When I was seventeen…..

My adolescence might be aptly described as controlled chaos. My dear little mother was struggling to find her footing with my second stepfather, a relationship that lasted sixteen years but truly never found solid ground. This drama was transpiring, while I was being tossed about in a sea of teenage angst and insecurities. A combination not likely to produce a Nobel prize winner.

At that age I was very much a work in progress, adding and deleting layers as I went through my days. We are formed by every experience, or so I believe, like the beautiful pearl. A composite of each grain of sand added to the one before it until, in the end, we have a complete and finished product. Some pearls, are formed perfectly round with an unblemished luster, where others appear irregular and lumpy. Certain pearls seem to emit a lovely rosy hue, while ebony pearls shimmer dark and mysteriously. Each pearl, whatever it’s shape or color, is unique from the other.

I, was definitely an irregular pearl. My transition from little girl to young woman was not without wrinkles. Going from a chubby child to a lithesome teen, was in itself an adjustment. Growing up around people who loved and protected me, I don’t think I even realized I was overweight until my mother remarried when I was nine. New beginnings were in store after the wedding, including a 2,500 mile road trip from Halifax, Nova Scotia, where I’d grown up, to Santa Ana, California, where I was to make my new home. Once in California, it became quickly clear even to my young nine year old eyes, “thin was in” in glorious sunny California, and plump little girls with unruly curls and glasses were not. It was my first true understanding of being “different”.

By high school, I had grown taller and whittled down considerably. My glasses now were stored in a case in my drawer, and, like the eternal butterfly, I had emerged from my cocoon. No matter whether thin or plump, teenagers are a difficult peer group on the best of days to hold your own with. If you have any perceived irregularities or don’t conform, their brains are not fully developed yet. They will seize on your weaknesses and pounce on you. This is evidenced by all the cyber bullying currently engaged in, some so merciless the targets of these mean, and often relentless assaults, may even resort to taking their own lives to get away from the pain. Buffers are not yet integrated into our behaviors in adolescence. Getting through those formative years for many youngsters can be a rocky road at best. If you are not a jock, a cheer leader, or part of the popular elite, you will be lumped into one of the lesser groups on campus like, nerds, brains, goths or stoners, for example. There is a hierarchy to high school, I had trouble with on most days. Some recall their high school years with great nostalgia. I have to say, I am not one of them. I stumbled often during those years struggling to find my way. In spite of falling on my face more often then standing erect, I somehow mounted the steps to young adulthood without being either incarcerated or abandoned to the nuns to be straightened out.

In my junior year, my mother married my second stepfather, which once again turned my world upside down. Being a rebellious kid, I displayed my displeasure at the new union by running away, purloining my new “dad’s” car as the means for my getaway transportation. I didn’t get far. As I recall, I was headed to Haight Ashbury to drop out with the hippies and help spread the message of peace and love in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. Seemed like a grand idea at the time. Thankfully, I was stopped in Santa Barbara, where the local gendarmes held on to me until I could be returned to the custody of my parents to be summarily dealt with when I got home. I believe the nuns were looking pretty good to them at that point. The nuns for some reason were always held over my head. This was odd only in that we were not Catholic. However, sending me to the convent, Catholic or not, was my mother’s go-to intimidation tactic. Perhaps because I’d heard stories from friends in parochial school about how strict the nuns could be, and the threat of going there seemed to serve to keep me in line when little else did. I don’t know if they take errant little Anglican girls in Catholic convents, as in the end she never played the “Nun Card”, so I was never forced to find out.

When the finally dust settled and I was released from restriction for the car escape, I looked for other non-productive outlets for my displeasure, allowing my eyes to rest on my education. Oh-oh. At sixteen in the state of California, at that time at least, you could opt out of school at 16 with your parent’s permission, if that was your preference. My mother, now considering locking me in the basement until I was of age, had thrown up her hands. She would drop me off at school in the morning, and I would exit on the other side of the campus spending the day getting into whatever teenagers do when they find themselves alone and unsupervised. As I said, I was a bit of a handful. I would have dropped me off a cliff personally, but that’s another blog. After repeatedly showing up in the Dean of Women’s office for counseling it seemed my mind was set on freeing myself of the chains of school for good. The Dean of Women threw every viable reason at her disposal at me for remaining enrolled, but I was determined to do what I was determined to do. Finally, my mother agreed to submit to allowing me take a six month hiatus, to think things over, if you will. Part of the agreement was I would work around the house, do babysitting, take extension classes (there was no “on-line” then – old dog), and generally pull myself up by my boot straps. At first, being a teenager, I did not one of the above. Instead, I binge watched TV shows, baked every gooey treat I could think of and consumed what I baked, and generally engaged all my energy in becoming a consummate sloth. The transformation, I have to say, was not pretty. For the last time in my life, other than during my two pregnancies, I piled on about twenty pounds in three months and gave myself up completely to being a professional slob. My friends, still in school, were involved in activities, shopping for new clothes, going to football games and dances, and getting greasy cheeseburgers at the local hot spots. I would talk to them on the phone, but began to understand I was circling outside of the group now, floating about on my own. They had moved on, I…….had not. One morning, I woke up, took a long look at what my reflection revealed in the mirror, and a light went off in an otherwise dark chamber. The realization came to me, at sixteen and three quarters, that the only person I was harming, was me. Huh. This was quite a pivotal moment in my life. Could have gone either way, I’m thinking, and for me I was blessed it went the way it did. That day, I cleaned the house, cleaned myself, took the dog for a walk, and began one step at a time to rejoin the human race. What a glorious day it was. I signed up for extension courses, with the help of my stepfather who sold them as a side hustle, and began to feel like a productive human being again. I didn’t return to school until the beginning of my senior year. Even with all the courses I’d taken and completed over the summer, I had fallen behind on credits. The school district, first and foremost wanting their students to succeed in getting an education, worked out a schedule for me where I could mix and match my junior and senior classes to catch up. A new school was chosen to allow me a fresh beginning, and I was enrolled and we were off to the races.

I went to school that year and finished the classes assigned to me with good grades in every subject. Still short on credits, I could not graduate with the other seniors (another life lesson handed down), but I did graduate six months later and got my GED. I scored very high on the GED curve so when I applied for junior college the missing credits were “forgiven” in an effort to give me a clean page to write on.

This train of thought occurred to me after seeing a picture of my grandson recently on social media. His father posted it. It showed three young men on skis being pulled behind a moving car. My grandson was in the middle. All three were frat brothers, who, waking up on a snowy day in Oregon, thought it would be an excellent idea to hitch a rope to a moving car and ski down a main thoroughfare. According to the post, the local police department did not agree with them in this case, pulling them over giving them a warning. Guess the officer didn’t have much choice. Is there a law applicable for it being illegal to ski on public streets? I don’t know. Luv it.

We all have to trip over obstacles, make mistakes, forget to cross out t’s, and generally experiment with life’s possibilities while we grow up until figure out what works for us and what does not. This, is the process by how we learn and mature. Some of us never get there. Lessons don’t always come easily to me because I’m a hard headed little blonde woman, but I do try to move forward in another direction if the direction I’m going in continues to not serve me well.

