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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Unfold your own myth….. – Rumi

Sunday the thermometer finally stretched itself up to 80 degrees. What a gorgeous day it was, seeming almost to shine brightly as if paying homage to it being Easter Sunday. Blue, blue, skies overhead, only broken up by an occasional white puffy cloud floating by. Glorious. Of course, this contentment with the weather will only be temporary. I say this because, we’re never really happy, no matter what the weather might serve up, for very long. When it’s hot, we’re wishing it was cold, and when it’s cold, yup, we’re asking, “where’s the dagnamit heat”? Since the onset of spring, I sit at work all day having one person after another remarking on how cold it is for spring. We’re like Goldilocks and the three bears. The only time Goldilocks was satisfied was with Baby Bear’s stuff. That satisfaction would have been fleeting as well, disappearing entirely most likely, once Baby Bear’s cereal had cooled off or his bed got old and lumpy. In a month, guaranteed, we’ll all be kvetching about the heat. There’s no maybes about that.

I indulged in a little retail therapy over the Easter weekend. Holidays haven’t been quite the same since my mom passed away. They seem to arrive with a bit of melancholy pinned to their shirttails. Sometimes, a little shopping cheers me right up. It certainly always did her, and Mama taught me well. Richard and I decided to go all shabby chic on Sunday’s trip to the store. Thrift store hopping is an activity I really enjoy, especially, when I come home with some really great treasures. I have mentioned before, I am blessed with a kind of a unique talent for thinking about something, then having it magically materialize in my life. Rick used to call it my super power. lol Last week, while emptying the dishwasher, I noticed several pieces of a set of small dishes I use a lot and really enjoy, had chips around the sides. Last I’d used the dishes, there was a chip in one, but now there were three plates each with a chip clearly visible. As they are dishes I use frequently, I decided to look on-line to see if I could find replacements. I bought these dishes years ago at Costco. My recall isn’t fine tuned enough of late to remember exactly when I’d purchased them. I do know Rick and I were still living in Oroville, so I bought them well over a decade ago. Still, I had faith the Internet, which hasn’t failed me yet when searching for something, would yield a result. The dishes came in a set and were meant to be used as “dipping bowls” for olive oil and garlic”, a fad going around culinary circles at the time. The set of brightly painted ceramic dishware included a tray to hold the bread you would use to dip with, as well as eight 6″ dishes. I probably paid less than $30 for the entire set. Sure enough, some results popped up. The sites with identical dishes wanted as much as $15-20 for each small dish. Say what? No way was I going to pay that. Wishing I had new ones, but not willing to fork out $60 for three of them, I closed the cupboard door and promptly forgot about them. Sunday, while in one of the last stores we were to visit, Richard waved me over to show me something he was looking at. Right there next to the item he wanted me to see, sat two complete sets of my little dishes, all intact, 16 for $15.99. Wow. They are in my trunk as we speak waiting to go home. Couldn’t believe it.

Word on the street is, thrift stores and discount stores are businesses benefiting nicely from the current state of our economy. With our dollars not reaping the harvest they used to, consumers are looking for more bang for their buck. I know, speaking for myself, I purchase items far more often in the discount stores such as Marshall’s and TJ Maxx, than I do in the higher end stores I used to frequent. Grocery shopping runs much along the same lines. I look at ads, then chase deals stores are offering, on any given week. I remember back during the coupon craze in the 90’s, people were clipping coupons out of every paper or throwaway. Though not an avid coupon clipper, I probably had at least ten to fifteen coupons in my wallet every time I went to buy groceries. Some people, though, really got into the swing of things. I recall one lady in front of me at one market who had a three ring binder positively bulging at the seams with coupons. Opening the book at the cashiers station, I could see the book was very well organized. There were tabs and plastic sleeves visible, as she flipped though the pages adroitly whipping out one coupon after another. When commenting on how impressive I found this, she told me they were alphabetically filed, as well as organized in categories such as paper products or produce. Looking at the size of the binder, it appeared to me to be a full time job. I already had one, and a life, but I had to admire her effort.

Boo and are are packing up and heading home again this morning. The cat is getting to be quite the traveler. Seated in her crate, paws tucked under her like the Sphinx, she goes back and forth each week. The crate is always the sticky issue. Not traveling in it, she’s great at that, it’s getting her inside it. She has not written a dissertation on it, but I feel she associates it with the vet. If the cat sees it, as I’ve mentioned, it’s game over. Once aware it’s in the room, I will be in for an hour of coaxing, which will lead eventually to pitiful pleading, and finally, I will be reduced to plying her with treats and ridiculous games of (excuse me) cat and mouse in order to capture her and get her crated. Once inside, she settles down as if nothing was up, and off we go. Cats, go figure.

I have a friend coming up Sunday for a brief visit. Spending my time split lately between Richards house and mine, doesn’t leave a lot of room for my usual attention to house cleaning. Not being at my house, at least I’m not creating any new messes, that’s a plus. However, dust continues to collect on the surfaces whether it has company or not, and I’m fairly sure no kind soul stopped by while I was gone to put fresh sheets on the bed for my guest to enjoy. Another to-do before she arrives is food shopping. A Buddhist on a fast couldn’t survive on what I have to forage for in my refrigerator. For that, as my time is limited, I think I’ll rely on Instacart. For the most part their “shoppers” do a great job. I do find you have to keep your phone handy while they are in the store, in case they have questions or substitutions. If not, you might end up with something you don’t really want. Also, it’s important to watch what items you select. Recently, my friend ended up with twenty-five pounds of carrots just by pushing the wrong button. Whew. They are going to have great eyesight when they are finished eating that lot. Interesting fact, …….or not. Too many carrots, can actually turn your skin orange. I just read an article on that. You are probably thinking I can file that information under “little known facts nobody cares about or ever really needed to know”. Seriously though, they included pictures of people looking like they’d gotten into a bad bottle of tanning cream in the article. Huh. Moderation in all things I guess. I mean I like carrots as much as the next person, but I’m not going to the mat for them.

