had run out of food. Really? We were told a tri tip and hot dog barbecue would commence in about an hour and a half. I was first in line for that one I guarantee.

Turns out while we were waiting for lunch to be served, a band was setting up in one of the great rooms inside. We milled in with the others waiting with us, to listen to what they had to offer. They weren’t bad actually. I wore flip flops because, a) it was warm, and b) I was wearing shorts, and my invitation to go dancing must have gotten lost in the mail. Dancing in flip flops is not the ideal footwear situation, but for the next hour I found myself doing exactly that. Turns out these Elks can actually bust some moves on the dance floor. At one point, 80% of the room got out there and did an amazing line dance that would have been impressive even in a Texas roadhouse. Wow. Must be taking lessons on the weekend. I’ve never learned to line dance. For some reason I can’t seem to hold on to the choreography. My ex-husband was from Odessa. There I believe line dancing and cow wrangling are required courses in grade school. He taught me a lot in the ten years or so we were together, both good and bad. I’ve forgotten most of the dances over the years but it was fun to watch. Made me think I might sign up for a class somewhere along the way myself.

I came home early before the fireworks because I had driven back from the Bay Area the day before, where I visited my son and his brood. After four days of busy activities my behind was beginning to drag along the asphalt. I’ve been riding myself pretty hard lately and the old bones are beginning to feel the strain.

Yesterday was my first eight hour day on the new job. For those of you who didn’t read my blog saying where I was working, I took a job at an assisted living and memory care facility two days a week. It continues to surprise me how much my mind is fighting this new development. I keep hearing phrases like “Where oh where is my prince?” swirling about in my head. Once I officially retired I think my mindset was to keep that employment designation, but as I’ve said sooooooo many times life doesn’t always read the agenda you have written out for yourself.

My official job title is Concierge. I know, very flashy, yes? Actually, administrative assistant more accurately describes what I am doing. However, I rather like the title they assigned me. Rolls nicely off the tongue. I spent the day seated in an incredibly hard folding chair in front of a small laptop watching videos. In order to work in such a facility you are required to be somewhat versed on the conditions at work in the people living there. In this case, that would be mainly dementia and Alzheimer’s. Because my mother had dementia in her nineties, I am fairly well versed in how the condition manifests itself as it moves along in it’s progression.

Being the “new girl on the block” prompted a procession of sorts by the door to my temporary office comprised of the men living in the facility. Men will be men, I have observed, no matter the age group. One after one, they circled the hallway most pushing walkers to get a look at the new face in the building. It’s probably one of the few places I could show up for work these days where I would be considered a member of the younger generation in the population.

After about four hours in that chair my body began to complain. By the time I rolled into the eighth hour I had assumed more positions in that miserable little chair then a professional ballerina performing Swan Lake. I go back to work tomorrow, and they are going to have to find me a softer place to land or I’m going to end up in traction by the weekend. I do feel like I am learning a lot in between the squirming, however. It is a little scary to think that most of us will develop dementia on one level or another, and many of us Alzheimer’s. Hopefully, medical science will come up with something to reverse or stop the progress of this disease. Makes you wonder though. The average age in nursing homes now is 80 years old. Used to be people didn’t live past sixty. If we live to be two hundred, I do hope they also combat the physical effects of aging or that might not be a sight I’d like to see facing me in the mirror every morning. I’m just saying.

Well, happy hump day to you. I lost a very dear friend suddenly day before yesterday. Thankfully, we had lunch several weeks ago and parted by saying “I love you. See you soon.” You never know, capture each moment, appreciate the clouds and the stars, taste the food on your plate with all your senses. Live every day to the fullest.

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