Even at this stage in my life where one would think I would have filled all the pages in my book, I find every day presents an opportunity to add something new and credible to the story.

Happy Saturday. 49er’s play Green Bay tomorrow. I have my game shirt warmed up, my 49er ducky on the table and I’m ready to watch them play their way to the Super Bowl. Gooooooooo Niners!!!!!

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Pass the potatoes….

Well here we are on the downside of another holiday. The last two on the books for this year will be New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. For this year, at least, we are leaving the horn blowing and champagne drinking to other people, and staying home both tonight and tomorrow. I’m pooped. Last weekend, I packed five get togethers into three days. Whew. Sometimes, I amaze my own self. Three we hosted, the remaining two were hosted by other people. It doesn’t really matter which way the dial leans. Even if the party’s not at your house, you always end up doing something. An appetizer or a dessert is needed, or someone asks you to contribute chips and dip. At one function were invited to, a white elephant gift had to be located and wrapped for both Richard and I.

For me, it wasn’t about all the food preparation, the dishes or the cooking, I didn’t mind that at all, but by the fourth affair it was simply having to get all dressed up again and go out that became the issue. My mind and body were belting out a loud of a chorus of “Please Mr. Custer, I don’t want to go”, by Sunday afternoon. And the food…… Well, the food just kept on coming. Let me first say, I am not one to eat large amounts at one sitting. Instead, I am a bit of a “grazer”, if you will, choosing instead to eat small meals often throughout the day. In this case, however, there were no small meals. Saturday I was manning the controls in the kitchen. Spaghetti and meatballs, a tossed salad, and garlic bread were on the menu, plus appetizers and desserts. There were to be twelve of us gathered for dinner that night including my children, their spouses and the grandchildren, plus Richard and myself. Let me say, when my brood gets together we are a force of nature, so bless Richard for opening his house to us. As I mentioned in a previous blog, we have several family members who are vegan. This always seems to become an issue, even though I try not to make it so. I don’t exactly understand the substitutions necessary to bring food to it’s pure natural state, if you will. According to my oldest granddaughter, who is vegan to the core and determined to leave as light a footprint as possible on this world, any food served to vegan standards must not have parents. Kay. Were you to ask my daughter (her mother) how I manage this aspect of her personality she might respond, “Mom is very stubborn”. Fine, labels are so unnecessary. I could have gone on the Internet to figure it out I would suppose, but honestly I had about eight minutes free time penciled in at 2 a.m. for myself and I intended to make good use of it by soundly sleeping.

In the end, it was about us all being together and the presents and vegan non-vegan issues seemed to have little importance. There were two pots of sauce to choose from, one to satisfy vegans and one for the carnivores. Salad, which has no parents, was served with vegan dressing as well as, for lack of a better adjective, regular dressing. Everything was split down the middle right down to the garlic bread, one prepared with ghee and the other, which we ate, made with yes, full disclosure, parented butter. Chuckle.

The second get together was to be the following morning. This was also at our house, for breakfast and mimosas. There were eight in attendance. Richard wore the apron that morning. Seriously, the man missed his calling. He should have been a short order cook. Moving seamlessly about the stove and counters, he produced biscuits (from scratch), sausage gravy, bacon, scrambled eggs, and homestyle potatoes. It got the full five yums from the taste testers.

Once that was done, we tidied up and prepared for the white elephant party we were to go to at his neighbors house later that day. Dinner, of course, was to be included. Groan. I should have thought to include my pants with the elastic waistband when packing. Richard hasn’t quite embraced the white elephant gift concept. He had wrapped up twelve lovely wine goblets to bring with us, six for him and six for me. From what I understand gifts for this type of party are supposed to be either unique, weird, or funny. Wine glasses, last I heard, fall under none of these categories, and since both our boxes were identical, um, never mind. Ah well. As I recall, I got a snowman one year at such a gathering that held a plunger in one hand. When you went to use the bathroom it had a repertoire of phrases it called out and when you sat on the commode and pulled the toilet paper, well, the silly thing broke wind. People were fighting over it, but lucky me I got to take it home.

By the time we got next door I realized, though dressed nicely, I was still wearing my slippers. This, undoubtedly was a subliminal message my brain sent to my feet indicating my brain thought I should be going to bed and not to another party. The following morning, which was Christmas Day, I had to go to the store. People everywhere were full on shopping in their pajamas, so after seeing that I don’t feel I was too far out of step with only slippers representing my sleepware. Thankfully I only had to walk across the lawn to retrieve my shoes, so no harm no foul.

Somehow, I survived another meal without face planting in my plate. I have to give myself kudos for that. It was not light fare either. The main course was beautifully grilled tri-tip sided with garlic mashed potatoes and glazed carrots, not to mention a long list of other dishes. I could barely raise my fork to my lips without sighing. That was, of course, before all the pies, carrot cake, upside down cake, and cookies were put on the table. I kept thinking about my grandmother always saying, “remember all the starving children in China”. We could have saved 90% of them with the food I’d eaten in the past three days.

Four down and one to go, the last one turned out to be the most laid back of the five, Christmas dinner. Sigh. Sorry, can’t help myself. This was to be hosted by Richard’s brother and his wife. They had been cooking for two days. Two sighs. Ribs were the headliners this time, paired with the most delicious beans I’ve ever eaten. There was potato salad, tossed salad, creamy decadent scalloped potatoes, and next to them, representing your heart, were heaping dishes of fresh carrots and asparagus topped with disappearing pats of butter. Oh boy. Their house was decorated beautifully, the company entertaining, and dinner a delight. All in all, is was the perfect end to a lovely holiday celebration. By the time we made it to the car, full but not beaten, my eyes shut before the door had even properly closed. Ahhhhhhh.

Sooooo, I hope your Christmas was special. We are turning our attention to 2024 tomorrow. I have a feeling we are on the precipice of a very interesting year.

Happy New Year to you and yours. Let’s head into this one supporting one another, even if someone believes differently then we do. Let’s stop and lend a hand instead of looking the other way when someone is down on their luck. Let’s say “I love you” every chance we get, as another chance might not come along. Remember kindness, thoughtfulness, and generosity are all free commodities so inflation or no inflation you can afford to use them liberally.

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Tis the season…..

This is turning out to be quite a holiday season I have to say. Richard, as I mentioned previously, had hernia surgery on the 11th of this month. In and out of surgery he went, like a piece of bread being popped in the toaster. One and done. Thankfully, he is healing very well and on the mend without any adverse effects from having had the repair. Unfortunately, he brought more home from the hospital than his bill. Richard invited COVID along for the ride. I had it about two months ago, so couldn’t have recently infected him. The only place we went was the hospital. Hmmmm, 1 and 1 still adds up to two, at least in my play book. Certainly every bug on the most contagious list is swirling around in the malls, schools, workplaces, and homes, but I have to say COVID had to be the most annoying. The guidelines for how long to isolate, and how long you are still buggy after the isolation period is over if still showing positive, are definitely blurry. You read one site which tells you A,B, and C is true. Then, you switch over to another site that states something totally different. I’m dizzy. He immediately got the anti viral which helped tremendously.