It’s back to work again tomorrow. The days peel off the calendar in such rapid succession I can’t kept track. It’s the middle of April already, and marching in a steady pace towards May. At the end of the summer, after Labor Day, I am taking a full month off from the world and heading out on a road trip with Richard. Our on-call concierge will be absorbing my days until we return. Since I only work two days a week, in total my time off adds up to a vacation week plus one. My dear friend, Barbara, is moving in with Boo for the month. Barbara loves my house, and Miss Boo, so they should be compatible roomies. As for Richard and I, we will be utilizing his roomy fifth wheel while away, and taking in the western states along our route. Yellowstone is included on our itinerary. I’ve never been there, so am most excited about exploring the park and checking out a bison or two up close and personal. Yellowstone, as well as the Grand Canyon, which hopefully will be included, would cross off two locations from my bucket list. Recently I was watching a newscast about a couple of senior ladies, I believe eighty-one, who embarked on an around the world in 80 days tour together. From the looks of the video I watched, the two octogenarians were living the life while traveling around the globe. At the end of the video, they encouraged seniors, or people of any age, to get out and live their lives to the fullest. Couldn’t agree more. In the blink of an eye the sand has run out in the hourglass, and the choice to experience what this world has to offer is no longer yours. I talked myself out of this trip several times, because I had no idea how I could pull it off. One by one, I added another piece to the puzzle slowly making it a reality. Until, finally, I could see the complete picture laid out before me. Someone told me once, “if you want something badly enough, you will create it in your life”. Words to live by. So, I am revved up about this new adventure, so to speak. Another benefit, besides seeing what we see along the way, will be observing how Richard and I do when spending 24/7 in each other’s company for a full month’s time. This will fill in a lot of blanks about how the future looks for the two of us. They say, you never really know a person until you live with them. If things don’t go well, you may well be reading a blog of mine written while I’m seated on my duffle bag by the side of the road in New Mexico, my thumb sticking up. Secretly, I’m not worried. We both share the belief give and take is a good foundation on which to build a relationship. In the nearly eleven months we have been dating, I don’t believe we’ve shared a harsh word between us. We work very well as a team, with each of us pulling our share of the load. Closeness like this trip, however, can certainly highlight the blemishes, if they are there to be discovered. This too, will unfold as it is mean to unfold. I will allow it to happen at the time it does and not worry about it today.

Have a lovely weekend. Spring is always so full of new possibilities.

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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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Last gasp of winter…..

Be careful what you wish for. Many of us living in the Northern California area have been praying for rain and snow to help reduce the persistent drought conditions hanging by over us the past three years. Apparently, someone was listening. Last year it looked bleak along the mountainsides as you drove along the highways in the Sierra Nevadas. Trees, starving for water, had either leaves turned dark brown and wilted, or simply stood drooping, as if in mourning, in the midday sun. Many, dead from lack of hydration, fell in the forests or in the backyards of those choosing to live among them. I have to say it was difficult to watch. Well, at last this winter we got rain, and boy did we get snow. Then we got more rain, and we got more snow. Guess what is on the agenda for next week? You got it, rain, and snow. It’s not that this amount of snow is unprecedented in the U.S., but rather that it is unprecedented for our area. People living here are not prepared for it, and that makes it more difficult to manage.

When I was living in Massachusetts this amount of snowfall was simply called “winter”. My car was regularly the largest snowdrift in the yard after a heavy dumping of snow, and temperatures often dipped down below zero before factoring in the wind chill, making it feel even colder. I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now. We have had two clear days to prepare for the next onslaught which is due to arrive in this area this morning. Many of my friends in Nevada County haven’t had power in days and are still trying to dig out from the last series of storms. One friend, living in a higher elevation, had to leave his pickup on the main highway and hike waist deep a mile and a half in from the highway to get to his home. Brrrrrr. Never have I been more pleased I made the decision to sell my home in the high country and move down the hill after Rick died. I seriously would not like to be dealing with what is going on up there right now. Good news, on the glass half full side of things, no more drought in most of the state. In the Lake Tahoe area, the snow plows are running out of places to deposit all the excess snow. Pretty soon they will have to use available parking spaces. Stores in the more isolated areas around here are running out of food and supplies. Trucks are parked all along the freeway and in shopping center parking lots waiting for a good time to traverse the highways. This effects the supply chain because their loads are delayed. Hope this next couple of weeks doesn’t result in any more serious side effects from the weather. Really feel for those living on the streets at times like this. I saw a man walking down the sidewalk on the way to work today pushing a shopping cart with a little dog in the baby carrier. Awwww. Sometimes I wonder how the dogs survive, but somehow they seem to get along. The man was wearing a stack of blankets like a huge shawl. Must have been heavy, but I guess heavy is better than freezing.

The most interesting thing has been going in my yard since the precipitation started. Robins have migrated into my world. Many, many robins. Yesterday, there must have been forty of the chubby little red breasted birds hopping about excitedly in the grass. Following the feathery invasion, squirrels arrived en masse. There were four or five furry little buggers foraging and digging out there. Richard says they are after worms. Apparently, when the grass becomes saturated, the worms migrate toward the surface making them easy pickings for the local wildlife. I must have a bumper crop. The birds maybe, but squirrels eating worms? I looked it up because worms just didn’t seem like a squirrel entree. According to the article I read, worms, though perhaps not squirrels meal of choice, will do if nuts and berries are scarce. They will eat worms for the the nutrients they provide. As a lot of the lady squirrels are expecting this time of year, good eating habits, or so I would suppose, might become particularly important.. For me, this would be like having to resort to opening a can of sardines to sustain myself. Worse yet, a can of Vienna sausage, if there was nothing else to chose from in the cupboard. Ewwwww. For those of you who have read my blog for any length of time you might remember Vienna sausage is like my kryptonite. I once had only a case of the slimy little tubes of destruction to survive on for an entire week. That, as they say, was the last of that. If they ever wanted to pry world secrets out of my tightly sealed lips, holding a can of Vienna sausage under my nose would illicit immediate results. My digestive system has never fully recovered I don’t believe.

The first day of spring is not too far off on the calendar. March 20th, to be exact. This year is setting a rapid pace I have to say. I have several short trips written in on my schedule in the near future which I am looking forward to. The first to visit my son and his lively bunch in the Bay Area, and on the heels of that visit, a quick three day jaunt to Bodega Bay with Richard. For those of you old enough to remember, Alfred Hitchcok’s “The Birds” was filmed in Bodega Bay. There is not a lot to do there if you’re not interested in walking along the cliffs, doing a little whale watching, or don’t like to cast a line in the water, but it is a picturesque little fishing village with lovely coves and inlets to explore. There are several places to dine along the wharf known for their excellent chowder, which I’m sure Richard will avail himself of. Personally, I’m not a clam kind of gal. I don’t appreciate the texture. I’ll eat chowder, but you will find all the chewy little clam bits neatly placed on the dish next to my bowl when I am done. Whether filled with activity, or peaceful and still, the ocean is always a location I am happy to find myself, so I will look forward to getting away.