Now we had a situation. Our holiday plans have been coming together seamlessly. Looking back on my life, this should have sent off a huge alarm in my brain. My children and their families are coming today to Richard’s for a big family party. I have been soooooo looking forward to this get together. It has been quite a while since we’ve all been in one place over the holidays. Some of my daughter’s family are immune compromised which with COVID on the guest list, this will not be a a safe environment for them. Sigh. Like dominoes, my plans began toppling over one tile at a time. Tomorrow night on Christmas Eve we were invited to a neighbors for a lovely meal and afterwards a White Elephant Party. Our white elephants are already wrapped and waiting in the closet. Most likely they would not want Typhoid Arnie and guest at their table this year. Rats. Then on Christmas Day, my dear pals Carol and Bill are to drive up from the Bay Area to share Christmas dinner with us at Richard’s brother and his wife’s lovely home. Richard’s brother called last night to report he is not feeling well now, and Carol and Bill are both vulnerable healthwise so kablooey, holiday plans blown up in the smoke. Insert boo-boo lip here. As they say, “the best laid plans of mice and men (and little blonde women it would seem).

Well, happy updates since I wrote the above, everything is back in place. With the help, I believe at least, of the anti-viral Richard has had two negative COVID tests so we are back on track to having a merry Christmas. Yay. As glad as I am to have everyone coming, I have been running like a crazy woman trying to get things ready. I didn’t do a lot of things I might have done earlier, because of the uncertainty of everything. Consequently, this week was a total zoo at my house. Presents all over the floor, cupcakes in the oven, meatballs in process, the residue of making both all over the counter, clothes half packed for the week, and me seated Indian style (Can you still say that? Probably not.) in the middle of the floor fighting with tape and wrapping paper and losing the battle. Boo, is at Richards. Though I miss her furry Boo face tremendously, the cat is not helpful when I’m wrapping. She is often to be found loping along the carpet with a colorful bow clenched in her teeth or can be seen off in the corner wrestling with a piece of tissue paper. My previous cat, Kitty, was far worse. Kitty was, to put it mildly, totally besotted with the tree. Once it was up and decorated, to merely be in it’s presence was better than catnip for her. Climbing up in the boughs, she became like the animated part of the holiday scene. A paw would poke out from behind a branch, or two sparkling topaz eyes might suddenly appear from behind an ornament. One year during her sojourns up the trunk, she somehow got tangled in the lights. That wasn’t pretty. Unable to free herself, she sprang forward bringing with her the tree, while at the same time scattering ornaments in every direction. With the tree flailing behind she dragged that huge mass along the carpet. Perhaps it’s like the super human strength we humans possess when lifting something heavy off of someone we love. Whatever moved her along, she was fully freaked out. Heading down the hallway, the lights were still wrapped around her body, thus the tree to continued to bounce and flop along behind her. I was trailing in third place behind the tree, unable to pass due to the narrow space. Finally, she wriggled herself free. The tree was flocked making it a bigger mess to clean up. We found the errant cat hiding back in the corner under my son’s bed. Good thing I couldn’t reach that feline. Mama wasn’t pleased. What a mess. Seriously, cats be crazy.

In addition to the “buggy” kind of holiday season we seem to be experiencing, I keep having crazy things happen as I’ve been making my rounds. The beginning of the week, I went into Fedex to mail a package. It was early, so only one woman was working behind the counter. She and I got to chatting while she was processing my package, as no one was behind me. When I talk, like everything else I do, I move quickly. Most likely, I was of Italian heritage in a former life. I had my debit card out ready to slide it in the machine. Gesturing with my hands to emphasize a point I was making, I hit the side of the counter knocking the card loose from my fingers. We watched as the card floated through the air, disappearing in the space separating the two front counters. A very narrow space. Whoops. “Did that just happen”, she said? I just nodded. The debit card had only been in my possession two weeks. It was a replacement for the one that had been compromised last month. Wow. We poked and prodded, then we prodded and poked. Nada. Where are my angels, I was wondering? Though some might argue the point, citing logic I would suppose, I know I have a few watching over me logic or no logic. At that precise moment, another employee bounced through the front door. Bounced comes to mind when thinking of her, because she was a bouncy kind of human. “Whatcha doin”, she inquired, seeing us bent down looking under the counters? Explaining the situation to her, she said, “you are in luck, finding things happens to be my super power”. There you are my little angel, I knew you were out there somewhere. Leaving my number on a Post-it, the bouncy girl promised she would call should she produce the card. I didn’t hold out much hope. They were very heavy counters, and as I said, that was a very thin slit. Ah well. Surprise, surprise about two hours later I got an incoming call that read “Fedex”. Miraculously, her super power had come through, and my credit card was cocked and ready to load. Oh boy. I made a point to stop by on the way home to retrieve it, thanking the lady so much for her trouble and wishing her a happy holiday. Driving home I felt relieved to know I didn’t have to begin the process of replacing my card again on the accounts it’s attached to for auto-pay. Whoo-hoo.

So, I came home in a “jolly mood” appropriate for the season, only to find an email on my laptop informing me my Amazon account had been hacked and my debit card information most likely had been compromised. Their suggestion, cancel the card. Really? Apparently they tagged this purchase because, according to my purchase history, they didn’t feel I’d be likely to be purchasing mens Special Ops leggings at a Walmart in Alabama. Good call. In the end, I had to sacrifice my new debit card for a new, new, debit card which arrived yesterday. Note to self: Don’t use debit card to purchase online, or at least don’t store the information. Got it.

Moving on, I went to get my nails done mid-week for the festivities. I took my phone, though I don’t know why. When your feet and hands are occupied, unless you are good at pecking out a text with your teeth, you can’t use it. Once the total pampering was complete, I paid, left a nice holiday tip, and went on to meet my friend for lunch. Driving into the parking lot of our prearranged meeting place, I reached for my phone only to remember I had left it by the chair at a nail salon. Oh boy. Thankfully, when I went back it was still there.

Yesterday, I came into work as normal on a Friday. Memos and texts had been sent out last week asking the employees observe the “holiday week” celebrations laid out at the staff meeting. I don’t work Mon-Thu, but noted Friday was come to work dressed as your favorite Christmas character. K. I ordered an inexpensive elf outfit from Amazon and called it good. Trying it on in the morning I realized the small must be considered small in a very large society. There was room for me and Santa inside the dress and the leggings were long enough to suit a giraffe keeping her warm and cozy. Hmmmmm. I dragged out my old Christmas sweater with the reindeer on the front, hung a necklace of lit Christmas lights around my neck, and called it good. Getting to work I was to find only one other person had dressed up. Sigh. Everyone else had been doing it all week. Ah well, I did my part for Friday.

The on-call person for my position, offered to work part of my shift to allow me to go home early. This meant I would work until 3 rather than my usual 4:30 allowing me to beat some of the Friday before a holiday traffic. I hungrily agreed. I knew I had to race home and pick up food at my house before going to Richards, and then travel the 45 minutes to get to his house. Yay. I bolted out the door at 3 precisely giddy with the prospect of getting on the road before everyone else. At the house, I gathered what I needed and popped it all quickly in the car. Dutifully, I looked for my phone to call Richard to let him know I was on my way. Lo and behold, my phone was not there. It was not there, why? Well, because it was sitting on my desk at work. Lordy, lordy. Back I went retracing my steps to work. Slowly, I was eating into any time I had been given by leaving early. I found myself thinking, “is it just me”? What was funny was, when I walked in to get my phone, the other concierge said she’d sent me a text message alerting me I’d left the phone on the desk. Yup, sure enough there was the text message, on my phone, sitting directly in front of her. That’s why we get paid the big bucks.

Anyhow, I am almost to the holiday itself and over the hump towards the home stretch. I hope your holiday is filled with everything special and that the new year is jam packed with miracles and smiles for you and yours.

See you in the new year!!!! Susie

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Gobble, gobble…..

It feels pleasantly familiar to be sitting at my keyboard at last. Been awhile. Particularly, on this gorgeous fall morning in Northern California. The front yard is a crisp bed of fallen leaves, and the blue sky bright outside the window. Glorious. Another reason to feel thankful on a day created just for that purpose.

Today will once again find many of us gathering with families and friends to celebrate another Thanksgiving, or as my oldest granddaughter calls it, “Dead Bird Day”(She is vegan with a capital “V”, so views it as somewhat of a pagan holiday,).

Richard and I opened the door to the food fest by driving down to my son and his wife’s lovely house to have a pre-Thanksgiving and belated birthday for me dinner. The event was planned the weekend before Thanksgiving for several reasons. The first reason was I am scheduled to work Friday and Saturday this week making it next to impossible to get back from where they live after eating on Thanksgiving day without leaving either immediately after pie is served or in the middle of the night. As neither of those sounded like appealing options, we moved on to Plan B. Also, traffic along the three hour route we have to take to get to their house is notoriously a hot mess on holidays. Been there done that, and we did not want to get stuck in that snarl of humanity again this year. Yay.

As usual, they put out an amazing table. With five children in the house, there are lots of extra hands in the kitchen, which helps to both add to the controlled chaos associated with having that many offspring, as well as enhance the pleasure of it. It is a happy kitchen to my mind. Everyone is talking at once, dishes are clinking, people are laughing, it is like a joyous uplifting piece of holiday music filled with so many lovely notes.

The menu was prime rib, scalloped potatoes, candied yams, green beans, glazed carrots, sautéed mushrooms, and homemade yeast rolls. A five yum feast on a plate. I was handed an apron and a recipe to follow for the scalloped potatoes. My daughter-in-law and I took liberties with what the previous cook had suggested, and there wasn’t a morsel left in the bottom of the pan by the time the leftovers were put to bed. Richard contributed four pies, two pumpkin and two peach, his specialty, and his homemade fudge, which were all gobbled up after the meal along with an amazing carrot cake made by my daughter-in-law. Where they put the extra calories after that huge dinner I have no idea. I know the waistband on my pants was sending up urgent messages begging me to give it a break so I just sampled the cake, which was to die for.

Though it was only Tuesday when we got back on the road, traffic was already pretty thick. Thankfully, the cars were moving along at a nice clip so we made it home without too much slowing down and no incidents. Police and highway patrol vehicles could be seen at every turn. From. what I heard on the news this is a big week for them with lots of DUI’s in people’s futures with all the celebrating being engaged in.

Today we are going to Richard’s relatives for the big turkey gorge. My only contribution to the festivities is guacamole. I have made it so many times, it is definitely a no brainer for me. Avocados and a little love and you’ve got it going on. As a kid I hated avocados, getting the dry heaves if one even entered my line of vision. Now, I could eat them with every meal and not complain. Richard once again was tasked with baking. Brought up by his mother and grandmother it is obvious from the flaky crust he delivers, they taught him something about getting around a kitchen. We make a good team, because as much as I enjoy cooking, baking, as I’ve said before, is just not in my bailiwick. I didn’t inherit my grandmother’s white thumb in any shape or design, and defer to others to create delicious goodies around the holidays. Perhaps it’s because I don’t eat sweets, that I’m not good at preparing them? So many questions. It constantly amazes me how my lack of interest in sugary treats perks the interest in other people. “What, you don’t eat sweets?” “Nope”. “Are you saying no sweets?” “That would be a negatory, yes.” Then comes the incredulous stare like I’m some sort of new species of animal that just climbed out from under the lid of a petrie dish. Now, I am not completely averse to sugary tastes, they simply don’t call my name very often. As I said in the paragraph above, I enjoyed the carrot cake immensely. Salt, which I’ve often referred to, has my name in it’s speed dial directory, however. So, I am not a perfect being, simply very close. lol

On Sunday of this week, our last entertainment commitment for this holiday, we are cooking at Richard’s. Turkey is once again taking the lead on the menu, because it was requested by our guests. That being said, I may not eat turkey again until 2024, and even then it might be iffy. Looking around at the ingredients on the table, I asked Richard about the stuffing. Offhandedly, he said the most incredible thing to me, “oh, I usually don’t make stuffing”. Wha………? Stuffing is the only reason I show up on Thanksgiving. To me the bird is only a greasy vessel in which to contain the delicious buttery bread mixture, and not the star of the show. Had he told me he was dying his hair chartreuse and joining a punk rock bank I couldn’t have been more shocked. “No way”, I told him and grabbed my purse and headed to the store. No stuffing indeed. Never heard of such a thing.

At any rate it is all good. I try to immerse myself in the holidays as they come and go in the blink of Santa’s eye, so have all my decorations for Christmas at the ready waiting to be put up and enjoyed.

Hope your day is full of laughter, family, friends, good food, and gratefulness for all those blessings. I think of people less fortunate and wish for them a better 2024.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!!

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Sea lions, and otters and falcons, oh my…..

Well, it seems we have quickly jumped forward into this July, with the holiday already clearing the first week off the calendar. I hope your Fourth was eventful, in the best of ways, of course. Mine was wonderful. My son and his wife hosted a glorious five day party for twenty-four family members at a lovely concierge beach hotel in Morro Bay, California. For me, the thought of entertaining that many people for five days would cause the acid to bubble and churn in my nether regions. These two, however, made it all look like a short walk in the park. I told them afterward, should they ever need a rebirth in their occupational sector, party planning would definitely be a good choice for a second career. The food was perfectly orchestrated. As I’m highly motivated by what’s going to be showing up on my plate at mealtimes, this checkmark was a big one for me. The preparation of breakfast was mostly divided up among four or five people, and always delicious. At lunch, we fended for ourselves, either foraging through the fridges for a sandwich or leftovers, or choosing one of the myriad of restaurants situated along the wharf area to grab a bite in. At dinner, those of us with some cooking chops (no pun intended), were assigned dishes to prepare on given nights. I knew ahead of time I would be on the twice baked potato assembly line, so came armed and ready for battle with my hand mixer packed tucked away in a bag. Richard came with me, though he was mainly in the KP crew, and I threw together pasta with red sauce another night as the rest of my contribution. It was fun to cook together, and even more fun to sample all the different offerings each cook brought to the table from one day to the next.