The walls and doors here at work are awash with leprechauns, balloon rainbows, and pots of gold at the moment in anticipation of St. Patty’s Day. One of the residents came up to me when I came in this morning and whispered in my ear, “word on the street around here is the leprechaun cut-out in the lobby is the new owner of the place and is going to be our new boss”. I explained I had heard nothing about such a hostile elfin takeover, but then I’d just arrived on the premises. I assured him should I get any information vis a vis the new ownership, I promised to update him immediately. Our young new trainee watched this exchange with open curiosity. The kid seems totally overwhelmed by some of the dementia induced story telling transpiring under this roof. I keep explaining to him, the object of dealing with the severely memory impaired person is to roll with the fantasies not to push against them. Picture it like a huge wave rippling on the sea and you are floating along with it, not an undertow you have to fight against. After four hours, he has begun to have that deer in the headlights look. I don’t want him to leave, because it is great to have a backup, and he’s very likable. However, this business is not for everyone. Perhaps because I am, by nature, a story teller of sorts, it comes more easily for me to join in. I do love to weave a tale. Should memory loss ever cloud my mind, and I fervently hope it does not, I like to think I shall still be able to come up with a good story now and again to keep people entertained. Another point in my favor, if that is the right way to put it, is my mother had dementia so I am up close and very familiar with how the disease manifests itself. Fortunately, my mother saw the effects of it very late in her life, and as it progressed she became sweet and more simplistic. Some people rail against it, becoming angry as the confusion begins to settle in over them. In either case it is sad, but since scientific minds haven’t figured out how to reverse the process, for the time being we are stuck with it.

To be honest, there are days when I get nervous about my own brain function. Last week, after being shut in for days, I suggested to Richard we take in a movie. There is a really nice theater about twenty minutes from his house with comfy seats. Like many new theater complexes, they even offer up adult beverages in a very nice bar should that be your poison. (Remember when it was just buttered popcorn, Junior Mints, and Dr. Pepper??. I do.) The website indicated they were showing the most recent Tom Hanks movie, “A Man Called Otto” which I’ve been wanting to see. My treat I suggested, as Richard is always taking me one place or another and I like to reciprocate whenever he will let me. Yay. I went online to my account, selected seats for the following day, and saved the code and receipt to my phone. Done and done. The following morning I got an email from the ticket site asking how I had enjoyed the movie. I chalked this off as a total website fail, until I actually looked at the ticket receipt on my phone and it became clear it was me who, in fact, was failing. Sigh. I paid for the tickets all right, but for two seats for the night prior. So, our comfy empty recliners sat there unclaimed as the movie aired while we wiled away the evening at home eating cheeseburgers and watching the evening news. Fine. The theater’s policy states tickets can be cancelled or exchanged for a different showing up to the showing of the movie time you purchased. After that, you are on your own. It was so incredibly dumb, I would have just bought new tickets for the right day and swept the whole mess under the rug, but for the fact the movie wasn’t playing anymore except for mid-morning when we couldn’t go. No choice was left to me but to fess up to being a total idiot, which I did. Richard just laughed. Surrrrre, wasn’t his $20. Duh.

My brain, if not forgetful today, is definitely tired. I could use a margarita, a warm sunny beach, and a little R&R. This too is in my future sometime this year. For now, I shall be very grateful I am warm and dry and not buried under a pile of snow and ice. Have a safe day.

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Baby, it’s cold outside…..

I woke up this morning to snow cascading down outside my window. It was of the fluffy white cloud variety. Boo, the Queen of Cats, was positively riveted at the sight of large chunks of white ice falling just beyond the pane. Several times, she swatted in their direction. I tried to explain to her there was glass in between her paw and her target, but you know how cats are. I read an article recently stating cats are capable of understanding, I believe the writer said 150, human commands, they simply choose not to do them. Why am I not surprised? Over the weekend, I took her on a field trip to Richard’s house. The drive, around forty-five minutes each way was thankfully uneventful. I secured her in her carrier for the trip. I bought her a new, lighter fabric carrier, last month thinking she might prefer it the hard carrier we have been using. As usual, the cat made up her own mind about the choice to be made. When I tried to ease her into the open end of the new crate, she proceeded to lose her little cat mind. After squirming and writhing nearly out of my grasp, and she is surprisingly strong, she spread out like a flying squirrel and dug her claws into the fabric and wouldn’t let go. She was not, and I repeat not, going to go into the hole without a fight. Fine. Ah well, another item for the donate pile going to the animal rescue. It will join the scratching board (she much prefers furniture), or and the ring with plastic mice running around in circles inside, (I believe she actually yawned when I showed her that gadget). Conversely, my old cat, Kitty, loved to to travel. When the carrier was produced, she happily hopped inside and waited for the adventure to unfold. Boo, not so much. She views the carrier as a device of extreme cruelty that usually signifies a trip to the vet. She would not shed a single tear if I threw it off a cliff somewhere in a remote location and never looked back. Rick and I once took Boo on a three hour drive to visit my mother’s in San Jose. An hour and a half of the drive, she crouched in the carrier and vocalized what a bad idea she thought this was. After 90 minutes of caterwauling, it was pull over and leave her at the side of the road (Rick’s option), or let her out to walk around in the car, (mine). The cat behaved far better when freed, so we opted to allow her to roam free again on the return trip. While standing on her hind paws to look out the rear window, she set a front paw on the window’s down button. When the window went down, she escaped into the street before I could grab her. Unbelievable. We spent the next hour trying to coax her out of the bushes in the meridian. Not doing that again. Once bitten, twice shy really applies to that piece of business.

She actually seemed to have a lovely time at Richard’s house. On blustery days like we’ve enjoyed lately, he keeps a roaring fire going in his fireplace. During our stay there, I found her often fully extended on the carpet before the hearth soaking up some of the lovely heat it brings to the room. There are four squirrels that stop by periodically during the day to mooch peanuts Richard puts out for them. He refers to the furry four as his “livestock”. Oh come on now, that is kind of cute. At any rate, my house has no floor to ceiling windows for her to look out, so seeing these four strange beings was something novel and new that really captured her attention. At one point one of the squirrels was nose to nose with Boo, each eyeing the other safely from the opposite side of the glass. Took the squirrels a few passes around the deck to understand the cat could not get out, before they would come close enough to grab the nuts on the mat. Was fun to watch the interaction with no bloodshed ruining the moment.

I drove to work this morning at a snails pace. This area gets snow rarely, and I am a tad rusty as to how to behave when it’s covering the ground. Several times, when either accelerating or coming to a stop, I found myself in a skid. I’m hoping by the time I go home, it will have melted off. When I was a kid snow was a treat. On school days, when heavy snow fell in Nova Scotia, my grandmother and I would have our ears pressed up to the small radio in her kitchen. If a snow day was called, I would be zipped into my snow gear and released to go play outside. Before long there would be a snowman in the yard wearing one of my mother’s old scarves and sporting a carrot from the vegetable bin for a nose. These days, though I still find it so pretty to look at, I prefer to admire it from a distance. I really have little interest in playing in it for long, and no interest at all in either shoveling it or driving in it. If it continues at this rate, pretty soon I won’t have any television to watch when I get home tonight. If enough snow accumulates on the dish on the roof, it will totally block reception. Ah well, I just went to the used book store over the weekend and stocked up on reading material so I won’t be without something to occupy myself with. All I ask is that the electrical grid holds. I start getting a little squirrely myself when the lights and heater shut off. My little house was built in the 1930’s. Insulation was not as sophisticated in those days as it is now. The heat, once the source is turned off, dissipates very quickly. The last time that happened, I ended up beneath a tent of blankets on my couch wearing earmuffs and snow boots watching my own breath freeze in midair. I would prefer not to have to repeat that behavior.

Richard offered to come get me should I be powerless, so to speak. He has four wheel drive in both his vehicles and being a retired truck driver, a little snow on the ground means little in his world. My hero. Truly, I really appreciate the offer. A warm fire trumps a freezing cold house every time in my book. Just sayin.

I’ve taken on some new non-profit work. Basically, they can’t find graphic artists in the area to do volunteer work, so word has gotten out I am willing to draw the short straw. I don’t mind, or I wouldn’t have signed up in the first place, but I’m not sure where I’m going to fit it into my schedule. Things are getting a bit tight in my life. Tomorrow I work, and then need to come home and whip up scalloped potatoes for a dinner party for ten on Sunday. Perhaps I will cheat and use a couple of package mixes. They are pretty good, and certainly beats thinly slicing all those potatoes. Promise you won’t tell. I had a dream in the middle of the night I was stooped over a huge pot of water. One hand was holding a potato, the other a potato peeler. Next to me, sat an open bag of potatoes, and covering my feet was a pile of discarded peels. I was crying and peeling, peeling and crying. Was it onions I was peeling this would have been understandable, but potatoes? This says a lot about how I’m feeling lately without having to delve much deeper into the subject. lol

Work, has proved a bit problematic of late as well. Hmmmmm, sounds like I’m complaining. Perhaps, because, I am. I work with five directors, each with their own set of priorities and way of doing things. One tells me one thing, the other something totally different. One wants me to gather a lot of information from the caller when a call comes in for them, the next one wants me to simply tell them they have a call and on what line it came in. Ach. When the calls are coming in rapid fire trying to remember who wants what becomes more of a chore than fielding all the lines that are ringing. Perhaps I am getting tired of working. Wish I could get tired of collecting a paycheck as well, but I’m not quite there yet.

Richard would like me to throw caution to the wind, pack up Boo, give my notice, and take off in the fifth wheel to do a tour of the United States. I have to say, this is a tempting offer. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve run away from home. I toured the country with my first husband and my then toddlers for nearly a year, and did it once again for about five years with my last. Sometimes I get to wondering if I am imbued with nomadic DNA. I seem to end up roaming either on my own, or pairing up with someone who also likes to flitter and land. Seems like a bit of a pattern looking back on my life that apparently doesn’t intend to right itself anytime soon. This opportunity to have this kind of adventure probably will not present itself again. I have to decide if I still have enough adventurous spirit tucked away inside me to tap into and do it one more time.

Well, we’ve gotten through Valentine’s Day, President’s Day, and Mardi Gras. On to St. Patrick’s Day, which is coming up next month. I believe after that it’s smooth sailing holiday wise until the Easter bunny gets busy for another year. In between all the holidays littering the pages of my calendar, I have birthdays popping up all over the months. I have two children, who have seven children between them. Each of my children is married, so there are spouses. Now, I have Richard and his extended family. For these occasions cards are probably how I’ll commemorate them. Then you move onto friends with occasions like birthdays, hospital stays, grandchildren arriving on the scene, weddings. Whoa. My best friend called the other day and started our conversation by asking, “do you know what day this is”. A loaded question at best, I began flying through my memory bank only to come up with Tuesday, which I felt was not the correct response. When I said I had nothing beyond Tuesday, she said it was her wedding anniversary. Really? I can barely recall what I had for breakfast. I was her matron of honor, so I suppose perhaps I might have remembered at least the month they were married in, but it would have been a stretch even on a great memory day.

As we get older, we have a massive amount of information stored away in our brains. I like to think, that rather than becoming more forgetful, I just have more to sort through before coming up with the information I am searching for. Working with people each week who have memory issues, I am very aware of how important it is to exercise your mind as well as your body every day. I try to do puzzles when I wake up, read a lot, and challenge my mind to do more than write an occasional grocery list. I always have a crossword half completed somewhere I can pick up when gifted with a free moment. Keep those gears moving, I say, so they don’t freeze up. We can’t ensure that dementia will stay at bay, but there are steps we can take to keep it at bay.

Have a wonderful weekend.

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By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea…..

Continuing the discussion of our recent trip to Carmel I began in my last blog, would bring us to day two of our three day trip. The first day, as reported previously, the weather was mostly about rain, clouds, and overcast skies. Though we held out hope for good weather, we presumed if the forecasts of late here in Northern California prevailed, cloudy days would likely remain the case for the remainder of our time on the road. To our complete delight and surprise, we awoke the next morning to see sun streaming in through the slats in the windows, and bright blue skies overhead when we went to the car to head out for breakfast. Yay.