The hotel itself was an experience. It’s location was perfect, being smack dab in the center of the wharf area directly across from the beach. The famed Morrow Bay rock was perfectly framed in the two bay windows, making the view quite spectacular. There were six suites, two full kitchens, six bathrooms, plus a lovely deck to sit out on once the sun worked it’s way through the marine layer in the early afternoon. All in all, a lovely setting. Never have I stayed in a summer rental so well stocked. Everything was clearly labeled and well orchestrated to make it easy to put an item back where you got it when done with it. Cleaning supplies, a vacuum, brooms and mops were in a closet to facilitate quick clean up of whatever mess you might create. There were all manner of pots, pans, glassware, and utensils at our disposal, and the considerable appliance selection ran the gamut from crockpots to espresso makers. Whoever equipped this place, literally thought of everything. I cannot remember looking for one thing while staying there I was unable to locate.

For me, as it always is, it was all about the beach. As usual, I was the earliest riser in the group. Hopping out of bed at first light every day, after a quick cup of coffee, I’d pull on a sweatshirt and some walking shoes and head out for a little one on one with the glorious ocean and sea air before breakfast. I love, love, love that time of day. The sand was not cluttered with people, leaving me free to commiserate with my thoughts and nature for the most part without interruption. Not that there wasn’t anything to keep me company, mind you. All manner of sea life was evident anywhere I looked. Graceful falcons swooped down from high nests built high up on the massive rock formations as I walked below, and a group of otters could be seen in the same spot every morning floating and spinning not far off the where the land melted into the sea. Many of these comical little creatures had babies perched atop their bellies. Some wrapped their offspring in seaweed to keep them from floating away. Watching them was positively addictive. I most admired their dexterity in using their small paws to cleverly manipulate rocks as tools to crack open clam shells. Once the shell was opened it allowed them to retrieve the sweet treat inside the shell, while still drifting along lazily on their backs.

Sea lions could also be spotted indulging in sun bathing on the docks or stretched out along a rock at the water’s edge. Of course, it wouldn’t be the beach without the gulls. They could be found squawking and carrying on just about everywhere you went, looking for a morsel to grab or hoping to mooch a handout from someone passing by. On one day, my son left a bag of chips on a towel while he and his children walked down the beach. They returned to find a throng of gulls covering the towel, remnants of a torn bag, and but not one chip to be found. Nature’s little scavengers.

Back home again, I’m finding it difficult to sink back into my daily routine. I move this way, then I move that way, but can’t seem to find a comfortable spot to be. The wandering soul living beneath my surface is itching to be free to get out on the open road and leave the everyday annoyances and workaday issues behind me. Perhaps it is because time seems to be traveling at such an accelerated pace of late, I am feeling an urgency to do all the things I want to do while the doing is still possible. At one point we were talking over the week about how the years seem to have passed by so quickly. This topic was largely prompted by family pictures we were sharing over a meal, showing toddlers playing on the floor who now, seated at tables around us the room, stood taller than their parents and grandparents. Time, as they say, waits for no man. So true. All you can do is grab the ring, hold on tight, and enjoy the ride.

According to the weather forecast I listened to this morning, this summer is now the hottest in recorded history. Here in beautiful Northern Cal we were treated to a rare “springlike” June which promises to provide us with glorious weather for at least another week now carrying over into July. After that, most likely those annoying 100 plus temperatures will be showing up once again on the weather report. Darn. Happily, I could exist in the low to high 80’s all year round, except I have to have fall, my favorite of the four seasons. I love the crisp cool mornings and gorgeous changing colors of the leaves. I have put this idea in the suggestion box of limiting it to only spring and fall, but still it seems to be getting hotter every year. Someone up there doesn’t have their “listening ears” on. I wonder at times, what kind of world I will be leaving behind for my children, and theirs when I leave this world. Hopefully, there is some way to reverse, or at the very least, put the brakes on, the damage we have done causing this climate change.

Humans most certainly are not always respectful of this beautiful planet we live on. They were showing the amount of trash left in Lake Tahoe after the holiday was over on a newscast I watched this morning. 8,500 pounds of trash was left behind by partiers for other people to clean up. Amazing. I will never understand such behavior. Why, with such beautiful surroundings, would you want to desecrate them by leaving your trash lying about everywhere? How self centered, to my mind, to expect others to clean up your mess. There, that is my rant for the day. Just gets my Irish up.

Plastic waste is another situation literally piling up all around us. Oceans now have huge patches of garbage clogging them up. From what I understand there are companies busy creating compostable water bottles. What a great idea. Can you imagine how many plastic water bottles flood our landfills every day?

In prehistoric days I would imagine they might have used a leaf for a “dish” or perhaps a twig to spear a piece of food, or maybe they simply decided to forego the formalities of utensils all together, and gnawed on a leg (most likely uncooked before fire was invented), then disposing of it on the ground to be naturally recycled. Now, we have so much trash it is sea, landfill, and positively mind boggling, and how to get rid of it has become a staggering dilemma.

I remember back in my thirties, working for a construction company in Southern California. Developers had come up with the idea of using a landfill as a site for a gorgeous proposed golf course and country club. The idea was to “recycle” the land basically, and build the greens and the clubhouse building itself atop of waste that had been turned under and covered with topsoil. I worked in a series of trailers set up for the duration of the job at the jobsite itself. There were two engineers who’s jobs consisted largely of monitoring the methane situation managed by vents protruding up through the ground to allow the gas an avenue to vent. Methane is produced when waste begins to decompose. The gas is volatile and certainly the developers sinking millions of dollars in the project, didn’t want the lid to literally blow off it before the first ball flew off a tee. In the end, as far as I know, it was a rousing success and all parts of it are still sitting on the spot where it was built. I can remember even after it was up and fully functional, there always seemed to me to be a faint lingering aroma of old spaghetti sauce and rotting pot roast hanging in the air.

As our population swells, it will become more and more critical to learn to manage our leftovers. I understand France has a law in place now that forbids supermarkets from throwing away unsold food. Usable food must, by law, be donated to charities. Great idea. I know having owned a restaurant, I was sometimes appalled at the amount of food we had to throw out. Seemed to me to be almost sinful when there are places in the world where people have not so much as a grain of rice to put in their stomachs.

I guess we will always be a work in progress. I know I am. Every day I morph and learn and try to be a little bit improved or at least not worse than the day before.

Happy Friday!!!!

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Bingo!!…..

For Christmas this year, my son and his wife gave me a membership to an ancestry revealing site. The instructions were first, sign up on line, then spend a half an hour generating enough saliva to fill the little vial provided, and, finally, mail the vial in the enclosed envelope. Easy peasy. I procrastinated, but several weeks ago I actually had a little extra time on my hands. I finally got firm with myself and insisted I go ahead and do as instructed. Sometimes, I have to get tough on me. Several days after I mailed the envelope, I received a notice from the site saying they had my sample in hand and it was being processed.

Now, there are both good and bad aspects involved in digging around in the root bed of your family tree. For instance, you might find some rotten roots you had thus far been blissfully unaware of. Say, for example, they uncovered information Jeffrey Dahmer was your long lost half brother, or that your mother’s cousin had actually been the unabomber. That would be news you could continue on for a lifetime being happy not to uncover. On the plus side, you might unearth a delightful aunt who bakes you endless delicious cakes and cookies, or the search might reveal you are related to a very wealthy eccentric who has been looking for an heir to leave all his worldly possessions to. In any case, I find I am a bit intrigued.