Like you might notice in many European towns, visitors to Carmel also often choose to get where they want to go on foot. This, I would presume, not only because it is a lovely setting for a stroll outside, but also it is a very popular tourist destination. Parking during peak season, can be at a premium. Many times I’ve circled the town ad nauseum waiting for a spot to open up, with people jockeying for position like competitors in a game of musical chairs. This day, however, we were going to take the scenic route around 17 Mile Drive to do some sight seeing, and then on from there into Monterey to visit the aquarium. I have been along 17 Mile Drive many times over the years. The first time I ever saw this unique and gorgeous span of coastline, was the day after I married my first husband. Three days of our honeymoon were to be spent at the Del Monte Lodge, located about at the center point along the route of the drive itself. The lodge today, is known more familiarly as The Lodge at Pebble Beach, and is touted as a five star luxury golf resort. Back when we got married, the room rate was $68/night. I was nineteen and my new husband but twenty-two, so for us $204.00 was a big splurge. I still have the cancelled check tucked away in my yellowing memories album to remember it by. Today, $68 is less by half than the rate you would be charged by the hotel for the privilege of having your cocker spaniel spend a night with you in the same establishment. Woof. Well it is not the same establishment as it was when we were there. Though the view is unchanged, still spectacular, and the basic look, outwardly at least, remains much the same, the price tag for a night’s stay has gone up considerably. A room overlooking the garden were you to book it today, begins in the $1,000+ range, with rooms offering a view of the golf course or an ocean view increasing exponentially from there. You will not find my name written in their guest book any time soon.

I have actually stayed at the hotel twice, the second time was with my second husband and my two children. I don’t remember what the bill was for the second stay, but I know we had secured two rooms for a three night stay. I guarantee, if it had been $1,000 plus a night for each room, I would have remembered the details most vividly. There were several things that stood out about the hotel at Pebble Beach, aside from the magnificent cliffside view of the Pacific. First, though not necessarily remarkable, a porter loaded our luggage in a golf cart once we’d checked in. When all baggage was on board, he conveyed us, along with our bags, to our room (Hotel 6 does not offer this perk). When we arrived everything was then offloaded and carried up the stairs. Well not us, of course. I believe we managed the stairs without any help, thank you very much. Our hanging clothes were neatly tucked away in the closet, and each bag was opened and placed on a luggage carrier. After that, the porter explained the amenities to us, such as ice machine locations and pool hours, and provided us with restaurant information should dinner in their lovely dining room be in our plans. There was a nice tip involved for all his helpfulness, naturally. The rooms, I must say, were bright and spacious and beautifully appointed. Each room had a sitting room with a settee, two end tables, lamps and an easy chair facing a fireplace. A fire was laid in the grill waiting to be lit by a hotel employee each night if the room guests desired them to do so. The big thing for me, was along with the expected room phone sitting on the writing desk, there was an additional phone located on the wall in the bathroom alongside the commode. Interesting. Perhaps more business is conducted from that particular vantage point than I’d previously realized.

I guess “you get what you pay for” may well apply to the above paragraph. For $1,000 plus a night and an additional $140 for my dog, I want to get a lot. As I said, our little inn had a lot of quaint wonderful things about it, but none of them included carrying any of our bags up the two flights of stairs to our room, nor was there an elevator available if it happened you couldn’t mount the two flights yourself. What you would do in that case, I have no idea. I would assume either book a room on the lower level, or commandeer a hotel employee to help you move in and out. However, my feeling is that I don’t go on vacation to live in my room. If I did, perhaps $1000/night would seem less prohibitive. I suppose if money is no object, and that concept doesn’t live in my world, than whether the room was $150/night or $3000 a night would really be a moot point. I do have to say, like flying first class, all the delightful little spoiling touches are most welcome. A whole bar of soap, for example, and, yes, a phone by the commode for those calls that simply can’t wait. I do not require such a high level of spoiling as a human being regularly, though I do not reject the pleasure of indulging in them from time to time.

Approaching the entrance to the Aquarium, a young woman stopped us asking if we were members. To be honest I didn’t know they had members, but we both shook our heads no. If not a member, she told us, tickets must be purchased on-line as there is no longer a ticket booth on the premises. Really? I looked up the site on my phone, clicking on tickets. Entrance to the Aquarium now costs $60 per adult. If either Richard or I had never been before, I would have just booked it. Since both of us have been numerous times, $120 seemed a lot of money. Talking it over, we decided we could probably put that money to better use during our trip, so we decided to pass. Leaving the Aquarium to another trip, we wandered over to the Cannery Row area. Steinbeck coined the phrase “Cannery Row” in his book of the same name, and it is today officially the name given to it. There are no operating sardine canneries along the wharf anymore, of course, just rows of touristy shops and restaurants, anchored by the Aquarium at one end of the street. One shop pretty much looking like the next, most selling tee shirts, sweat shirts and touristy items with “I Visited Monterey” or “Monterey is calling, and I must go” emblazoned across the front. We took a walk along the beach, and made our way along the boardwalk, ending up at the pier. Walking along the pier had sort of a carnival feel to it. Gulls hopped about on the well worn wooden planks, grabbing up a piece of discarded caramel corn here and there, or scavenging for a handout from someone walking by. In the distance, the steady barking song of the seals on the rocks across the marina provided background noise. Vendors were busy stocking their display cases with cooked crab, shimmering oysters, and other seafood offerings. Had it not been for the fact I had reached my capacity at the restaurant earlier, I might have signed up for some crab on the half shell accompanied by a chunky slice of sourdough bread. Docked on one side of the pier were two boats each bearing signs on their sides advertising whale watching tours. People were lined up in front of the designated boarding areas waiting to be let on. Have to admit, I was curious about the tours. I might have gotten in line but for the fact though the sun was shining, it was chilly out, so decided to reserve that adventure as well for another trip when warmer weather prevailed.

Having our fill of store hopping, we collected the car and headed south towards Carmel again turning right at the roundabout and following the arrow towards the entrance to the 17 Mile Drive. Paying the $11 requested by the guard at the gate, we began the drive following the arrows as we drove along. So many trees were down from the recent storm. There were huge root bases evident on both sides of the street everywhere we went. Tree and stump removal trucks could be seen all along the route with massive cut pieces of trunk lying around them. A local told us the crews were concentrating on clearing the streets of debris first and moving on to the side areas for clearing and cleanup as time permitted.

As always, when in that area, I was struck by the incredible opulence of the homes nestled among the trees. Some of them appeared to me like palaces fit only to be dreamed of by kings or titans of business with vast coffers from which to draw. Many were built right on the lip of the ocean, perched high on the edge of the rocks so close to the sea they looked as if they could easily slide off only to disappear into the frothy surf. Those homes with uninterrupted views of the ocean, cost more than most of us will ever see in a lifetime. Though I have never been invited in for tea, I imagine these palatial estates to be vast showplaces for beautiful art such as is displayed in the many art galleries available for viewing in downtown Carmel. It would be fun to be able to peek in a window here and there and see what surprises lay inside the walls. I’m quite sure there are laws covering such behavior, so we stayed beyond the fences in our own world, satisfying ourselves with simply observing the beauty of our surroundings as we wound around from one curve to the next.