Family, for me after the age of nine was my mother. I didn’t know much about my father’s side of the tree. As I’ve mentioned often, my father died at a young age so I never had the opportunity to know him. Most of his clan lived in western Canada. The only paternal family contact I had as a child for the most part was with my dad’s mother, who lived in Ontario. Mother and visited her occasionally, and from time to time she came to Halifax and spent a few days with us. .

Growing up, I was not without family. Seemed as though there were always extended family around me on my maternal side. My mother’s oldest sister and her family lived across town. Her three children , close in age to me, were often my partners in crime. Gordon, mother’s only brother, a bachelor at the time, lived on the northwest arm. My maternal grandparents were like parents to me. They opened their home to us after my father died. My bedroom was tucked away in the corner on the second floor of their lovely house until I turned nine. At one point, even my mother’s youngest sister and her family moved in up the street from our house for a year or two with their three boys. However, when mother remarried in my ninth year, once the ceremony was over and the rice swept up, we packed up our brand new Buick and moved to Southern California with my new step-father. The only family I knew, were now but remembered reflections in my rear view mirror. Being an only child with no siblings to rely on, left me pretty much to my own devices. I found myself in Santa Ana, California that summer in surroundings that couldn’t have been more alien to me then had the mother ship swept us up taken us to a galaxy, far, far away.

Stepfathers came and stepfathers went, during that period in my life. During the years between nine and graduation, Stepfather No. 1 was replaced by an upgrade (but only for some functions), which came to be known by me as Stepfather No. 2. My second stepdad was the middle child of eleven children of an Irish Catholic (devoted obviously) family. In the spirit of Irish tradition, the family had produced one priest, one nun, and a beat cop out of their large brood. This amount of siblings should have contributed a huge community of family into our lives. It did not. My stepfather left most of them behind in New York when he moved to the west coast to go to college. When he graduated, he never looked back. Over the years, one of his brothers or sisters would stop by for dinner or a weekend stay perhaps, during a trip to California. His parents came for a holiday or two as I remember, but mainly when he interacted with his family he flew back to New York for a visit. The union, I would say, did not serve to produce a lot of new faces at our table. One face he did bring to the table, was my step-brother, Michael. Mike to me. We were in each others lives during our pre-teen and teen years. I got married at nineteen, but we continued to be quite close for a time after that. Mike was two years younger than I at the time. He and his mother lived about an hour from us, and according to his parent’s custodial agreement, Mike was ours every other weekend, two months out of the summer and every other holiday, an agreement closely adhered to by both parties.

Up until then there was just me. I got the usual only child rap, spoiled, undisciplined, gets everything she wants. I was not, though I will own up to being a tad bit undisciplined. My mother was very good at doling out punishments such as “no car until your forty”, “you will do dishes every night for the rest of your life”, but for the most part not particularly strong on enforcing the punishment once it had been laid out for me. I couldn’t drive the car unless, of course, she needed something at the store. Believe me kids are slippery. I speak from some experience here. Once the keys were in the ignition, I would absolutely go to the store as instructed, but usually by way of several friend’s houses or a quick stop in at Orange Julius for something refreshing before turning the car towards home. When Mike came along I felt a sort of protective, older sister vibe, wash over me. I rather enjoyed having a younger sidekick who seemed to feel every word I uttered was gold. This sense of responsibility probably saved me from surely be incarcerated before I got out of middle school.

Sparing you the sordid details, our home life wasn’t always a picture out of Home & Garden. Like many people in the U.S., I’m pretty sure, our family suffered through our high and low points. It surprised me how having a sibling, or half-sibling, helped to make the low points a little more manageable.

Mike graduated from high school shortly after I got married (Groom No. 1). Graduation left him adrift, or at least he appeared so from my perspective, and he seemed unsure as to where to go from there. I’m sure this is not a unique feeling for young people first stepping out on their own. Not a student of any merit, really, my step-father set him up in a fast-food truck, paid the insurance, and filled the truck with groceries. Mike’s Food Truck sold hand made sandwiches, and to go food items like bags of chips, packaged crackers and peanut butter, fruit, boxed salads, and all manner of bottled drinks suitable for the lunch crowd. We were living in the San Gabriel Valley in Southern California during those years, but Mike chose to lay out a route in the L.A. area for whatever reasons of his own. At first, he seemed enthusiastic about his new endeavor, but I could see as the months passed something was eating at him. One day, he didn’t come home.

After several days without contact, my stepfather called the police. A call came in from a police investigator the following week to tell us “Mike’s Food Truck” had been discovered abandoned on a side street in the L.A. area, with all contents intact, except the unaccounted for Mike. A month went by, and by then, things were looking grim. Sitting down at dinner one evening, he called. Speaking to my stepfather, he told us after hanging up it appeared Mike had left behind his current life, and us, in favor of becoming a member of The Children of God. For those of you unfamiliar with that particular cult, it is largely sexually motivated and I don’t believe has a great deal to offer by way of Godlike teachings in spite of the name. I cannot say personally, but this is what I gleaned from all that I’ve read. Weeks afterward, they allowed him to speak to us from a warehouse third floor window in downtown Los Angeles. After that, the only contact I ever had with him was by letter, and in my early twenties, that too dwindled down to nothing. The police were alerted, but Mike was of age, and wasn’t being held against his will. So, according to them, case closed, file marked “FOUND”.

I never saw my stepbrother again. Last I heard from him, he was in New Zealand. I often wonder where he is or if he is still among us, but this DNA result will turn up nothing around that corner, because there was no blood between us.

I will be excited to see what does come out from under the rock I am overturning. Should be interesting, or I hope it is.

On a totally unrelated subject, Richard and I drove down to the local Elks Lodge last night for Spaghetti and Bingo. Talk about a segue. Life on the edge over here. Actually, I like playing Bingo. Haven’t played in some time. Paying the cashier at the door, Richard got us both two sets playing sheets. Each set came with twelve sheets with nine squares on each paper, good for twelve games total. Neither of us had one single idea what we were doing, so didn’t realize until we found a seat and got situated, we would be locating numbers on 18 squares for each number pulled. Hmmmm.

Now, Bingo to me is you get five numbers across vertically, horizontally or diagonally. This is so “old school” I would come to discover. I got Bingo with five across fairly quickly. Richard and I were waving the paper. This is easy money I’m thinking. When the verifier came to check my card it appeared we were actually far more stupid than we looked, and at that particular moment that was quite a lot of stupid. There was a sheet on the table detailing the specific pattern of Bingo you have to achieve for each particular game. You had to get four in the middle then three running up to one corner, or all on two sides. Oh, Duh. What? At least we were both equally as ignorant, that was a plus. Bingo markers poised for action, we moved on to the second game. Trying to track 18 squares, plus remember what the pattern was I found to be a lot for this old blonde brain, I’m telling you. During the break, a lady came up to us and gave us her sheets. Why she picked us I have no idea, but it was her birthday and she didn’t want them to go to waste was the story she told. Personally, I think at that point they were just taking pleasure from our pain and toying with us. Thanking her, we were now tracking 24 squares with each ball pulled. By the time we hit the eleventh game, I had a serious cramp in my arm and Richard and I were giggling like two third graders. This is frowned on by serious Bingo players, of which the room was full. With each ball that popped up, you could barely hear a pin drop. I guess when money is involved, people don’t want to add any humor to the mix. Richard and I could add as much humor as we felt like, because for all that energy expelled, we managed not to win one game between us. Thankfully, after three hours, it was over. We won nothing, but learned more than we needed to about Bingo for 2023.

So, another week is checked off the calendar, and I am back home with Boo. Hump day and here we are again. Lovely weather here in Northern California. Have a great week!!

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It’s always ourselves we find in the sea – e.e. cummings

The rain continues to fall here in Northern California, each day setting a record that tops the one proceeding it. I drove home from Richard’s yesterday through what looked to be a war zone. Huge trees were lying like fallen soldiers, draped across manicured lawns, some leaning precariously against a rooftop or pushing against a fence line. In some areas, I was detoured by blinking police cars to avoid a tree obscuring the lanes of traffic or to safely avoid downed power lines posing a threat. The reservoirs are filling up at a happy pace and our drought situation is definitely taking on a happier face than it was wearing last year. As always, I wonder why we don’t put more effort into capturing all this glorious precipitation falling to the ground. A state with the vast resources of this one, it seems to this small blonde at least, should be dropping some serious pennies in the jar to pay for new reservoirs or underground containment centers. Makes no sense to me, but then I’m not running the government thankfully. I wonder at times if anyone responsible is, but that’s a topic for a whole other blog.

I am headed down to Carmel for three days R&R next week. It seems an odd time to go with the weather behaving in such an erratic manner, but Richard and I have reservations at a lovely B&B, and have no plans to cancel at this writing. My heart is excited with the anticipation of seeing the ocean in whatever face it might be wearing. The last time I was there, can be counted in years not months. When the gap in between visits is this long, my soul begins to actually crave the smells and sights associated with being by the sea. Most likely it will be overcast and foggy. I grew up with fog horns in the background in Nova Scotia, so inclement weather is no stranger to me. A little rain never bothers me much. I’m not a high maintenance girl who worries about her hair or getting her shoes wet. They dry, and then there you are again. I actually love to get out and walk on a rainy day. I’m not talking about blinding rain, but I don’t mind taking a good walk in a gentle rain. There is something about a rainy day, in truth, that fires up my engines. I find myself singing in the kitchen, or industriously cleaning out closets. This has been a little more rain than usual for certain, but still it is nice to turn off the lights and drift off to sleep hearing it playing a tune on my roof.

I was called into work an extra day this week so here I am sitting at my work computer writing this. Several of the residents reported to me this morning no one won the enormous lottery up for grabs Tuesday night, though apparently 15 people will have an extra million to spend in 2023. Drat the luck, and I had my Porsche all picked out. I told them if I win the next drawing, don’t expect to see my face behind this desk come Friday. Looking dismayed at that statement, I assured them I would return often to take everyone out to dinner at one of the pricey steakhouses around the Sacramento area before retiring. I checked my numbers against those drawn to see if I might be one of the 15. Got one number out of two tickets. From all appearances I needn’t wait for the million dollar check to hit my bank account any time soon. Ah well. I realize the odds of winning are astronomical, but someone’s got to win. I’m just as unlikely to as the next person. lol

Someone was commenting to me the other day about how “off” their time perception has been since the beginning of the year. From all I’ve gleaned from the metaphysical reading I do, the energy collectively circling about in our world at present is very jumbled and disruptive, so this is to be expected. I totally feel it in my world. I’ve been off all week. Yes, yes, even more than my usual off. Tuesday all day I thought it was Wednesday. Then when it was Wednesday I kept thinking it was Thursday. I have missed two appointments already this year and we’re not even through January yet. It’s just an unsettled feeling of being slightly out of sync with the universe.

Because the weather significantly reduces outside activities, my son and daughter-in-law finally talked me into watching Yellowstone. I fell in the pot with the minority of TV viewers who had not seen a single episode of the well touted series. Two nights ago, I watched the first episode and have tuned in for several more since then. The story line definitely holds your attention. Though I have to say, if you’re offended by graphic scenes, I don’t suggest you grab your bowl of popcorn any time soon and tune it in. Whoa.

I have always wanted to go to Montana. Dale, my ex was from there, and before he got ill we had planned to drive up for a visit. I have teased the borders a time or two, having been in Wyoming once and Idaho many times, but Montana and Yellowstone have eluded me. Also close by and on my bucket list, I would like to get a glimpse of the Dakotas. The other night instead of counting sheep when I couldn’t sleep, I got to thinking about how many states I had visited, or lived in. To me, it was an impressive amount, but I have missed some of the ones I especially wanted to see. I will have to find a way to add those to my checked off list somewhere down the road. My mother visited one such city in Georgia, Savannah. She was enchanted by it, as I’m sure I would be. I have been to Atlanta on business, but that is sort of an encapsulated situation. I never really saw much of my surroundings other than the hotel where the trade show I was participating was located. After reading “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil” Savannah was added to my list of must sees. Places steeped in rich history hold a fascination for me. Would love to see that area. I’ve never been to the Carolinas, nor have I traveled up the road a piece from there have I visited Rhode Island or Connecticut. I have lived in Washington, West Virginia, Arkansas, Alabama, and Massachusetts outside of California. People have asked me on occasion which one I preferred. To me, they all have their own pluses and minuses depending on where you are in a particular state. Even with all the tiresome infighting endlessly reported on the news, somewhere else I really have a yen to see is Washington D.C. We shall see. The year is young and my freshly printed updated passport is burning a hole in my pocket. Somewhere either this year or next, a trip to Canada is a must do for me. Many of my father’s family who I’ve been in contact with live in western Canada. Most of us have never met face to face. My dad died at 25 and my mother and I went to live with my maternal grandparents. Other than my paternal grandmother, my contact with my father’s people over the years since then has been sketchy at best. I would love to be able to restore that connection by meeting them in person. Growing up, it was just my mom and I out here in California. There were never any of those big family gatherings in my world unless we made it to a family reunion or a visit to Nova Scotia now and again. My son and his family sent me a kit for 23andMe I’m excited to explore. Be interesting to see what my DNA stirs up out there in my family tree I am as yet unaware has bloomed there.

Well work calls. Happy Thursday. Enjoy the one day without a raindrop associated with it if you’re in Northern California like myself. Look up from time to time and be aware of your surroundings. The ground is mushy and the trees unpredictable.

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The beginning is always today…..Mary Shelley

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Mother’s Day…..

Woke up to a gorgeous day the middle of the week here in Northern California. Slight breeze to keep you cool, perfect air temperature, around 82, and a clear, brilliantly blue, sky overhead. Walking was definitely on the calendar I decided, and then lunch with a friend. We chose a regional park populated largely by Canada geese. This time of year their fuzzy little offspring are visible all over the park area area where it circles the man made lake dominating the center. Do love to see babies. Even a baby porcupine is sweet, however, we didn’t pass one on our trail. There were a lot of warning signs showing pictures of striking rattlesnakes so I kept my eye on my feet as often as I could without tripping over something on the path in front of me. I try to walk at least forty minutes every day. Makes me feel better emotionally and physically to stretch my legs on a regular basis, and I’m sure my joints will thank me one day when I’m older.