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There are many opportunities to pull over along 17 Mile Drive and take pictures, some which we availed ourselves of. Most of the pullouts had signs posted offering up a brief history or some background information about the view you were looking at. I will include some photos with this writing, though they could never convey the breathtaking beauty we were experiencing. At Bird Rock, we stopped so I could grab a few shots of, well, the birds. The birds in question, according to the sign posted in the parking area, were cormorants. Large numbers of these mid size grey/black birds could be seen perched on the rocks not far beyond the wave line. According to the sign writer, cormorants are coastal birds, as would be obvious by where we were standing viewing them, known for their impressive diving capabilities. A young man was standing not far from us holding controls guiding a drone as it swooped down low above the rocks. Manipulating the controls, he brought the drone back to where he was standing. Curious about what he was doing, I struck up a conversation. Michael was his name, he told me, and he was Canadian. “Good day, eh”, had already given him away as one of mine, from Toronto. The drone was being used, he told us, in the filming a documentary he was producing about the western shoreline and it’s inhabitants which he had hopes to promoting to a studio or television station in Southern California. After a moment, he asked if I’d be interested in previewing some of the footage he had just taken. Peering into the lens it was amazing some of the images he had captured. Chatting for a bit longer, we parted ways, wishing him success on his venture.

When the afternoon began to wane, we turned the car back towards Carmel. Not wanting a big meal such as we had enjoyed the evening before, we went into Carmel proper in search of a good old greasy cheeseburger. Mulligan’s Pub was where we ended up. Mulligan’s was definitely a local watering hole. A lovely crackling fire was blazing in the corner of the bar and we sat at a table close by to soak up some of the warmth. Two cheeseburgers with fries were ordered and we sank back in our chairs to take in some of the local color. People came and went mostly calling each other my first names. Though we were not part of that band of travelers, they were fun to observe. The cheeseburgers arrived, and were absolutely delicious. Leftovers boxed and put in a bag, we walked the half a mile or so back to our lodgings and called it a day. More in my next blog about our last day in town. That’s all for now. Have a lovely rest of your weekend.

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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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2023 the prequel…..

I’m tired. I don’t often admit I’m tired. I’ve always had a bit of an Energizer Bunny personality. I tend to go, go, go until I can go no more. However, I seriously have been going non-stop since the beginning of November and my batteries are beginning to run low. About a week before Christmas, my body was sending up urgent messages it was time to slow down and recharge.

After Santa’s job was done, and the sleigh housed in the shed for 2022, I decided to listen to my nagging inner voice and take a few days off to hit the refresh button. During the 48 hour period following Christmas, I had no company coming and encouraged none, stave for my sidekick and BFF (best furry friend), Miss Boo, the Queen of Cats. Before allowing myself to settle, I had some catching up to do with my to-do’s. The day after Christmas, I dismantled the tree. This is tradition at my house. The tree goes up the day after Thanksgiving, and comes down the day after Christmas. When the tree was in it’s zippered bag, I boxed up all the ornaments and decorations, stored them in my recently acquired storage unit, and proceeded to clean my house spit-spot from top to bottom. Whew. Boo slept in the corner most of the day as I worked, only opening one eye from time to time to watch in mild curiosity as I passed by carrying the much hated vacuum cleaner or an armload of laundry. Lazy to the bone, all this work, work, work energy floating about the house must have been upsetting the normal sleep, eat, and poop routine she generally adheres to.

Once all the busy work had been done, I reserved one more day in which to do absolutely nothing. I silenced my phone, put on not one drop of makeup, left my pajamas with the penguins on them in place in lieu of getting dressed, and vegetated the entire 24 hour period. It was glorious, I tell you. Door Dash was good enough to deliver lunch, an enormous burger paired with a mound of fries, half of which I ate around noon, saving the rest for my evening meal. Perfecto mente dice. Loved every decadent “aren’t you wasting your life” minute of it. Yay. As part of my day of rest, I binge watched a series called “1883”. Every time the query “watch next episode?” came up on the screen I enthusiastically pushed “yes, yes, yes” and continued to watch. What a great show. I was hooked from the first episode. Apparently I am the only living human in the U.S. who hasn’t seen a single episode of Yellowstone. 1883, and I believe 1923 are part of the whole Yellowstone franchise. I’m not sure if I started at the beginning or whether I opened the book in the middle. However, I do know now I will have to watch all the other moving parts. I don’t take the time, or have the time really, to be a dedicated TV viewer. When I do get involved in really good television though, I will find the time. When Downton Abbey concluded, I was so devastated it was like losing members of my family. I felt like I should host a Celebration of Life for the cast.

On the subject of family, I had a lovely Christmas with my daughter and her brood. I hope you did as well. Well, not with my daughter and her brood. They wouldn’t have room at their table for all of you, but I hope you had a good Christmas wherever the day found you. This year we didn’t prepare the usual huge formal holiday dinner. My daughter and her family have been dealing with some health problems the past month, and all members of the family went through a bout of COVID in November, so nobody was up to making a fuss. Instead of turkey with all the trimmings, we had white chicken chili, garlic bread and salad and fresh guacamole and chips earlier in the day to keep us going until dinner time. This was fine and double dog dandy for me. I had a party Christmas Eve I went to where I consumed enough food to hold me over until spring. Still full from the last piece of pie I’d put away, I was happy to find a comfortable spot to park myself and watch as everyone opened presents. Our youngest member, Zeppelin, now four, must have been very good this year, for there was a bumper crop of gifts under the tree from Santa with his name written on the tags. From the looks of the front room, the reindeer and the jolly old elf had left quite a mess the night before. Muddy hoofprints stretched out across the floorboards. Alongside the hoofprints, snowy images of boots marched along leading from the fireplace up to the base of the tree. In the corner next to the tree on a small table was a festive holiday plate holding two gnawed raw carrots and the remnants of three holiday cookies, several bites missing from each. Looking around, it was obvious if Santa hadn’t had time to clean up after himself, at least he and the herd had stopped for a little snack before proceeding on their appointed rounds. Eyes wide as Frisbees, Zeppelin took it all in obviously enchanted. At four, with little question all things are possible. The elves had done their work well in setting the scene beautifully, to make it magical for him to enjoy. In the end, isn’t that what Christmas is all about?