Life has been incredibly frenetic of late. I can’t seem to catch up even with my fancy new running shoes carefully tied in place. Twice this week I’ve overlooked scheduled appointments, and one day I made double plans for the day with two different people. Then, as it turned out, I couldn’t go with either person, because I already had a hair appointment on the books for the middle of the day. Sigh. Scattered is the adjective immediately coming to mind but numbnut isn’t far behind it.

Today is Mother’s Day. I will be celebrating with my daughter and her family. Mother, though not present physically, will definitely move among us as we talk of funny stories involving her, or shared family moments she was a part of. I’m not sad anymore, but rather a peace has settled over me. We had our time, and we made the best use of it. I don’t have regrets, which makes her passing somehow more palatable. So, we will laugh, probably shed a tear or two, eat, and enjoy each other. Truly each day is the day we have, so it is always best to fill it with happy moments and lots of love.

Since my mum passed, my soul has occupied a quiet space. Grieving her is a bit different then the two men I have lost. Mother was by my side from my beginning to her end. Beyond mother and daughter, we were friends. Certainly we all knew as the years added up, her time her with us was winding down, but still each Saturday I miss getting in the car and going to see her beautiful face. As I’ve said many times, life is but a series off hellos and goodbyes.

I have much to say about the situation of women’s rights currently going on in this country but for today I will simply say, Happy Mother’s Day to those of you who signed up to raise the generation coming up after them. It is a brave, brave, endeavor we take on when bringing a new life into the world. Few of us ever feel we carried this oh so important task out to the best of our abilities. If we don’t remind ourselves of our shortcomings, odds are our children surely will. Smile. I know I wouldn’t trade my son and daughter for anything else this world has to offer. They have brought me more joy than any other part of my life. I want to thank my mom for always being a part of raising them, and loving them as much as I did and do.

Enjoy your day and bask in the limelight for a brief moment before you find yourself once again standing over a pile of dirty dishes, or throwing a load of laundry in the washer. Women are a powerful force of nature, I believe, we just don’t quite know it yet.

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I definitely do…..

My dear first cousin and her husband visited us here in Northern California over the past weekend on their way to Australia. I suggested to them if I laid off my Pringles for a week, I would probably be small enough to tuck in any extra bag, but they neglected to take me up on the offer. Someday, I will get there perhaps. It’s on my bucket list with a number of distant and exotic places to visit. I was sad to hear koalas were on the endangered species list due to the fires on their continent. The climate is changing and the animal kingdom feeling the shift.

No matter how long the span between visits, as they live in Ontario, Canada, my cousin and I seem to reconnect as if it had only been a day or two since we saw each other. I don’t have family in the states so it is quite a treat to have relatives at my door. On both my father and my mother’s side, my mother and I have always been the “satellite family”. Until I was nine, I had grandmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins and the usual cast of extended family members most people enjoy in the vicinity of where I lived. At nine, when she remarried, we left Halifax, Nova Scotia in the rear view mirror of our new Buick and headed across the U.S. to Southern California. Since then, I have probably returned to my homeland a hand plus a few fingers of times, but it’s not like living close by. Definitely Nova Scotia is high on my bucket list as well, hopefully, over the next five years. Note to Susie “get your new passport and quit procrastinating”. Heard and received.

I’ve always missed that family connection. Probably that is why I have created a family of sorts in the lovely group of women I call friends, but in truth consider my sisters. My friends are really the glue that keeps this ship afloat and I am thankful for them every day. The supportive phone call when I’m feeling a bit weepy, or the laughs over lunches, or simply knowing that they are out there and sincerely care if I set my feet on the ground every morning, means the world to me.

Since many of the COVID restrictions have been lifted, the pace of my life has picked up considerably. The fact that my car continues to have the check engine light front and center on my dashboard, adds a little extra anxiety to keeping up with the program. The part in question, a pricey one, is due in tomorrow. They told me not to hold on to the thought it would actually arrive tomorrow too tightly, as most likely with the supply chain issues this is a guesstimate of when it will actually show up. Kay. This makes keeping my schedule in place a little more difficult, as the commitments on my calendar aren’t going to be kept if I don’t have any transportation to get me there.

Currently, I am undergoing allergy shot treatments. Each week I go to my allergist and sacrifice my arm for my injections in the hope that my asthma will eventually (takes a year or two) become something that fades into the background. I never had asthma until I moved up to Northern California. Well, mild symptoms of seasonal allergies, but certainly never was prescribed an inhaler before living up here. If this is the worst thing I have to deal with in my life, I’ll get by, but it does make life a little more challenging when spring shows up with all it’s gorgeous blooms and copious pollen. They won’t give you a shot if you are symptomatic. You have to keep the cycle in between injections within two weeks in order to keep moving up the maintenance ladder increasing your tolerance. Today is the second time I have not been able to go for my appointment. Like my car, I seem to be having some maintenance problems. I guess this is all part of the equipment getting older and not working as well as it did when it was bright and shiny right out of the manufacturer’s showroom.

Along with everyone else in the country I would surmise, I am tightening my belt. Tightening it figuratively, I mean, not that I’ve shed the extra five pounds COVID added to my frame. Frills and extras are being whittled down to fit in my budget. Door Dash, sadly, has been left by the wayside, and just when I was getting on a first name basis with the drivers. Life’s little tragedies. Cutting down on going out to eat as well, and not so much retail therapy in my near future. I guess with what people are going through overseas, this isn’t too much to ask.

California is currently sporting the highest gas prices in the country. Such over achievers out here. I was filling my tank yesterday and believe the man in the next aisle was actually weeping as he got back into his car. You’d think after two years of battling the bug, life would have settled down to a dull roar, but the irony of the situation is now we are free to go where we’d like when we’d like, and we can’t afford to get there. The gods are toying with us.

On a completely unrelated topic, a friend was talking to me about APP dating the other day. Interesting process that. I met Rick on line twenty-five years ago so I’m not new to the idea. Still, I lean towards the old fashioned idea of seeing someone and being attracted to them and going from there. Continuing with my theme, I am open in my “why not” year to looking at all things available for me to try this year that are not dangerous or fattening. The APP experience would be totally new to me. People cruise in and out on the APP apparently, liking you or moving on down the road to someone else they do. You, of course, also have the choice of liking them, or not. If you decide you “like” one another than you text, talk, progress to coffee at a Starbuck’s and go from there. Will I try it? Probably. I have to admit the thought of having to tell all my stories again from the beginning I find a little daunting. When you are asked if you’ve been married before and hold up four fingers in response, it’s always good for an uncomfortable pregnant pause. One man said to me back in the day, “Boy, you really took one for the team.” Yes, I did. I guess when it comes to love, I would suppose I am the eternal optimist.

Well I’m off for now. Happy Monday. Have a great week full of smiles and adventures. Happy St. Patrick’s Day. I am debating if I want to cook a whole corned beef and cabbage dinner for the cat and myself, but I may just do it!!

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