Tonight is New Year’s Eve. At the moment I am at work. I am writing a blog because there is no work for me today. All the directors are out for the holiday and the phone has needed my attention probably three times since I walked in the door. If I had anything less to do, I would be in a coma. On days such as this, they allow me to do whatever I need to to pass the time. This is what I need to.

Where or where does the time go? I can’t believe another year is coming to a close. I feel like the character in The Time Machine watching the world flying by just beyond my reach and finding myself at another crossroad every time I step off the bus. Outside, the rain has been steadily falling since yesterday. Driving in, I hydroplaned several times while going through deep troughs of water on the roadways. Weather in one form or another is slated to continue in the area for at least another week. You won’t hear me complaining about precipitation here in drought plagued California. There are so many dying trees starving for hydration, I consider every drop a blessing that falls to the ground. I find myself wondering why it is someone isn’t out there madly constructing more reservoirs. If we’re short on water, wouldn’t it make sense to make extra receptacles to capture the water we do have falling from the sky or to store up some of the snow runoff? The last large dam project in the state was in 1979, and yet we continue to be plagued with droughts and lack of water and do nothing to hold on to what we have. Makes no sense to my mind, but then I guess I can just add that to the list of things I wonder about.

I am going to a New Year’s Eve party tonight. I may have mentioned, New Year’s Eve does not rank among my favorite holidays. Number one, I am definitely a morning person. The likelihood of my seeing the ball drop wouldn’t be something I’d place a large bet on, was I a betting person. Secondly, most previous New Year’s Eve celebrations I’ve attended haven’t been what I’d call memorable. Well, let’s say they may have been memorable, but not for the right reasons. More memorable like, “oh yeah, don’t want to do that again”. Some have actually bordered on disastrous. For me, a good book, or a great movie, a hot toddy, and some excellent company would make my evening a success. Richard, however, my squeeze du jour, likes to go out. You can’t be in a relationship where the pendulum doesn’t swing both ways, so I’m slipping on my dancing shoes and making a go of it for him. I will slap on my very best “party face” and try to summon up the appropriate enthusiasm to make him feel his evening was worth the price of admission.

I pulled my “little black dress” out of mothballs and stopped by Macy’s to see if I could pick up some black hose to go with. I didn’t want to display my winter legs without covering them. The ethereal “uncooked chicken” color emanating from them could well detract from the band entertaining on the stage. Unable to locate the hosiery section in the store, I stopped and asked a salesperson where I might find it. To my surprise, I was told they don’t sell hose anymore. It seems people either spray tan, go to a tanning booth, or go commando in 2022. Really? The lady said there was simply no demand for hose anymore. She went on to tell me she was asked at least once a day where to find the nylons. Hmmmmm. Well, then there is a demand to my mind. She is one sales clerk getting asked once a day. Likely other sales clerks are getting asked as well. Is it just me? I guess I can add this to the why don’t they build new dams pile. However, it became obvious whether it made sense or not, there were no hose to be found under Macy’s roof. Soooooo as the helpful clerk suggested, I went to Target. Target and Walmart have cornered the market on lady’s leg coverings I was told. I bought two pairs in my size in case they discontinue to stock them completely somewhere down the road and an unsuspecting public is forced to be subjected to my wan looking appendages out the open raw and uncut. To be honest, I’m a little leery of spray tans or tanning creams. I’m sure they have come a long way since I was a kid, but still. Back then the offerings were slim to none to achieve the perfect golden color we all attained to. If you chose not to lie in the sun and bake till you were cooked to a nice golden brown, your only other option was to slather yourself with Coppertone Tanning Lotion. Supposedly whatever ingredients were in the tube created a natural looking tan without benefit of the sun. Their slogan was “don’t be a paleface”. Definitely the product lived up to the hype. You were not pale after repeated applications, more it turned your skin a lovely shade of burnt sienna. They suggested on the label you wash your hands immediately after applying. We were teenagers. We rarely did anything suggested or otherwise instructed and most likely never read a label. For a week after I used the product, my hands looked like I’d recently attended an Indian wedding.

I am not particularly sorry to bid farewell to 2022. It was a year with a lot of hard corners imbued with a frenetic kind of feel to the days. I have a feeling 2023 is going to serve up some interesting and fun surprises. I have no idea why I feel this so strongly, but my intuition is fairly accurate, and in this case all my happy alarms are going off. I do hope so. I am ready to embrace fun adventures, new faces. happy days, and treasured family moments. I want to do something I’ve always wanted to do, see something I haven’t seen before, put something new and different on my plate, and introduce new faces into the the lineup I am currently familiar with. Sign me up for all of the above.

Someone paid me a lovely compliment the other day. She said she enjoyed talking to me because I always held on to the belief in the end things would turn out all right. Interesting. I had to think about that after she said it. Was it true? Well, in an odd way I think it might be. Perhaps more accurately, I believe things will turn out as they are meant to do. I am truly a fatalist at heart. If it is your time to go, I think it is likely you will do exactly that. For me we are given a certain amount of time to thrive, experience, and exist. Sort of a “so it is written, so it shall be” way of looking at things.

It’s like people who are late for a plane and miss their flight only to learn the plane they had tickets for went down after takeoff leaving no survivors. Or, the woman who gets in the car in the morning then realizing she’d left her phone on the kitchen counter. Running back in to retrieve it, she narrowly misses a deadly pile up on the freeway that she would definitely have been involved with had her phone been in their purse. Things like that lead me to believe where it might have been the other people’s time to go, it was not the person missing the plane or forgetting her wallet’s time. You may have a totally different take on the world than that which I respect. That is only how I feel about the whole thing. This brings to mind, the plane that went down with Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and “The Big Bopper” in 1959 killing everyone on board. Tommy Allsup, a guitarist, was also supposed to fly with them. Not room for everyone, he flipped a coin with Ritchie Valens for a seat, and lost. Also Waylon Jennings, not yet the huge star he was to become, didn’t go on that doomed flight instead giving up his seat “The Big Bopper”. Life can be, as they say, a bit of a crap shoot. I look at the many times I’ve hung on the precipice of disaster, yet here I am stepping into 2023. Who knows what the future holds. That’s the delicious mystery of it all.

Happy New Year to you and yours. Catchya next year. Stay Safe.

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The answer, my friends, is blowing in the wind…..

This past week I visited my old friend, Sam (short for Saelitha), living in beautiful Independence, Oregon. I arrived Monday morning by air to bitter cold, rainy weather. Once she gathered my shivering body from in front of the baggage claim, it was an hour and a half drive from the Portland Airport to Independence. There wasn’t much to see along the way, except the steady onslaught of rain sliding down outside the car windows. However, by Tuesday, the clouds had cleared, providing me with a lovely, if chilly, glimpse of the countryside around me. I had forgotten, not having been in this area for twenty-five plus years, how much the northwest has to offer.

My friend has a lovely cozy little two bedroom apartment butting up against the Willamette River. Like my little house, hers is the perfect nest for one. Add an additional body, things begin to feel a bit tighter. I think of it sort of like wearing heavy wool socks under your boots in the winter. Without the socks, your boots fit just right. But once the addition of the socks are in place, the boots start to feel a little more cramped. Also, like my house, her second bedroom serves as a craft and pseudo office area. The original plan for my stay, was for me to sleep on the queen sized blow up mattress she had laid out on the floor in the second bedroom. Perfect. Being an old camper, and a bit of a nomad, I have slept on, and rolled off, many such beds in my life, so am familiar with the process.

Before it was time to turn in, we used the automatic pump to inflate the mattress, then made up the bed. About an hour after I dozed off, I woke up to find my backside resting on the hard floor. Now granted, this mattress was easily reinflated, but if the air didn’t remain inside the mattress, having the automatic inflation feature really wouldn’t prove much of an advantage. This reminded me of a time with my ex-husband. We had moved from West Virginia to Southern California. Our furniture was stored six plus states away. According to the moving and storage, they were backed up with summer moves and it was going to take six weeks for our household goods to catch up with us. In the interim, we borrowed a blow up mattress from a friend to see us through. The loaner wasn’t of the convenient variety that inflates itself, but rather one you had to manually pump. As we were displaced, so were our animals. Used to sleeping at the end of the bed, once the mattress was on the floor, the cat took this as her invitation to hop on board and make herself at home. Kitty (sadly her actual name) was a kneader. I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you that large plastic balloons filled with air and sharp cats claws do not a happy match make. By about 2:30 each night, our bodies would reach floor level. A half an hour’s pumping later we were back in business til the following morning when the second batch of air would have completely escaped. At one point, I suggested we just sleep on the floor and call it good, but he wasn’t hearing of it. Oh no. I have never been so happy to see a moving truck as I was that one when that one finally pulled in our driveway with our king sized bed housed inside. OMG.

Back at my friends in Oregon, we tried twice to fill the mattress. Both times, my backside was flat on the floor within the hour. Obviously, there was a leak somewhere. I inspected the mattress, as well as the box it came in. As I suspected, a hole had been chewed in both. Whenever you store anything in the attic, you run the the risk a resident rodent might find it interesting during its time there. My son had his entire herd of lighted lawn reindeer totally destroyed by rodents. There was nothing but hooves and snouts left by the time the rats got through with them. Realizing that the original sleeping arrangement wasn’t going to work, we tried Plan B settling me in on the love seat in the living room. The long legs my mother passed on to me, though perfectly suited for taking lovely long strides while out for a brisk walk, were not much good when left to dangle limply over the end of the small loveseat until all the feeling had drained out of them. Nope, Plan B scrapped, it was on to Plan C. Plan C was to be two peas in a pod in her bed, with a plus one. The plus one, a Lhasa Apso answering to the name of Pepper. All good. Boo sleeps with me at home so I am not unaware of what pet cohabitation looks like. Sleeping with a pet can have it’s downside at times. Boo, for whatever reason, seems to get pleasure out of licking the back of my head while I sleep. I know. I looked it up and apparently that is the cat’s way of showing their human they are accepted as part of their tribe. Nice. In this case, neither of the two legged occupants snored, cuddled, or fought for control of the covers, so we cohabited well. The dog, however, I have to report, was a bit of a bed hog. At one point he slept in between us with his back pressed against mine and his paws stretched out against her.

Sleeping arrangements settled, we turned our attention to making plans for the limited time I would be staying with her. The next day, with a full agenda of places we wanted to visit, we decided we had better gas up first before getting on the road. Pulling up next to a bank of pumps, a man quickly approached the drivers side window. After a brief exchange with my friend, he left. Curious, I asked what he wanted. Turns out he was asking about filling her tank. I had forgotten in Oregon it is still illegal to pump your own gas. Wow, haven’t seen that in like, forever. Remember the really old days when a man in a neatly pressed uniform and ball cap bounded out to your car at a full serve station and, well, served you? I KNOW! He would check your water, oil, fluids, tires, wash your windows, AND fill your tank. Good Lord, what were they thinking actually providing service at what is called, yes, say it, a Service Station. Perhaps that is why they mainly refer to them as gas stations rather than service stations these days, because gas is really all they provide. What a great law to have on the books though, making it illegal to pump your own gas. California could use some fun legislation like that. Laws like, say, making it illegal to work on Friday or every month with an “A” in it must include at least one week of paid vacation time. Let’s put the fun back in politics. I don’t know about you, but it’s certainly lost it’s appeal for me lately the way things stand now in the political arena. The gas pump attendant told us Oregonians would most likely only enjoy a couple more years of this privilege before it disappears. Apparently only three states still have such a law on the books. We humans really know how to put the buzz in buzz kill.

Once we got out into the countryside I was immediately impressed with how verdant everything is in Oregon. I’d almost forgotten what a long expanse of green grass looks like. Fall was really showing it’s colors in the area. At times, the hues on the trees were so vibrant they nearly took my breath away. Along with the glorious fall plumage there were so many farms. Farming is a big part of the areas culture. One beautifully maintained farmhouse after another caught my eye as we drove along the backroads. I have always wondered what life would have been like had I chosen to be a farmers wife. Living in the suburbs of Southern California where I spent my teenage years, surfers were plentiful, and golden haired six pack bearing jocks, but there weren’t many farmers navigating the dating pool I was swimming in. The closest I got to experiencing farm life as an adult, was during the two weeks I spent on the cattle ranch in Manitoba. As glorious a time as I had while there, driving tractors along rutted fields and herding cows, I don’t know if I’d want to sign on full time. I straddle the fence, I think, between being a city girl and a country girl. I lean more towards less populated areas, avoiding metropolitan cities or bustling suburbs. However, I do like to see my neighbors outside my window and like to have community, so guess I’m a smidgen of one and a dash of the other.

I’m glad to be home again. As always, it is fun to go away, and good to come back full circle again. I’ll tell you about my return visit in my next writing. That was a day for going in the closet with the tequila and the fiery Cheetos I’m telling you. Happy Friday!!

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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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